Post by Benedict Bridgerton on Oct 31, 2022 18:07:43 GMT
i' m n o t b o u n d b y
THE RULES OF SOCIETY
Benedict was in love. Truly, wholeheartedly in love. And for the first time, he felt at ease . . . knowing that he was not going to lose her. The feeling was not easy to come by and even more difficult to hold on to. Why? Because he had come so close to it not being so. He had come so close to losing Sophie. But if history had taught him anything . . . it was that love was worth fighting for. That she was worth fighting for. And history, was about to catch up to him now. For the only other person that he felt he could have been so committed to . . . was Genevieve Delacroix. The woman had opened something up inside of him that made Benedict feel happy. Felt a peace come over him that he had not felt from anyone else.
But the realities of their life had caught up to them and their . . . relationship had ended as a result. Benedict had often wondered if he had not fought hard enough. For he had not dismissed the possibility where his mind at one point in his life, thought that this could have been then. Genevieve had reminded him of the impossibility of them being together . . . yet now, as he felt then, rank was irrelevant to him. It was their character and heart that mattered, not in which status they were born.
Now that he and Sophie were engaged, he knew that she would be getting a beautiful wedding dress, and there was only one person in all the ton who was capable of making such beautiful garments: the Modiste. Benedict had never visited the Modiste for dress purposes -- obviously -- but today, he made his way there to . . . well, he wasn't entirely sure. His conscience brought him here, to tell her of this. Perhaps warn was not the best term to use yet, part of it was that. He had not had much interaction with her since they'd ended their relationship and . . . Benedict did not want her to be caught off guard.
Perhaps though, it was also more his way of asking Genevieve too, to ensure she would be alright with this. He did not wish to place her in any uncomfortable circumstance. After all, it was not something he could easily explain to his mother who would be the one taking care of Sophie's wedding attire. Taking a deep breath, he raised his hand to the door, aware that she was closed -- for he knew her timings all too well -- and hoped that she was home. Lightly knocking on the door, his mind was racing with what he was going to say, how he was going to say it and . . . what would come out of this conversation.
◈ ◈ ◈ ◈ ◈
But the realities of their life had caught up to them and their . . . relationship had ended as a result. Benedict had often wondered if he had not fought hard enough. For he had not dismissed the possibility where his mind at one point in his life, thought that this could have been then. Genevieve had reminded him of the impossibility of them being together . . . yet now, as he felt then, rank was irrelevant to him. It was their character and heart that mattered, not in which status they were born.
◈ ◈ ◈ ◈ ◈
Now that he and Sophie were engaged, he knew that she would be getting a beautiful wedding dress, and there was only one person in all the ton who was capable of making such beautiful garments: the Modiste. Benedict had never visited the Modiste for dress purposes -- obviously -- but today, he made his way there to . . . well, he wasn't entirely sure. His conscience brought him here, to tell her of this. Perhaps warn was not the best term to use yet, part of it was that. He had not had much interaction with her since they'd ended their relationship and . . . Benedict did not want her to be caught off guard.
◈ ◈ ◈ ◈ ◈
Perhaps though, it was also more his way of asking Genevieve too, to ensure she would be alright with this. He did not wish to place her in any uncomfortable circumstance. After all, it was not something he could easily explain to his mother who would be the one taking care of Sophie's wedding attire. Taking a deep breath, he raised his hand to the door, aware that she was closed -- for he knew her timings all too well -- and hoped that she was home. Lightly knocking on the door, his mind was racing with what he was going to say, how he was going to say it and . . . what would come out of this conversation.