The Rain Is Always Gonna Come

[lennie3]

From the first moment she acknowledged his presence at Henry’s libertine party Genevieve had reckoned with the fact Benedict Bridgerton would never be hers to keep. For a period of time he had been hers to enjoy and she had most definitely enjoyed him. The connection between them had been physical at first, a shared wit and attraction pushing them together in a way which had never felt forced. But somewhere along the way it had grown, they had grown comfortable not only with pleasure from sharing a bed but in their conversations, in silent bliss and honest truths. Through it all Genevieve fought with the knowledge he would not be hers to hold onto, she would perhaps marry but it would not be him, and when it had ended a sensible part of her had always known it had been the only possible outcome.

Benedict was not hers to want and need, and yet tonight he was the only person on her mind. Her entire adult life Genevieve had prided herself on her independence. She approached life with a carefully constructed air of invincibility. And tonight she had become so aware of just how faulty and far from the truth that really was. The seamstress knew very well how much worse the situation may have been had it been slightly different. But she had done business late in a part of London which did not do well to dwell in as the darkness began to set and yet in her own feelings of grandeur it was exactly what she had done.

But oh if she had not paid the price for it when she encountered the pair, their desperation for more, for something better driving them to violence as they took whatever valuables she had on her and seemingly punished her for not having more before they disappeared into the night.

Never in a million years had Genevieve expected this was how her night would end, that she would find herself on her former lover’s doorstep wincing in pain with every step she took. For a moment she considered turning away again, of catching a carriage and making her way to her own flat, to not open this door. But aside from the ache her injuries brought her mind, her soul, ached for him. Genevieve flinched, body aching as she walked up the steps to his front door, flexing her hand in hesitation before knocking on the heavy door. Blood trickled from her eyebrow down the side of her face, she felt her jaw throbbing most likely already swelling, ribs aching and she favored her right side. But more than anything as she waited for the door to swing open she felt her heart beating hard and quick in her chest, anxious need swelling inside her.

No Benedict Bridgerton had not been hers to keep, but right now she needed him.

tag Benedict Bridgerton .

[Benedict Bridgerton]

I'm not bound by                                  

While Benedict did enjoy the chaos and busyness of the Bridgerton estate, recent events had him longing for some time alone. The separation from Genevieve had not been easy. With how deeply he had fallen for her, so too was he quickly pulled into reality. He cared for her, far more than he realized and her absence in his life . . . was painfully felt. So he had decided to spend the time alone, residing in his own residence in Bloomsbury. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ It was well away from the Ton and it was here that he could find some solace. At least, physically. Emotionally, he was far from content. Tonight, he had kept company with his sketchbook, lying on a chair in his bedroom with his feet propped up on the small stood in front of it. A small pile of crumpled up papers next to him. It was in this position that he had drifted to sleep, unaware of the time. Perhaps he would have eventually woken up from this odd position but it was not discomfort that brought him back to the conscious world. It was someone at his door. It immediately jolted him awake, wondering who it could possibly be at this hour. Not bothering to fix his appearance as his shirt hung loose, clad in his breeches and socks, along with what he presumed would might be slightly disheveled hair . . . haste won over appearance. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ He made his way to the door, opening it and what he saw on the other side was the furthest possibility from his mind. But the surprise of his physical presence was immediately replaced with concern as the blood dripped on her face and from her overall state. "Genevieve," he breathed, his arms going to either side of her as he brought her in his home, pushing the door closed. His arms moved to wrap around her instead to help support her, looking over her, concern quite evident in his features . . . as well as fear over what happened to her. Unsure how weakened she was -- for she certainly looked it -- and taking notice of her imbalanced stance, Benedict carefully scooped her up in his arms, carrying her over to the drawing room where there was a couch, and he moved to lay her down comfortably on it. "What happened?" He asked, his heart beating heavily in his chest over her state. Tag lennie3 Note: Better layout coming soon!

                        the rules of society.

[lennie3]

A gasp passed her lips as his door swung open, she had expected to see him of course, it was his home, and yet the moment she laid her eyes on him she felt the emotions rush through her. “Benedict,” she echoed his sentiment in a soft voice, nerves that didn’t quite suit her apparent. Genevieve held back, not moving until he pulled her inside, until she was in his arms yet again and tilting her head back she met his gaze finding nothing but gentle concern in his eyes and she forced a small smile, fingers grasping at his shirt. Genevieve opened her mouth, trying to speak and instead she shook her head, dropping her forehead to his shoulder as her eyebrows knitted together in a frown. 

Showing up like this on his doorstep was not something Genevieve was sure of even as she had made her way there, even as she had knocked, and even now as she was in his arms. It was not an embrace, not a tender moment where he held her like he once had, this was concern for her wellbeing. But she’d take it. Somehow instinct had brought her to him and Genevieve simply knew she had needed his presence regardless of the pain and complication it brought around to see him again.

Benedict swooped her into his arms and it felt like muscle memory as she settled against him, hands holding onto him as he cradled her, carrying her further into his home. He set her down and her hands loosened around him, brushing over the material of the soft shirt as she did so. Genevieve reached for his hand, forcing her eyes to stay open, to remain on his, “I was doing some business by the docks, picking up a few items I need for the shop,” she began carefully, choosing her words delicately, “I have done it so many times before, and yet now... I believe this is more a result of their displeasure I did not have much on my person for them to take from me,” the words, the insecurity of them, it all sounded so very unlike her. She did not provide much details on the physical harm she had endured, it felt too difficult to put into words and taking the concern etched onto his features into account Benedict seemed able to tell.

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[Benedict Bridgerton]

I'm not bound by                                  

Once she was laying upon the couch, Benedict searched around the room for what he needed so that he did not have to leave her for a moment. He had a bowl full of potpourri that his mother always insisted he keep here, to which he tossed the petals to the side, and then reached for the pitcher of water kept in the room. Setting the items down on the small table near the couch, he proceeded to roll up his sleeves, before pouring the water into the bowl. He then reached into his pocket for a handkerchief and set it with the other items as he listened to her explain what had happened. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ Benedict was not a violent person, but the anger that filled him upon hearing that someone would do this, to her . . . made him long to find the identities and bring them to justice. The anger coursing through him but did not surface by any means. Concern still won over as the dominant feeling right now and, he wanted to remain composed for her. He wanted to assure her she was safe, not escalate the emotional state to one that would not be productive in this moment. But his mind was racing, and his heart aching for her. For what she endured, for the pain she was in, for every mark on her her that was evident of this. "I--" He couldn't find the words to say, his voice holding the emotions that he felt of sadness and pain for her. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ Lightly shaking his head, he swallowed, trying to fight back what he could at the cruelty of these men's actions. He took a deep breath, his hand gently touching the top of her head, stroking it tenderly. "You are safe now," he assured her, knowing that in this moment, it was all he could offer here. Words spoken from his heart. His hands went to the ties of her dress, carefully pulling at one before pausing. "May I loosen your dress?" Gestures that did not require permission but . . . now they did. Becuase this was no playful moment between them. This was not filled with teasing and flirtation. He asked out of sheer practicality. To help her ease any further strain of breath or pain. And, because he knew she injured there too. So he had to ask, and somehow managed to stop himself from an action that felt so . . . natural, so instinctive. Tag lennie3 Note: Better layout coming soon!

                        the rules of society.

[lennie3]

Sinking into the couch Genevieve watched him with heavy eyes as he darted around the room; had she had the energy it might have even caused her to laugh as she saw him empty out a bowl of potpourri onto the table in his rush to tend to her. She was touched by it, truly, after all which had happened between them her presence in his home was not what she was sure either of them had expected. Genevieve had not intended to see him again, when she ended things between them it would simply be the easiest thing to not see him. But tonight, after what happened, all Genevieve had been able to think of was his eyes, the kindness in his words and gentleness of his touch, and all her previous intentions had become irrelevant.

Genevieve watched as the look of gentle concern in his eyes hardened, and it felt nice in a way to see the hint of anger in his eyes as she concluded her retelling of the events that had occurred. She had gone to him because he'd always made her feel safe, because there had been a level of comfort and ease between them since the moment they met. Now, even as it was over, it was difficult to part from the feeling of security when she needed it so. Genevieve had never been frightened to conduct her own business, to lead her life without allowing fear to dictate her actions and she had never watched for threats in dark alleys. Now her own recklessness had brought her back to Benedict.

She shifted on the couch, teeth sinking into her lip to stop a wince from slipping out as she sat up. The feeling of his fingers tugging against the ties of her dress felt like second nature and there had been a time when she would respond with a coy smile while arching into his touch. Now her body seemed to want to move away from his touch, even as she nodded, "of course," Genevieve whispered quietly, feeling the tension between them was foreign and quite frankly she didn't like it. But wishing things could have been different between them had not been a solution for any of the issues standing between them and it would not aid her to slip back into hopeful wishes now. Letting her hand fall to cover his she stroked her thumb over the back of his hand, smiling softly, "thank you, Benedict, for this... for helping me."

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[Benedict Bridgerton]

I'm not bound by                                  

His other hand hovered near her as she shifted positions, able to tell the pain that it caused to course through her. But she then granted him permission to loosen the ties. He needed -- no, she needed to get out of this dress to be more comfortable. But before he did that, he needed to clean her up. With her consent, he continued to pull the ties of her dress as the upper area started to loosen. There was injury there, as evidenced by the way she had cringed from the movement. Benedict knew that it would be helpful for him to see it, though it did not appear that there was any blood as it would have leaked through the dress. But at the same time, he was worried to lay sight to it. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ Each obtained injury making him feel more and more sick and angry at the thought of anyone daring to lay a hand on her. Right now however, he would focus on what he did see. He locked eyes with her as her hand went over his, stroking his skin and . . . offered him a smile. A soft smile. One that he had sorely missed as he did her touch. Looking at her in this moment, reminding him of all that she inspired within him. And how much he missed every single thing about it. He offered a small, soft smile in return, finding it difficult to let the full expression fill his features due to the grim circumstance of her appearance at his home. "You never need thank me," he told her. He wanted her to know that. That she would never owe him gratitude. That he would be here for her, in whatever way she would permit. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ Unable to fight the urge to express his relief of seeing her and the concern and fear he'd felt for her, he leaned forward and brushed his lips in a tender kiss upon her forehead. Perhaps it was too bold of him to do this when she had made her intentions clear about them. But . . . he had done it. Letting his heart guide his actions, which was proving over and over again to be a massive flaw of his. Doing it to a fault. Straightening himself once more, he dipped the cloth into the water, straining it before gently, carefully dabbing the blood from her brow. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ "Once this is all cleaned, I will move you somewhere more comfortable." The most comfortable bed in his home was of course his. "And will send for a physician as soon as possible." Because she needed to see one. He wasn't even thinking of her leaving his home tonight. To go back out there in this condition. Her home was far and even if he took her there . . . he did not want her to be alone, nor be greeted in the morning by impatient women knocking at her door. Tag lennie3 Note: Better layout coming soon!

                        the rules of society.

[lennie3]

She felt the bodice of her dress loosening and exhaled in relief; dresses were tied far too tightly for it to be comfortable in injury. It was something she perhaps should take into consideration in her profession, then again Genevieve was rather sure she did not make many dresses for women who found themselves in the situation she had, or at least she hoped she did not. She knew she was lucky her injuries were not worse, that she had merely been mugged, but it did not make the ache in her bones feel any less painful.

Even as Benedict insisted she did not need to thank him Genevieve was happy she had done so, because despite his words she felt the need to. Appearing on his doorstep was awkward at best. There was no way Benedict wasn't feeling the tension between them and it was such a difference from the playful simplicity which they had always shared in one another's company. Despite the strange feeling between them she did not wish she was anywhere else she would want to be. In this moment Genevieve wanted to feel safe, and for a long time Benedict had made her feel safe, made her feel happy.

Genevieve's eyes fluttered close as Benedict pressed a kiss to her forehead. The casual show of affection was so familiar between them but after all which had happened it caused her heart to clench painfully. Pressing her lips together tightly she forced a faint smile, keeping her eyes closed to avoid the evidence of the ingenuity of her smile. She couldn't help but feel relieved as he drew back to prepare the cloth with water, opening her eyes as she felt it dabbed against her brow, wiping across her skin and Genevieve hissed softly as it brushed over the cut.

"I am comfortable, please do not go out of your way to accomodate me more than you already are," Genevieve said, her voice wavering. They had grown so much closer during their time together and now she hated to space which existed between them. She twisted in her seat and winced, "or perhaps not that comfortable," she changed sheepishly, grimacing and instinctively Genevieve grabbed his hand, squeezing it. She didn't want to leave, while she didn't wish to burden him the thought of leaving his home tonight made her feel cold inside. Lightening her hold on his hand but not letting go Genevieve furrowed her brow, casting her gaze onto her lap, "can I stay? Just one night, I... do not wish to be alone after tonight."

tag Benedict Bridgerton .

[Benedict Bridgerton]

I'm not bound by                                  

"I'm sorry," Benedict immediately apologized softly when she reacted with pain. Perhaps he should call for a doctor now . . . and yet, still felt the need to tend to her. To at least wipe the blood from her brow, make her feel comfortable. He slowed his actions, trying to be as careful as he could when touching the cloth upon her soft, delicate skin. The discolouring of the bruise on her cheek continuing to make his heart intensely ache. The cruelty of others never ceased to shock him. When she assured him that she was comfortable and not to go out of his way, he was about to protest . . . but it seemed he did not have to as she winced and then conceded that this was perhaps not the most comfortable place. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ Benedict gave a small smile, rinsing the cloth in the bowl and straining it once more, before resuming his previous actions. "It is not the ideal place for the rest you require," he admitted, having technically known that when he moved her here. Yet, the panic had prompted him to just get her off her feet and move to the closest surface to assess her injury. As best as a non-doctor could anyway. It was not until she took his hand, and asked to stay that he paused what he was doing, and looked into her eyes, though her gaze was averted from him. This, was where he realized he had made such a great mistake. He had assumed. He had just merely assumed that she would stay the night here and . . . he no longer had that right to make such an assumption. She had wished to end what they had and . . . he should not have merely assumed that she would remain here. A realization similar to when he had started to pull the ties of her dress, only this time, much stronger. One that hit him quite harder. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ She was asking him to stay and part of him hated that she had to ask . . . yet the other part of him had to be reminded, that this was how it was between them. Realizing he had just been still and looking into her eyes lost in thought -- and lamenting in how things had ended between them -- he finally found his voice. "Of course," he said, his voice suggesting that there was no doubt. There had never been any doubt. "I do not want you to be alone." His words holding the implication that it was not just company that he wanted for her . . . but rather, his company. He knew full well how selfish it was of him, but he could not help it. Despite what the nature of their relationship was now, it did not simply suddenly erase the deep care and affection he had for her. The drive to protect her from harm and take care of her where he could. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ "You are more than welcome to stay," he added on, needing to say something before his gaze betrayed him. Or, before far too revealing words came out. Benedict had after all, not always been skilled in withholding his emotions and thoughts. Often expressive on his features or words falling from his tongue without second thought. No. It was not right of him to express either of these things . . . not when he had to honor her decision to no longer be with him. He needed to remain very mindful of that. Yet, could not help but feel . . . touched that she sought him out, and wished to remain here. Shifting his gaze, he proceeded to continue to wipe the blood. "Would you be more comfortable in something else?" He asked. Clothing wise of course. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ Surely she would not be comfortable in her current dress, yet Benedict was limited in what he could offer her. "Unfortunately, I do not have spare dresses here," he said in lighter tone, the words meant to be a bit of a joke yet they held truth. "One might worry if I did," he added on. "But perhaps a shirt, so that you may rest comfortably." With her petite size, it may as well be a dress. He just, needed to keep his mind practical. Thinking of what she needed right now. Safety. Care. Comfort. Not . . . his emotions, nor intimate words, nor expression of how much fear and worry he felt for her. Withholding this all in was . . . suffocating. Especially considering how freely he had been himself around her. Now, he had to swallow everything back, and he was unsure how long it would even last. Tag lennie3 Note: Better layout coming soon! Ben is realllyy suffering with holding back his emotions here! Dude is going to burst soon me thinks!! hahah!

                        the rules of society.

[lennie3]

Genevieve loathed the apology coming from his lips. It was not that she hated it in and of itself, it was merely the fact Benedict felt he needed to apolgize to her she could not accept. The history between them had barely had time to become history yet and despite it all there was nothing she could think of he needed to apologize for. If she was honest they had both used each other, at least in the beginning, and it had become more than simply the physical bliss intended and ultimately Genevieve had been unable to ignore the growing concerns in her mind. They had been going to far, too fast, getting too deeply intimate with one another in ways which would never work out well for either of them; she had needed to be the practical one, the realist forcing them to face the facts of the world they lived in.

But she could still hate his apparent need to apologize.

Her gaze followed his movements, watching as he dipped the cloth back into the bowl of water before wringing it out. She gasped lightly as she watched the water turn a pinkish hue, obviously tinted by the blood he wiped from her skin. Genevieve wondered how it had looked when she made her way to his home in Bloomsbury, suddenly grateful for the protection from view the darkness would have provided her.

It had been such a risk in the first place to even make her way over to his Bloomsbury residence. She had no assurance he had not spent the night at his mother's home, that he had not found his way into another bed. Genevieve had no fanciful dreams she had not shared his attentions with others, and now she did not have the slightest claim to his attention. But the idea of being alone had been haunting enough for her to risk the disappointment of him not wishing to see her on his doorstep. Though whether he had not wanted her there or not Genevieve knew his heart was far too kind to ever turn her away.

She sighed, whispering a quiet, "I'm sorry." She scoffed lightly at herself, she hadn't liked to hear his apology and the irony did not escape her, "blood is not the easiest to get out of any material," Genevieve frowned, and perhaps it was the professional in her who was displeased to see the handkerchief stained this way. But it was not a potentially ruined handkerchief she was sorry for and Genevieve hoped he knew that, that he could read between lines of her whispered words and understand they meant so much more than what was obvious. She realised she must have given him a fright showing up the way she had; after the last time they had seen each other her presence would have been the last thing he would expect, and in this state it could not have been anything but a shock.

The breath she let out when he confirmed to her she could stay was audibly relieved, a small smile, a happy smile, spreading on her lips and Genevieve's gaze found his, "thank you." She had wanted to stay. But it was no longer her place to assume she fit into his life, that there was a space for her in his home this way. All things considered her mere presence in his drawing room should have been intrusion enough but oh how she had hoped he would tell her she could stay. Her heart finally felt like it could settle in her chest with the knowledge she would be able to stay. Genevieve knew nothing between them would be possible to change, there were things in life and society which would always remain the way they were and the impossibility of a shared future between them was one of those things.

But for one more night Genevieve would revel in the bliss of his presence.

Genevieve chuckled softly. She had not expected him to keep many dresses around his bachelor lodgings. "I believe a shirt would be fine," she said, withdrawing her hand from his to pick at her dress, it was dirty and ripped in places and Genevieve scanned over the tears assessing them with a professional eye. From what she could tell it was nothing she should not be able to mend should she wish to do so, at this moment Genevieve was uncertain it was a dress she would ever wish to see again. At this very moment she could not think of anything better than getting out of it, "it would be nice to get out of this dress," the brunette mused, a contemplatory furrow in her brow and she pursed her lips.

tag Benedict Bridgerton .

[Benedict Bridgerton]

I'm not bound by                                  

Benedict listened to her apologize for the stain of the blood and he immediately wished to discourage her from any apology. "There is no need for apology," he immediately said. He almost added on to her words, teasing, that should he require clean cloth . . . he knew a fantastic modiste he could seek advice from. Perhaps, before, it was something he could tease about. It was after all, something he had playfully and flirtatiously remarked on. But now . . . it served as a painful reminder. That that was a reason they could not be together. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ That her being of a different status than he, was a reason they could not be together. It felt odd, and uncomfortable that he now need to guard his words in front of her where as before, they had flowed out so naturally. How incredibly unsettling. And he didn't like it. But, there was nothing he could do to change it. He knew that now and . . . perhaps he just needed more time to accept it. So instead of offering a tease or playful remark about her role in society that placed such impossibility between them for a future, he remained practical and safe in his words. "I would much prefer it on the material than on you." Perhaps, not as safe as what he could have said but never the less, the words came out. Emotion in them, and of course . . . the words meant in a far greater extent, for he never wished to see any blood on her. Blood caused by such vile monsters who would dare do this to her. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ Ringing the cloth again, he brought it back to gently wipe the remainder of the blood, having gotten most of it off her face for now. He offered another small, soft smile when she told him a shirt would be fine after thanking him, and saying it would be nice to get out of the dress. Another moment that Benedict had to bite his tongue during. Flashes of their past times together, playfully removing the clothing off on another's body. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ Building the teasing nature that so effortlessly formed between them. And yet now, her removing her dress was more of practicality rather than burning desire. She would remove it to be more comfortable, not to allow him to touch her and give as well as gain pleasure. The nature of them had so drastically changed and so quickly, that Benedict continued to feel the struggle of swallowing back his emotions and forcing words that required thought and care. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ "I should send for a physician," he told her, trying to do anything -- say anything -- that would distract him from daring to let his emotions escape. "It seems you have further injuries that . . . perhaps he can better examine." On her body. Benedict wanted to look out of sheer concern for her. Wanting to see the extent of what these villains did. Yet, he lacked the right. He had no claim to do such a thing and . . . he was almost afraid to ask. For now, as he was unsure whether that mind set would change throughout the duration of their conversations. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ When her face was clean of blood, he set the cloth down, and looked over her face. His fingers hovered over the evident bruise, barley touching her skin as his eyes held the sadness and concern of what she went through and the pain she may still be in. "If you would allow me to take you upstairs, you can get more comfortable there." Both by being on a bed and by changing out of her torn dress. Yet he had to be mindful to ask for permission. As he had to keep reminding himself . . . he had no right to touch her, nor take any liberties with her. Not anymore. Tag lennie3 Note: Better layout coming soon!

                        the rules of society.

[lennie3]

Her days were spent being attentive not only to the needs and wishes of her clients, but also to their gossip. Genevieve knew the sign of anyone, man or woman, holding back their words and carefully considering every sentence before speaking. Benedict was doing just that in a way which he never had felt the need to around her before. He was not to blame in any way for it and yet ignoring the pain in her tightening chest as she came to the realization was damn near impossible.

It was her fault. She was the one who had insisted they needed to end things between them, the one who knew she had fallen for a man so wonderful despite her better judgement. Genevieve had always been so sure her involvement with Benedict would not cause her any trouble because she did not need him, she did well financially, she did not need him to pay her rent or support her. But instead the false sense of security she had lulled herself into had allowed her to get close to him and once that happened she had been a fool.

The irony of them both apologizing to each other, and denying the need for those same apologies, for things which they never would have dreamed of apologizing was not loset on her. Things had changed between them and Genevieve loathed the distance which now existed between them. Somehow it felt like a lifetime ago when they had shared their hopes for their lives with each other in her flat that first night they spent together there; things had seemed so wonderful and simple then.

"If it would not be any trouble, I believe that may be the best course of action," she agreed quietly. Being close to him like this was difficult, and while Genevieve swas not sure she did not need a physcian it would be nice to have someone else in the room for a moment if only not just to diffuse the tension.

Casting her gaze down Genevieve watched her fingers move on their own accord, a small frown on her face as she curled her fingers around the cuff of his sleeve. Her fingers brushed across the inside of his wrist and Genevieve withdrew her hand. It was a simple touch and not long ago it would've been the beginning of something. She knew she'd touch his wrist and draw his attention to her, slow touches trailing to remove clothing. Asking his forgiveness for the words she had said would have been so easy, to plead with him to fall back into the comfort of their old ways. It did not seem possible, so much had happened between them and going back felt impossible no matter how much she wished there was something which could have been done to change how it had ended.

Her eyes snapped up to his when he more or less asked permission to take her upstairs, surprise evident across her features until she forced a slight smile. Genevieve nodded, "that would be lovely, thank you," unable to tear her eyes away from his as he tenderly stroked her face; she wanted more than nothing to just lean into his touch. She knew he had insisted she did not need to thank him, and yet the words of gratitude kept spilling from her. Her body ached and the idea of getting more comfortable than wearing her, although loosened, dress while sitting on his couch felt like the defintion of temptation.

Using the armrest of the couch as leverage she pushed herself to her feet, her hand grasping onto his forearm tightly and Genevieve winced. "I may need some assistance to get upstairs," she admitted with slight hesitation, and Genevieve paused, swallowing, before she continued, "would you help me with my dress?"

tag Benedict Bridgerton .

[Benedict Bridgerton]

I'm not bound by                                  

Benedict could feel his heart ache, the loss of her in his life not even remotely healed and yet . . . here she was. Here they were. In moments that could have been so different. In a situation that could have been so different. Where he could hold her, and let himself express the pain and fear over what had happened to her. Where he could kiss her to let her know that she was safe, and cared for. There was so much he wished he could do in this moment . . . yet, he could do nothing. Suppressing his emotions was not a strong suit of Benedict's; withholding himself from how he felt was a struggle. And now, he felt it as a weight hold him down. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ But he had to remind himself that the most important thing, above all else . . . was her. She came here out of trust, knowing that he would not betray that nor her decision. And he would not. He could never. But that made it no easier to bare as he just looked at her, as her fingers touched his skin and as he longed for nothing more than to kiss her softly. "None at all," he assured her when she said if it was not too much trouble, her words breaking him out of this trance. Which, was certainly for the best. When she began to move, Benedict quickly rose to his feet in preparation to support her, his hand instinctively going around her so that she could lean into him. The pain she felt was agonizing to him, once again wishing he could rid her of it all. Wishing he could do more for her. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ She spoke of needing assistance to go upstairs and . . . once again, Benedict had to think for a moment, knowing that what he wished to do had been so effortless before. So casual. So, easy. Yet now, there was an entirely different tone to it. But still. "If you would permit me to . . . " He began to say, and with that, gently scooped her in his arms and lifted her up. His words though presumed, also allowed her the chance to reject this action . . . and he would immediately put her down. So he bore that in mind as he carried her, moving up the stairs carefully and hoping that he was not putting her in a painful position. He tried not to look at her as he carried her, trying to avert his gaze to anywhere else, using the logic of looking forward so that he could be mindful of his steps . . . when it really was just an excuse. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ As he had previously decided, he knew the most comfortable bed in his house was his own. As he stepped through the threshold of his room, felt relief that the bed had remained made and untouched, considering he had dozed off in his chair. Slightly pushing the crumpled papers in his path with his feet, he made to to his bed, carefully setting her down on it. He knew that this should feel odd, but it did not. Even in their current situation where their relationship had been severed . . . it still remained. There was still that comfort that he knew just didn't go away all of a sudden. He moved to his closet, searching through his clothing until he found a suitable shirt that he hoped would be comfortable for her to change into whenever she was ready. He set it on the side table, setting his gaze back on her. He reached for the pitcher of water, pouring it into a glass and offering it to her. "I will send for the physician," he told her, and yet . . . did not want to leave her alone for a moment. Tag lennie3 Note: Better layout coming soon!

                        the rules of society.

[lennie3]

Genevieve did not know what she meant when she told him she'd need help to get up the stairs, perhaps it had been an arm to lean against but maybe it was this. She had never doubted her words or her actions around Benedict while they were together. But they were not people who would part as friends once what they had came to an end. Yet in her time of need she had not gone to any of her friends, she had gone to him. Now Genevieve was realising just how confusing his presence was to her, how confusing her mind had become. She closed her eyes as he lifted her into his arms, head falling against his shoulder naturally and she knew she should've shifted somehow to make it less intimate and yet she remained, eyes stubbornly shut as they ascended the staircase.

It was not until she felt herself being set down onto the bedspread that she opened her eyes. Her gaze found him immediately watching him as he raided through his closet for a shirt for her to wear and Genevieve smiled softly. She liked this. She liked seeing him take care of her and in her state it was so very tempting to let herself enjoy it. The smile on her lips was beginning to feel reminiscent as Genevieve toed off her shoes, folding her legs underneath her. Despite how things had changed between them it felt comfortable still, being in his chambers on his bed it did not make her feel out of place. Once he turned back to her with the glass of water Genevieve cast her gaze away from him for the first time, staring intently at the wall behind him instead as she took the glass from his hands, "thank you."

She was becoming really tired of saying those words, there'd been a time not so long ago when they hadn't needed to tell each other when they were grateful for something.

Genevieve cleared her throat, "yes of course, that is very considerate of you," she hummed, clutching the glass in her hands, it felt ridiculous. Never before had her words felt forced around him, never had she struggled to figure out how to express herself. Things had once been so simple. Weeks ago she would've showed up with a smile, they would have laughed and pulled at each other's clothing unable to get enough of each other's company. One conversation had changed all that and somehow it had still changed nothing at all.

But getting out of the dress had not been a terrible thought, despite how it was loosened around her ribs it still ached and Genevieve slid off the bed. Standing with her back against him she tugged at the strands of the dress, sliding her arms through the fabric to let it pool at her feet and soon her chemise followed. She picked the shirt off the side table and her fingers pressed into the soft linen of the shirt as she put it on, doing up the buttons before she turned around once more.

Somehow she felt more vulnerable now, standing barefeet in his chambers wearing his shirt. He had never seen her like this, he had seen her vulnerable with her hair in messy curls framing her face. But this was different, Genevieve knew he had seen the bruises forming along her torso as she changed. This was a different kind of vulnerable and one she had never expected she would need to share with anyone, and yet here she was sharing it with the man she perhaps had the least right to do so with. She remained standing a few steps away from him and Genevieve acknowledged to herself how it was just another sign as to how things had changed, how she did not lean into him, trailing her fingers over the buttons of his shirt as she looked up at him with a sultry smile. Instead she stood firmly in her spot, hands tightly fisted together at her sides, trying her best to avoid looking at him even as she craved nothing more than the comfort and safety his embrace provided.

tag Benedict Bridgerton .

[Benedict Bridgerton]

I'm not bound by                                  

Benedict hated that she felt she had to thank him and yet . . . knew it was necessary. There needed to be some sort of formality between them, even though it certainly did not feel like it. Yet, as he had previously acknowledged . . . in all that they shared, it was impossible for it to suddenly disappear in an instant. It was why there had needed to be distance between them. But now, seeing her here with him . . . it was getting increasingly difficult to remember that he was not allowed to touch her. And if the thought hadn't been a struggle enough then, she slid off the bed and . . . proceeded to remove her dress. Benedict was unsure how he thought she was going to get changed. Would he have offered her assistance? Should he have just left the room? An odd thing, for she could reveal nothing that he had not seen -- nor touched -- before and yet, he knew he'd lost the right to look at her. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ He turned his head to the side, trying to keep his breathing steady and his heart from racing. The gentlemanly thing to do would be to leave; to grant her her privacy. Yet, he stayed, in case she needed help. In case there was anything he could do to assist her. She had not asked him to leave, so he also took that as a sign that she did not mind him staying while she dressed in fresh clothing. But, he would not betray that by watching her longingly or worse, emotionally. Though, whether it was temptation or curiosity that prompted him . . . he lacked the strength to slightly avert her eyes to glance at her, and what he saw was enough to keep his gaze in place. The bruising on her skin. He felt that familiar ache intensify, that returning anger coursing through him. Having to fight the urge to hunt down whoever did this and make them pay. Once the skin was covered with the fabric of his shirt, he turned his gaze to the side again, his head never having shifted from his turned position, while his body remained facing her and her back, to him. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ Once she was properly dressed, she turned to face him once more . . . his eyes belatedly meeting hers as if he silently wanted her to know that he was not looking. That he was not taking advantage of her in her current state. Even if he had in fact, peeked. But it did nothing to help, seeing her dressed in his shirt, standing before him in this state. He could have been standing nude in front of her, and he still would not feel as vulnerable nor exposed as he did now. He longed for nothing more than to touch her. But not in a way that would lead to more, physical relations. No. He wanted to soothe her, and comfort her. He wanted to ease the clenching of her fists, by moving his hands from her shoulders, down her arms to ease that strain. He wanted to gently pull her towards him and carefully wrap his arms around her to hold her. He wanted to whisper in her ear that he was so sorry this had happened to her and for all the pain she was enduring. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ But . . . he could do nothing. He could not betray her decision nor trust in coming here. No matter how much it pained him -- physically, emotionally, mentally -- pained him to stand so idly and do nothing. Offer nothing. Other than a damn shirt. "I um--" He knew he had to say something. It would only take a step and a half to close the distance between them. He slightly clenched his jaw, biting back any words from escaping him that would compromise them further. At the end, he just repeated himself. "I will send for the physician." He must have sounded rather foolish, having already said that exact same thing yet made no action to do so. This time, he had to add action to it. And not the kind that would draw him closer to her. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ So instead, he bent down, and picked up her dress and chemise, setting it on the back of his chair. The gesture all too familiar for it had often prompted a tease of when they undressed each other, and the playful care they put into their attire as it was divested from their bodies. He paused at the chair, trying not to let such thoughts linger as he went to the door, and once more paused at the threshold. He turned his head to somewhat look at her, though could not fully turn his body. He was weakening and there was only so much self control that any man could exercise in such a situation. ◈   ◈   ◈  ◈  ◈ "I shall return momentarily," he told her, before fully walking out of the room, and immediately going down the stairs. He had to pause once at the bottom, really only having even made it down that far so that she would hear him descend. But he leaned against the wall, as if trying to catch his breath, or perhaps allowing him to breathe. He didn't know. He just needed a moment to regain his composure, to let his emotions settle though it seemed impossible. And once they did, sent word to a physician that he knew he could trust to take care of his Genevieve. Tag lennie3

                        the rules of society.

[lennie3]

The thought lingered in her mind that she should have asked for privacy. But it was Benedict, he had seen her undress so many times before and she had never been particularly modest. Momentarily she had felt his gaze on her, burning hot against her skin, and familiar in a comforting sense. Somehow it had almost felt shameful, that he would see her like this, when she was hurt and vulnerable in a different sense than he had ever seen before. Benedict was one of the few people who'd seen her vulnerable and yet he had never seen her like this. He was the only one she'd allow to see her like this. Then again, it would always be different with him, there would always be a tension there due to the past they shared. Genevieve had not wanted him to leave. That was the simple answer. She wanted him there, not because she wanted him to see her undress but because even just his presence brought her the feeling of safety and comfort she needed. She knew she could not touch him, not when she had been the one to insist they didn't see each other anymore, it wouldn't be fair to him; but he made her feel safe, just by seeing him she felt safe.

Even as he took a few steps closer to her the distance between them had never felt further. It wasn't that they had always felt the need to talk when they were together. A lot of the time their mouths had been occupied doing anything but talk. But there had also been times when they had just been comfortable to let silence linger. They had been able to enjoy each other's company without feeling the need to speak. The distance felt so far now, as if even when he stood close enough to touch he was impossible to reach and she hated the feeling.

Genevieve gasped as he finally did move, mouth falling open slightly as she watched him pick her clothing off the floor. She recalled the two of them spending so long slowly stripping each other of their clothes, treating each other's clothes with more respect than it really required. Now she could not help but feel touched he would still treat her clothing with the same kindness they used to before. Her surprise turned into a small smile as she watched him gently place down her clothes on the chair. Her gaze followed him as he moved, unable to take her eyes off him and unable to stop herself from smiling.

He kept showing her he cared, in so many differerent ways and in a terribly selfish way it hurt. She could not help but feel she didn't deserve the care and kindness he was showing her. Genevieve knew how affairs between noblemen and their mistresses ended, and it was not by the men taking care of their former mistresses because they had been mugged. But in a rather self-indulgent way Genevieve had never quite seen herself as his mistress. Their relationship had not felt quite so superficial, and she had not needed him, not the same way many women who took on the role as a man's mistress did. She would never be his equal, first of all she was a woman, but despite her status in their society and her gender during the time they shared he had never made her feel any less than him. But no matter what she had been to him the facts remained that she had ended what they had shared and now as she spent time in his company it was so easy to long for him.

As Benedict turned his head to look at her Genevieve offered him a weak smile. True to his words this time he left, and Genevieve pulled her lip into her mouth, worrying it with her teeth. She looked after him as he left, exhaling shakily and the trembling breath left her as she shuddered, sinking onto the bed once more. It was hard. Being this close to him when he was no longer hers was hard, because he still felt like hers in her heart and yet her mind and reason had declared that could not be the way it was. She wondered if it had been easier had he grown tired of her and she had simply been discarded; most likely not, not if she still felt this way about him. But even so, this was not easy either, not when all she wanted was for him to hold her, to bury his fingers in her dark hair and kiss her until she forgot ever bad memory she had acquired during the evening.

This was a good thing. Not having Benedict in the room gave her a moment to collect herself and Genevieve breathed slowly, deeply as she folded her hands together on her lap. The distance wasn't working. It did not work when she knew he was just downstairs, when he was ensuring a physican would come to his home and care for her. In an attempt to distract herself Genevieve pulled the hair comb out of her hair, combing through her locks with her fingers, braiding it despite not having a tie to secure it with she let the finished braid hang loosely down her back. Sighing Genevieve returned her attention to the doorway, watching it remain empty, waiting to see Benedict appear again.

tag Benedict Bridgerton .