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Post by Connor Morrison on Mar 30, 2021 15:23:54 GMT
Tag: bunny Thread: Conversations by Candlelight Notes: N/AConnor could not precisely say he had expected to find Granville lying drunk on the floor. From what he had witnessed at past parties, the painter generally tended to keep a relatively clear head, even as he joined in on the fun. He still had the role of host to play, after all. The man's mere drunkenness, however, would not have been enough to arouse Connor's suspicion on its own — after all, given the temptations of this place, one could hardly fault a man for overindulging on occasion, even if that man in question was the host. There was no harm in that.
What did seem out of place, however, was the sheer look of abject misery on the artist's face. It was subtle, almost hidden underneath the lethargy of intoxication, but it was there all the same. That was a far stranger sight than any other part of this scene. Something, clearly, must have happened tonight. What that might be, Connor couldn't guess. The sense of absolute freedom did tend to go to people's heads in this place, and more than once, Connor had witnessed fights break out over perceived slights and petty arguments. Granville did not look as though he had been in any sort of physical brawl, but perhaps he had gotten himself mixed up in some verbal spat or another.
The legs of the chair squeaked softly along the wooden floor as Connor pushed it back, rose to his feet, and settled down beside Granville on the floor, legs bent and forearms resting on his knees. A rather informal position, in most circumstances, but there was nothing formal about this place, especially not at this time of night. "Quite a good night, yes." A standard answer. Gently, the Scotsman picked up the glass that Granville had just drained and moved it pointedly aside. "Indulged a little too much, Henry, have we?" There was a careful note of concern in the question. |
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Post by Connor Morrison on Mar 29, 2021 23:01:23 GMT
Tag: bunny Thread: Conversations by Candlelight Notes: N/AIt was inevitable, in Connor's quest to figure out what on earth brought Benedict Bridgerton to Granville's parties, that he would end up questioning Henry Granville himself. He had put that step off as long as possible — it was, after all, rather awkward to ask a man openly why he had chosen to invite someone to a party like this. Connor's best efforts to find the answer in other ways, however, had proven rather useless. He had learned easily enough that the young Bridgerton fellow was decently fond of drink and that he favoured the company of women like Madame Delacroix and Mrs. Granville, but that told him little. So much could be said of any man of the ton. What he had not managed to discern was how Benedict had managed to snag himself an invitation in the first place. The Scotsman understood Granville to be rather careful with his invitations; after all, if he invited the wrong person who might then turn around and inform the gossip rags, the reputations of dozens of men and women could end up ruined in a matter of days. How, then, had he known that a Bridgerton boy, of all things, could prove trustworthy?
That was a question that would have to be put to Granville himself. Connor had bided his time throughout the evening, straddling the line between enough drunkenness to enjoy himself and enough sobriety to keep a clear head, until the guests had begun to trickle their way out. He had, by that point in the evening, stripped down to his usual state of undress for these evenings, with his waistcoat, stays, and jacket long discarded and his braces hanging down from his waistband. Holding a drink in one hand, he leaned against the open doorframe of the artist's room and watched with vague interest as the last few stragglers exited. When, at last, the room was empty apart from Granville, Connor entered and dropped down into one of the vacant chairs with an indulgent sigh.
"Granville, my dear friend." He paused to take a sip of his brandy, held it on his tongue for a moment, then swallowed. "Spare a moment of your time?" |
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Post by Connor Morrison on Mar 28, 2021 21:07:21 GMT
Chosing the right partner was always a deucedly complex matter. In a better world, it should have been simple: men and women could just choose a partner that suited them best, for whatever reasons they desired, and that would be as complicated as it ever got. In the world they inhabited, however, there were a thousand factors to consider. There might be a girl who danced well enough, but she might have an ambitious mother who would come hounding any partner she chose; there might be a girl with witty conversation, but whose scandal last season meant that a gentleman's reputation would sink just from being associated with her; there might be, in short, any number of social pitfalls.
Luckily, in his perusal of the room, Connor's gaze hit upon a welcome distraction: the sight of Dr. Hippolyte Barthélemy, not far from where they stood. He had been intending to introduce the Frenchman to Benedict when he next got the chance. "Well, I shall have to think the matter over," he replied to Benedict, shooting the Englishman a smirk and a roll of his eyes to acknowledge the man's little jests. "For now, there is a friend I should like you to meet. Come with me, won't you?" And with that, he set off in Barthélemy's direction, trusting Benedict to follow. |
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Post by Connor Morrison on Mar 28, 2021 18:50:08 GMT
Connor made little attempt to hide the flash of self-congratulatory satisfaction that shot across his face at Benedict's remark. He enjoyed admiration no matter what source it came from, but it was all the better when it came from an individual in whom he had a personal interest. He quite liked the idea of Benedict regarding him as impressive. He certainly intended to live up to the man's expectations — in his own estimation, his skills on the dance floor were second only to his skills in the operating theatres and dissecting rooms.
The question as to his intended partner, however, gave him pause. He was new enough in London that he hadn't had the chance to meet many of the young women. A few, he had met in previous years, but there were a fair amount who were on their first season out. It would not do to choose a partner with no skill at dancing. "A very fine question," he replied thoughtfully, letting his gaze trail over the crowd to study the throngs of young women. "I should not like to find myself with a poor dancer. Perhaps you might advise me, Mr. Bridgerton — if it is your custom to watch rather than dance, you must know which women have any talent." |
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Post by Connor Morrison on Mar 28, 2021 2:26:27 GMT
Dancing, in Connor's experience, tended to divide men's opinions. He had scarcely ever met a woman who did not thoroughly enjoy dancing, but men seemed to either love it or hate it. A good deal of men, including his dear friend Anwyl, seemed to find the act either tedious or embarrassing, if not both. The ones who enjoyed it varied in their reasoning — some enjoyed the intimacy it afforded with the women, some enjoyed dancing simply for the sake of it, and some enjoyed the chance to show off their footwork to the whole room. Connor tended towards the last of the three.
It was not so odd to him that Benedict might fall into the category of men who disliked dancing. He might not quite be an expert in every detail of London society, but he was quite well aware of how much the Bridgerton family sat at the centre of gossip. It stood to reason that Benedict might not particularly enjoy the gossip that came with stepping onto the dance floor.
Leaning aside a little to rest his elbow against the wall beside him, he replied airily, "Oh, I never miss a chance to dance, Mr. Bridgerton. I am quite looking forward to it. It would be unbecoming to brag, but I consider myself rather skilled in the art. You ought to come onto the dance floor at least once tonight." |
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Post by Connor Morrison on Mar 28, 2021 0:42:58 GMT
It was rather amusing — and thrilling — to voice such blatant references to the things they had shared at Granville's party, safe in the knowledge that no one around them would have the least idea what any of it meant. Even if anyone overheard them, which no one was likely to do in such a noisy and crowded ballroom, the conversation would seem innocent enough. It was the sort of careful dance Connor thoroughly enjoyed, finding ways to speak of the unspeakable right out in public.
He shared a smile with the Bridgerton brother as he lifted his own champagne flute and let the glass clink against the side of Benedict's in a toast. "Different indeed," he agreed. "I do prefer brandy to champagne, I think, but every drink has its charms. As does every event." Again, a simple statement loaded with a bit more meaning than than the words themselves might imply. There was a glint in Connor's eye as he raised his glass back to his lips to take a sip, before adding, "Do you intend to dance tonight, Mr. Bridgerton?" |
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Post by Connor Morrison on Mar 27, 2021 23:31:04 GMT
Tag: lennie3 Thread: Investigating Mr. Bridgerton Notes: N/AConnor supposed that he shouldn't have found the development all that surprising. In a place like this, where pleasure flowed as freely as wine, people rarely thought twice of seeking new avenues of enjoyment. A man who shuddered at the thought of sex with a stranger on the night of his first party might well be ducking under the skirts of half a dozen girls on the night of his tenth.
Benedict had simply gotten there a little faster than most, it seemed. If, as Genevieve said, it had more or less come about as a coincidence, that was not quite as surprising as it had seemed at first. Benedict still appeared to be positively drunk on the sheer level of freedom these parties gave him. If he was already with one of the women and another passed by, then... well, no one could fault the man for taking advantage of such a convenient opportunity.
With one last rattling clearing of his throat, Connor shook his head again and took another swig of brandy — this time, more carefully. It still burned a little going down, thanks to his earlier sputtering, but he managed to get it down. "Well," he said, still hoarse, "that man is full of surprises. You certainly were not exaggerating when you said that he could satisfy a woman, if he could keep up with Mrs. Granville. I suppose I shall have to congratulate him." |
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Post by Connor Morrison on Mar 27, 2021 21:19:12 GMT
For the most part, Connor did not pay much mind to which particular individuals he wished to find at any ball. Given how well-attended the London season always proved to be, there was never any shortage of interesting people at these events. If anything, Connor was more apt to find that he hadn't had the time to speak with many people as he wanted.
That was certainly likely to be the case tonight, considering how much time he had dedicated to spending with Benedict. But that was no matter, really — there would be plenty of other balls that he could spend mingling to his heart's content.
Shrugging lightly, he took another sip of his champagne and replied, "Oh, few people of any real consequence. A handful of colleagues I ought to find. For now, I simply intend to enjoy the champagne." There was no one he was particularly desperate to avoid; some, like Guthrie, were rather unpleasant, but there was no one he outright loathed. The only person in particular he meant to find was Dr. Barthélemy — he would certainly find Benedict interesting. He would save that, however, until the Frenchman happened to pass. |
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Post by Connor Morrison on Mar 27, 2021 18:49:23 GMT
Tag: lennie3 Thread: Investigating Mr. Bridgerton Notes: N/AIt was always pleasant to have a chance to make these sorts of jokes without the risk of scandalising the whole room. It reminded him of his student days, in an odd way — medical students did not get their reputation from nowhere, and the circle Connor had run in had certainly lived up to the worst stereotypes of the boisterous, licentious, drunken young men who attended the University of Edinburgh. In the early days, they had gotten away with all of that, but once it came time to put in the serious work, they had been left with two options: grow up or drop out. At least half of the young men chose the latter. Those who were left had to at least pretend to be proper, sophisticated men if they wished to get anywhere in the profession.
At least these parties gave back a taste of that freedom again. It wasn't the same, of course — nothing could quite capture the experience of youth. But at least it was something.
He had thought that nothing could manage to surprise him, in this place. Even seeing Benedict with Genevieve had not really shocked him. Genevieve's casual mention of Lucy Granville, however, managed to take him aback so much that he sputtered on his brandy. "She— what?!" He knew that Granville's wife slept around, of course; that was not the bit that surprised him. It was the fact that Benedict, on one of his first visits, had been bold enough to engage two women at the same time. Once he had managed to clear his throat of the brandy that had choked him, he managed to rasp out, "My fucking word. Seems Mr. Bridgerton is not quite as wide-eyed as I thought him to be. Both of you, at the same time?" |
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Post by Connor Morrison on Mar 27, 2021 17:52:22 GMT
Tag: lennie3 Thread: Investigating Mr. Bridgerton Notes: N/ATruth be told, Connor was rather curious to see Benedict's artwork, if only out of sheer curiosity. He hardly expected the man to be on the level of someone like Granville, but Connor doubted whether Benedict was quite so terrible as he seemed to believe himself to be. He had to have some modicum of talent. It seemed to be a rather delicate subject, however, and Connor was not entirely sure how best to bring the matter up — something told him Benedict would only demur if he asked to see the man's art outright.
Evidently, that curiosity was not something he and Genevieve shared. He had to suppress a snort at her reply — there, again, was that signature Delacroix boldness. She certainly had a fondness for taking advantage of the opportunity to speak her mind in a place like this. He supposed he could hardly blame her, given how much polite society expected young women to hold their tongues.
He understood that she must have meant 'our company' in broad terms, not in specific, but he could not pass up the opportunity to make a bit of a crude joke out of her phrasing. "Our company?" he drawled. "Why, Madame Delacroix, if I did not know better, I would suspect you were inviting me to join in on your fun. Entirely improper of you." |
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Post by Connor Morrison on Mar 27, 2021 17:32:55 GMT
Truthfully, Connor had not known whether Benedict would be keen to see him at all at this soirée. They had gotten on well enough at Granville's party, but in Connor's experience, even those who enjoyed each other's company in that sort of context tended to avoid each other in public settings. That was sensible enough, in all fairness — if one had bonded with another over a gambling table or a painting session with a nude model, that was not the sort of connection one would wish to flaunt in a high society ball like this.
He was gratified to find that they seemed to get along quite as well in this ballroom as they had in the garden of Granville's home. The same easy, effortless understanding still existed between them. That was rare to find, in places like this. It almost made Connor regret that he would only be in London for the rest of the season; he would have liked to make a permanent friend of Mr. Bridgerton.
The antics that Benedict was proposing were so positively juvenile that the anatomist had to hide his sudden snicker of laughter with a quick press of his champagne glass against his lips. For a moment, he was almost tempted to go along with the plan. Unfortunately, as amusing as the prospect was, angering a well-regarded colleague was hardly advisable. "You are positively a menace, Mr. Bridgerton," he remarked, shaking his head in amusement. "Really, I see why your poor mother tries to keep a tight lead on you." |
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Post by Connor Morrison on Mar 27, 2021 1:32:51 GMT
Connor made no attempt to hide the way his lips twitched in amusement at the eagerness Benedict displayed in accepting the proffered glass of champagne. He could hardly blame the man — his own mother was not quite so meddlesome as Lady Bridgerton, but whenever Connor was obliged to attend events with her, she, too, was continually on the prowl for fine young ladies with whom she could force Connor into conversation. He was very well acquainted with the unpleasant nature of these balls when attended with one's family.
He was tactful enough, however, to make no further remark upon it. If Benedict had come over to escape, then an escape was what Connor would provide. Once the band struck up and the dancing started, Connor would have to excuse himself to take part, but that part of the evening was still a long way off. For now, he could spare his attention and his time.
The Englishman's flattery touched him rather genuinely. He was sure that it was only partially sincere on Benedict's part, as the man did have an undeniable ulterior motive, but even so, it was endearing. There were few things Connor liked better than flattery, in any case, whether it was sincere or not. After a pause to take a sip of his own champagne, he dropped his voice into a low tone to match Benedict's and replied, "Oh, you are doing me as much of a favour as I am doing you, my dear Bridgerton. If I take leave of you now and make so much as one step to my right, I shall be obliged to speak to Mr. Guthrie. Horrible fellow. You and I are quite dependent upon each other for safety." |
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Post by Connor Morrison on Mar 26, 2021 15:35:35 GMT
Tag: lennie3 Thread: Investigating Mr. Bridgerton Notes: N/AConnor's expression grew rather contemplative, as he leaned back against the doorframe. Lazily, his eyes slid their way over the milling crowd passing through the corridors — some stumbling on with drunken, raucous, unrestrained cries, some slinking like furtive cats as if fearing the ton's gaze might find them even here. Most of them, Connor recognised only in a vague way. He had not been in London long enough to start learning many names, but he had a good eye for faces, and at least half of the people in this house had at least passed by him at some ball or another.
In some way, that was comforting. It was pleasant to know how many of London's elites had sins to hide. Oh, everyone could guess that much, certainly — but there was a special comfort in knowing for certain. Connor would not have liked to admit it, even to himself, but a part of him enjoyed knowing that he was not alone in hiding certain things under the charade of perfection.
"Mmm." In the din of the house, Connor's soft hum of agreement was barely audible. Keeping his gaze still turned away to watch the stream of people, he lifted his glass and almost drained it. "Fair enough, I suppose. Have you seen his art? Doesn't seem to think highly of it himself." |
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Post by Connor Morrison on Mar 26, 2021 13:34:05 GMT
Connor took a moment to run his gaze appraisingly over Benedict. He had not been quite so undone at Granville's party as Connor had been, but his appearance now was certainly a far cry from what it had been then. He would win no awards for the most fashionable of men in this room, in Connor's opinion, but he did clean up well, and it was clear that he had spent a decent sum of money on his evening attire. Embroidery on the collar was an odd choice, but the bees were rather endearing. Connor made a mental note to ask about those, when he had the chance.
Finally returning his gaze to Benedict's face, he offered the man another brief smile before turning away just long enough to snag a glass of champagne from a passing servant, which he held out for Benedict to take. Poor fellow looked as though he needed it; Connor had attended enough balls to know the look of a man who was desperately trying to avoid someone, and that was precisely the look that Benedict had plastered all over him now.
"Please, Bridgerton," he said, "I assure you, the pleasure is all mine." Not at all a lie — as much as he had been intrigued to see the ways Benedict chose to cut loose in the safety of Granville's home, he was equally as intrigued to see how the man comported himself in a more public setting. "Escaped your mother successfully, I see?" |
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Post by Connor Morrison on Mar 25, 2021 15:01:02 GMT
Tag: lennie3 Thread: Investigating Mr. Bridgerton Notes: N/AAs much as Connor was rather disinterested in the rest of the Bridgerton family on a personal level, he had to admit that it would have been dreadfully amusing to see their reactions to finding out that Benedict spent his time in a place like this. He did not need to know much about Anthony or Violet in particular to know that any heads of the family would positively swoon to learn half of the things that went on in a place like this, let alone to learn that the darling second son took part in them.
Really, the more time that one spent in this place, the more ridiculous society's preoccupations seemed. Few things that went on here were really harmful — for the most part, people simply took their pleasure in gambling, drinking, smoking, sex, or art, and a good portion of the attendees seemed simply content with the chance to just loosen their cravats and breathe freely away from prying eyes. It was rather frustrating, that such simple things required the privacy of an event like this.
For better or for worse, however, that was the way London worked, and there was little to do about that. For now, best to remain content. Pausing to take another sip of brandy, the Scotsman shrugged. "He is interesting enough for now. We shall have to see if he has the guts to stay a part of this little world, I think. We have seen more than our fair share of noble sons who partake in the novelty for a few sessions and then go back to their cushy lives, hm?" |
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