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Second Son
Free Spirit
"Should I not have a friend?
I'm not bound by
the rules of society.
Please do not tell mother."
Personal Text
Nobleman
Rank
Aspiring Artist
Occupation
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euphoria
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Tag me @benedict
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Post by Benedict Bridgerton on Apr 17, 2021 0:44:35 GMT
I'm not bound by Benedict was not entirely convinced . . . but, he knew better than to argue with his sister. For the time being, he would merely take her word and keep a close eye on her. He almost wanted to suggest that they go for a short walk in the hopes that the fresh air would serve her well, but she quickly moved the topic along to the museum. That would have to do . . . for now. Benedict smiled looking up at the grand building.
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"Thank you for accepting the invitation," he told her gratefully. "I hope it to be a rather, artistically enlightening journey for the both of us." Though, he had of course been here before. Yet even still, the experience going with someone different, changed every time. He extended his bent elbow towards her so that she may take his arm as they ascended the steps.
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Benedict gave his name to the porter who greeted them, having previously made this arrangement and once it was struck in the books, they were handed tickets and granted entrance. Benedict tucked them into his pocket as they proceeded inside, pausing for a moment to take in the sights. "Would you prefer to start on the lower or upper level?" He asked, wondering if she had a preference.
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the rules of society.
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Second Son
Free Spirit
"Should I not have a friend?
I'm not bound by
the rules of society.
Please do not tell mother."
Personal Text
Nobleman
Rank
Aspiring Artist
Occupation
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euphoria
Offline
Tag me @benedict
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Post by Benedict Bridgerton on Apr 16, 2021 23:12:37 GMT
I'm not bound by Eloise was stalling -- to say the least. Benedict knew full well what it was like to be so wrapped up in requiring perfection, that it stifled one's ability to simply start. Or, express themselves. He was often displeased with his own work but slowly, he was learning to improve areas that would previously cause him such frustrations. He had never had any formal training nor lessons, until Henry had helped him hone in one whatever skills he may have. But, for Eloise . . . it was different. She was just starting out and, they both knew why. She spoke of how it would be much more appealing to describe it in attempt to paint it and Benedict had to suppress an eye roll at his dear sister's hesitations.
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"Would that your words hold the power to translate onto a canvas in a visual representation, then I fear the world would run out of them." Of canvases. Meaning, she spoke too much -- though of course, he meant it in the most teasing of ways. "What is your reason for avoidance?" He asked her, though in his previous thought process felt he may already know the answer. "You need to stop over complicating it," he told her, tapping his finger on top of her head a few times as if to tell her to just relax.
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"You are thinking far too much about it." He could speak from personal experience of course, and wanted his sister to simply . . . try. And not fear his judgement. She had certainly been quite encouraging with him, he longed to be the same for her. But . . . what sort of brother would he be if he did not tease her in the process of it all. Benedict looked towards the vase that she was referring to and just stared at it for a few moments in silence before he began to answer her question. "Is that a special vase?" He asked her suddenly.
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"Does it hold sentimental value to you?" He further inquired. Something told him the answer was no, but he supposed he could be wrong. Still, going on instinct, he continued. "Start by drawing something of sentiment. Something that allows you to channel emotion into your picture. Otherwise . . . all you will have is a vase." Nothing deeper, nothing more complex. "That is, if you ever reach the point of completion . . . or commencement." Another tease, considering she had yet to make a single mark on the canvas.
Tag authorflies Note: YESS! Its perfect!! I actually think its SO adorable that she's trying to draw and Ben is there to help . . . well, help in his own typical Benedict kind of way!! hahah! LOVE the way you set up the scene! Its so precious! <3
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the rules of society.
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Second Son
Free Spirit
"Should I not have a friend?
I'm not bound by
the rules of society.
Please do not tell mother."
Personal Text
Nobleman
Rank
Aspiring Artist
Occupation
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euphoria
Offline
Tag me @benedict
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Post by Benedict Bridgerton on Apr 16, 2021 22:59:16 GMT
I'm not bound by Her continued words of flattery and soothing actions be it her fingers running through his hair, or caressing his skin . . . her lips lightly touching him, it all brought forth sensations that Benedict could only bask in and savor. It all felt . . . right. Comfortable. Natural. As if this was the way it had always been between them, and perhaps it was. He paused for a moment when she commented on their time together as nice. The pause was only brief before he couldn't help but chuckle with amusement at the word. "Nice," he repeated. While it held simplicity, it was also quite the perfect description, and yet, he could not resist the tease that came so effortlessly with her.
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"Perhaps I will have to do more to ensure it is beyond, nice." A flirtatious tease, one that held promise to it. "I would not even think of rejecting it," he assured her. Any time she would permit him to come, he would not wish to say no nor deny them a night together. Not after this one was going . . . wonderfully. "I trust that you are a woman of your word," he continued to tease her when she said she would ensure to do her best. Of that, she did not doubt that she was indeed a woman who kept her word.
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Taking advantage of her movement that granted him further access, he continued to enjoy the taste of her skin, between conversation, finding it difficult to remain idle when she lay so sensually next to him. Her words continued to fuel a deeply felt joy within him; a reassurance that it was not just him who felt this. Whatever, this may be. This connection, this need, this desire. It was perhaps at this moment that he also realized he had not been with any other since the night they'd met . . . and he did not desire another. He was unsure when this silent commitment had taken place, nor did he dwell too deeply on it. Not right now. He merely accepted that he wanted her, and only her in this time.
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"Far be it from me then," he said between each kiss, his head moving lower. "To do anything that would ever displease you." Pausing from his actions, he let out an exhalation along with a smile, his forehead aligned with her chin as he just took a moment to catch his breath, knowing what would happen should he move any lower upon her body, or should his hands move from their current positions. "And would would cause a restless night for you?" He asked her, knowing that words could be just as much fuel as actions for one thing leading to another. "So that I may too, rescue you from it," he added on teasingly, unable to resist another light kiss upon her skin.
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the rules of society.
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Second Son
Free Spirit
"Should I not have a friend?
I'm not bound by
the rules of society.
Please do not tell mother."
Personal Text
Nobleman
Rank
Aspiring Artist
Occupation
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euphoria
Offline
Tag me @benedict
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Post by Benedict Bridgerton on Apr 16, 2021 22:28:05 GMT
I'm not bound by Benedict smiled at the tease, the naturalness of it a welcome . . . relief. Was that even the proper word to use? While their previous teases had come with so much ease, hearing her tease him now, made him smile. "Then I am glad, that you need not waste any breath," he told her. For, she knew him. She knew him rather well . . . more well than other woman knew him. At least, intimately. Romantically. The amount of time he had spent with her was clear indication of that. That not only had he allowed himself to be relaxed enough for her to know him, but that she even wanted to know him, with no ulterior motive or hidden agenda.
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She spoke of how she would accept it . . . if he made it his too. He watched her carefully, understanding and yet, wondering if he misunderstood at the same time. Her next words of not making her beg caused him to speak, breaking out of whatever state of contemplation he had been put in. "No," he almost immediately said. "I would never wish for you to do such a thing." Beg for anything, for he knew he could not deny her anything. And despite what others may say, he saw no problem with that. She assured him that she was fine . . . asking him to stay, but it was her latter words that prevented him from saying anything further for the moment.
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"stay and hold me." It made his heart swell with emotion, and ache at the same time. It was after all, what he wanted . . . more than anything in this moment. And while he knew it was not his right to even want to put his hands on her, he could not help it. As he had said before, he lacked the ability to deny her anything . . . even if what she had wanted was to end this. But now, it was also because he had wanted it to. Selfish perhaps, but felt nonetheless. He found himself taking a small step towards her, growing dangerously close and yet . . . she had granted him permission to hold her. And so, he owed her honesty.
"I was . . . " Yes, dangerously close to her indeed as he could almost feel her breath upon him, the significant height different having him tilt his head down to meet her gaze, his own through somewhat heavily lidded eyes. Emotions overcoming him, and yet, struggling to still maintain the trust and respect. "Trying to find a way to ask you if I could." His admittance coming with a bit of a smile, wanting her to know just how much he wanted to as well, as if she didn't. It felt odd, to have his confidence in such a thing so waned that he would not even be able to touch her without trying to determine how to ask her.
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Yet, it also made all the sense . . . considering the nature of their relationship, or former one. He was not even certain right now. Losing the battle against better judgement, he raised his hands, gently resting them on her upper arms in a comforting manner, not quite holding her yet, but rather, caressing her in a soothing manner. "Lie down," he encouraged in a quiet voice, his tone lacking any demand, but an urge for her to get more comfortable and a promise . . . that he would join her.
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the rules of society.
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Second Son
Free Spirit
"Should I not have a friend?
I'm not bound by
the rules of society.
Please do not tell mother."
Personal Text
Nobleman
Rank
Aspiring Artist
Occupation
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euphoria
Offline
Tag me @benedict
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Post by Benedict Bridgerton on Apr 16, 2021 20:47:36 GMT
I'm not bound by Benedict studied Lewis, the silence speaking perhaps more than words. The Bridgerton tried to think back on what he said that could have prompted it . . . something related to friendship perhaps. But he would not pry, nor be too intrusive. After all, Lewis had certainly not done anything of the sort. It just added to Benedict's realization that he did not know a great deal about the man; nothing too personal about him.
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He seemed to wish to change the subject and the second son would respect that, taking a casual drink of his brandy while Lewis complimented Genevieve. It was indeed something that Benedict could emphatically agree with, though he contained himself, keeping his features and demeanour composed. "Indeed she is," he agreed. Fine, certainly putting it mildly but once again, Benedict felt no need to elaborate. Whatever the man thought -- or presumed -- of his relationship with the Modiste, perhaps it be best left to that: speculation and assumption.
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"Unfortunately, not," Benedict explained, regretful that the criminals were unable to be caught. It had been dark and the men most likely would make it a point not to cross paths with her should she be able to identify them. "A terrible thing," Benedict continued. "That such men can get away with these crimes and not brought to justice." He had felt incredibly angry towards them upon finding out what they had done to Genevieve. It was sickening, to think that people -- men -- like that existed in the world.
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the rules of society.
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Second Son
Free Spirit
"Should I not have a friend?
I'm not bound by
the rules of society.
Please do not tell mother."
Personal Text
Nobleman
Rank
Aspiring Artist
Occupation
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euphoria
Offline
Tag me @benedict
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Post by Benedict Bridgerton on Apr 16, 2021 20:25:06 GMT
Colin Bridgerton Queen Charlotte |
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Second Son
Free Spirit
"Should I not have a friend?
I'm not bound by
the rules of society.
Please do not tell mother."
Personal Text
Nobleman
Rank
Aspiring Artist
Occupation
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euphoria
Offline
Tag me @benedict
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Post by Benedict Bridgerton on Apr 16, 2021 15:47:55 GMT
I'm not bound by Benedict smiled upon hearing Lewis state that it was what any man would have done for a friend. Were that only true, that it was something that could be expected. Yet, the second son knew all too well that such things -- such friendships -- should not be taken for granted. "A friendship, that is not one I take for granted. For I am certain you understand that it is not all too a common thing in this world." Benedict had friends, of course he did. However, there were few among them that he would trust with his life . . . or more importantly, that he would trust with the love of someone he cared about. There were those in this ton that would seek to blackmail or exploit the Bridgertons -- not always personal, for he supposed it came with being a reputable family.
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Nigel had all but attempted to blackmail Daphne into marrying him -- fortunate that he did not succeed. Marina who sought to secure an elevated position and father for her unborn child by engaging with Colin. Yes. The ton could indeed be a cruel place; a place where one had to watch their back. It was also fortunate, that Benedict fell in the background somewhere and did not have public scandal attached to his name.
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The few times he was mentioned in Lady Whistledown's column, it had been fairly positive . . . but with that said, Benedict knew all too well that there was always the risk of being exposed. Whether it was due to the parties he attended, or news of a 'mistress' being found in his bed late at night. He supposed, it was one of the benefits of being Number Two. "So I thank you for that," he continued. "In being someone that I may rightfully place my trust in. And I hope you feel it is mutual." Should Lewis require anything, Benedict hoped he would be able to help him, or that Lewis would feel comfortable enough to come to him.
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the rules of society.
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Second Son
Free Spirit
"Should I not have a friend?
I'm not bound by
the rules of society.
Please do not tell mother."
Personal Text
Nobleman
Rank
Aspiring Artist
Occupation
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euphoria
Offline
Tag me @benedict
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Post by Benedict Bridgerton on Apr 16, 2021 3:10:08 GMT
I'm not bound by Benedict wasn't entirely sure what to expect, and it was fortunate that Henry had called him here with purpose, for he began to speak . . . starting with his name. Such a simple word should not elicit such a strong reaction deep within Benedict's heart, but alas it did. Hearing the way he said it, the tone. Something had changed in him within the last half hour, and whatever it was . . . left Benedict confused. Yet, intrigued. Though he remained silent, listening instead of speaking. And it was perhaps for the best . . . because the younger male lacked the words to say. He spoke of wanting to run, having spent so much time away . . . and as if reinforcing his unspoken words of not wanting to do that, he began to step closer to him. Benedict knew he should step back, that he should maintain distance between them.
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But as he could not find the words to speak, nor could he find the steps to take. He merely stayed planted, firmly in place, trying to remain composed as the man before him continued to speak. Drawing closer and . . . yes, it was a dangerous distance indeed. Benedict slightly parted his lips, wanting to immediately protest Henry's words of being a fool and a coward. As hurt as he was by the decision, he thought Henry was neither. And he did not enjoy hearing the man condemn himself, insult himself. But still, Benedict remained silent, as if he had lost all ability to speak . . . or move.
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For even when Henry reached out for his hand, Benedict could not withdraw. Instead, he foolishly basked in the comfort of his touch. One that he never thought to experience ever again. And one that made it seem as if his body had come alive once more. Benedict's gaze fell to their joined hands, numbed with . . . emotion. Perhaps that was the best way to define it, though which emotions, he could not label. He was telling him he was right; that he had not listened to him . . . that he was sorry. Somehow, that made everything worse and better at the same time.
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Benedict had practically begged, pleaded with Henry to not give up . . . to not let his brother come between them. A man of more pride perhaps would never do so, but Benedict had not been a man with pride. He had been a man in love. His eyes remained on Henry's hands as he tried to find the words to say. What did Granville most need to hear in this moment? Somehow, the words came out, and Benedict by some miracle was able to keep it composed . . . yet the array of emotions threaten to unleash itself. Just, not yet. "You may ease your conscience," he told him quietly, still not meeting his gaze. Whether he was saying it because Granville did not owe him an apology, or he was saying it because he accepted it . . . Benedict was uncertain. Was that all he had come here to say?
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Granted, it was no small matter. The apology and admittance of wrong was indeed touching, and humbling . . . and that was when Benedict realized. A small part of him -- or maybe a big one that he had just kept locked away -- had hoped for something else. It was foolish, and stupid and clearly he was both. Benedict slowly raised his gaze, his eyes meeting Henry's, finally. "What is it that you want from me?" He practically breathed, voice lacking demand, this time, emotion seeping into his voice and through his eyes. Clearly, it was an impossibility to contain both when in the presence of the man before him . . . yet he also knew, that it threatened to leave him crumbled. Still. The question had to be asked, and all Benedict could do was wait for the answer whether it would shatter his word or fulfil it.
Tag bunny Note: Better layout coming soon!
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the rules of society.
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Second Son
Free Spirit
"Should I not have a friend?
I'm not bound by
the rules of society.
Please do not tell mother."
Personal Text
Nobleman
Rank
Aspiring Artist
Occupation
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euphoria
Offline
Tag me @benedict
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Post by Benedict Bridgerton on Apr 16, 2021 2:51:05 GMT
Genevieve Delacroix & Benedict Bridgerton Anthony Bridgerton Genevieve Delacroix Henry Granville |
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Second Son
Free Spirit
"Should I not have a friend?
I'm not bound by
the rules of society.
Please do not tell mother."
Personal Text
Nobleman
Rank
Aspiring Artist
Occupation
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euphoria
Offline
Tag me @benedict
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Post by Benedict Bridgerton on Apr 16, 2021 1:08:10 GMT
I'm not bound by It seemed that Benedict's words had affected Henry into silence. Though which part, he was not entirely certain. He could guess he supposed . . . the latter revelation that he had not, and would not pick up a charcoal nor paintbrush. Art had once been a way for him to express himself, yet he lacked the desire, inspiration and will to do so now. And so, after some silence, Henry spoke . . . commenting on Bridgerton's tendency of harsh self critique. They were warranted however. Benedict did not often draw something he felt was perfect . . . though he had been starting to. Henry's mentoring had helped him with that but it had not just been in the way of technique; it had been in the way of granting the second son confidence, self assurance and . . . happiness.
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But all this, must be considered past tense surely, for while Benedict did not know what was to come of this conversation, or this happenchance . . . he did not dare hope for anything. Benedict felt himself slightly clench his jaw once more, hearing Henry tell him that he lost his way. Had it not been expected after Henry had left him? Did he not realize the despair that would be felt with his lacking presence in his life? Not solely physically, but emotionally? The younger male did not say anything though, fearful of what may come out. This was not the time nor place, and maybe, there would never be a suitable one for them. Maybe, Benedict had forgotten how to act in front of others, having been secluded for so long. But no. This was Henry Granville and he knew that out of everyone, the man before him had always been the one that Benedict could truly be himself with.
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His latter words, brought a certain unexpectedness. He wanted to speak to him, in private? Benedict could not contain the flicker of curiosity that touched his features as Henry told him to meet him at the alcove beyond the maze. He wanted to question it, wanted to ask, wanted to . . . meet him. At the end, he supposed it just came down to that. The inability to argue, or protest. The inability to express fear of whether this was a good idea or would just hurt all the more. A frequent thought now knowing Henry was back in town, as to whether Benedict would return to the city in the hopes of seeing him . . . or remain in his cottage in the relief that he wouldn't. In the end, he said nothing. He merely nodded his head in confirmation that he would meet him. After all, when had Benedict been able to deny Henry anything.
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"Until then," he told him, lowering his head in a single drawn out nod of politeness before he started to walk back to the party. As he passed Granville however, he paused, barley looking at the other male before saying "It is good to see you too." And with that, made his way back to the populated area of the event. The minutes that passed both felt quick and slow at the same time. Benedict pulled out his pocket watch a few times to double check. Sometimes, it felt as if the minutes droned into hours . . . other times, the minutes mere seconds. But eventually, a half hour had passed. His mind had become so occupied with meeting Henry, and wondering what he wanted to meet about, that he had become even more distant in conversation.
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His upbringing however, allowed him to give polite nods and occasional words to act as if he was engaged in the topic of discussion. When in actuality, his mind -- and heart -- was racing. Outwardly, no one may know it. But soon enough, he found himself casually excusing his presence, inching closer and closer to where he needed to exit from so it would not be a sudden disappearance. His eyes occasionally falling to his brother to ensure he was not paying close attention to him. He had hardly spoken two words to Anthony these past few months but that did not mean he wanted to further compromise . . . whatever this private meeting with Henry would entail.
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Eventually, Benedict managed a swift exit . . . making his way to the designated space that Henry had allotted for them. Benedict ensured that he was not followed, and that no one seemed to be paying any attention to him veering away from the main event. He neared the alcove, a quiet secluded space and found his heart beating heavier in his chest, hardly ceasing when he arrived, and saw the man standing before him. "Granville," he greeted once more. Less formal than Mr, more formal than Henry. But right now, Benedict truly did not know what to do, how to act . . . or even what to say. His eyes remained on the older male, taking in the sight of him after not having seen him for so long. The sensation, was truly bittersweet.
Tag bunny Note: Better layout coming soon!
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the rules of society.
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Second Son
Free Spirit
"Should I not have a friend?
I'm not bound by
the rules of society.
Please do not tell mother."
Personal Text
Nobleman
Rank
Aspiring Artist
Occupation
|
euphoria
Offline
Tag me @benedict
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|
Post by Benedict Bridgerton on Apr 15, 2021 23:31:03 GMT
I'm not bound by Benedict chuckled at Genevieve's returned tease, returned formality. He still recalled the moment she had said his first name, and how much he loved hearing it. His name was his identity . . . where he struggled to find it. Bridgerton. Number two. Second son. So many different titles, but none truly defined him. None like his name and hearing her speak it whether it was in casual conversation or in the height of intimacy and pleasure . . . it was truly sweet music to his ears.
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"Most fortunate indeed," he said with the same tone. "For I am quite enjoying the comfort of it. And more so, the company that can be found here." She truly was correct when she'd spoken earlier of all that a bed could be used for. Most desirable piece of furniture indeed when it came to such . . . physical activities. "I do hope so," he said in continued jest, pretending that he hadn't the faintest idea as to what the morning would bring when she spoke of enjoyable activities.
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"Though something tells me, that you will not disappoint in staying true to your certainties." A broad smile of amusement upon his lips, for she was anything but disappointing; and could never be disappointing in any way. The ability to tease her with something so far from the truth . . . just further indicated how comfortable he was with her. How he could joke and tease and not worry about causing offense, because . . . she knew him well enough. She had taken the time to know him. And he wanted her to know him.
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He could feel her body react to his touches, the way she arched into him, pressing their bodies together, just further encouraged him. Letting out a breathy moan when he felt the soft touch of her lips upon his temple, basking in the sounds of her own indications of enjoyment. Hearing of how she desired him caused him to kiss her more deeply. Of course one could assume that there was mutual desire, yet hearing her say it, made it all the more . . . special. All the more appreciated. All the more flattering. "You should not be blamed for anything," he told her, lips moving along her jawline to find the familiar part of her neck that he enjoyed giving attention to.
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"Except for being so irresistible," he teased, though not without truth. Yes. If she was to be guilty of such a thing, if he were to lay blame upon her . . . it would certainly be for that. "Though perhaps, tonight I can exempt you from blame," he continued to tease, his lips moving lower on her, kissing along the skin between her neck and chest. "For allowing us to sate such desires." For inviting her here, for the night. "And thus, not cause me to lay awake at night thinking of it. Of you." For he wanted her to know how true his words were . . . that he found her desirable, impossible to resist.
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the rules of society.
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Second Son
Free Spirit
"Should I not have a friend?
I'm not bound by
the rules of society.
Please do not tell mother."
Personal Text
Nobleman
Rank
Aspiring Artist
Occupation
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euphoria
Offline
Tag me @benedict
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Post by Benedict Bridgerton on Apr 15, 2021 22:48:41 GMT
I'm not bound by Benedict listened as best he could as Henry slowly began to gave answer . . . yet, it was difficult. Difficult to concentrate on the words exchanged that held so much formality. So much, politeness. Not that Benedict was of a mind to be rude to the man . . . but with all they had been through, all they had shared, and the time they were together . . . it just felt, nearly sickening. To have resorted to the need of being this way with one another. "What kind of series?" Benedict inquired. His desire to talk about art had substantially waned, though he supposed it was always something he and Henry would have in common, if nothing else. Besides, Benedict was truly curious as to what the artist had created during his absence -- however long that may be.
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But the rest of the trip seemed not to hold much event. Or if it did, did not consist of ones that he shared with Benedict. And such, should be expected. Hearing him speak next of everything losing joy caused Benedict to slightly clench his jaw, biting back words of it being a mutual feeling. He knew that all too well. For as much joy as he had found with Henry, was as much sadness that had overcome him when they were forced to end things. "I am certain it will find way to be displayed, as the rest of your art often does." Henry was a gifted artist -- to say the least. Surely, his work was remarkable. Of that, Benedict did not doubt.
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The younger male also did not fail to take notice of the aversion of Henry's gaze upon him. Did he find it difficult to maintain eye contact? Or . . . was he worried about being seen. Before he had the chance to inquire however, Henry shifted the conversation of art onto him. There was no need to lie to man. Benedict was not one who enjoyed spouting false tales and withhold truths from a man that he had practically shared everything with. "Talent is a generous term."
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Yet, silence followed the rest of the question. Benedict often struggled believing in his own talent and skills. Henry had helped him build that; develop that. But the lack of inspiration and the way it all ended . . . left Benedict struggling and lacking any sort of ability to be creative or, remotely skilled. Benedict gathered his strength to continue, and spoke with as much as composure and stoic nature that he could. Causing his response to come off rather nonchalant, despite the magnitude of the words. "I have retired any abilities when it comes to the way of artistic expression." He paused for a moment, knowing that his gaze betrayed the casual tone of his words, for the next ones spoken held a far deeper meaning than that simply of art. "It would seem, that some things are just not meant to be."
Tag bunny Note: Better layout coming soon!
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the rules of society.
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Second Son
Free Spirit
"Should I not have a friend?
I'm not bound by
the rules of society.
Please do not tell mother."
Personal Text
Nobleman
Rank
Aspiring Artist
Occupation
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euphoria
Offline
Tag me @benedict
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Post by Benedict Bridgerton on Apr 15, 2021 21:53:33 GMT
I'm not bound by Benedict gave a polite nod to Cressida as she made her leave, before he turned his gaze back to Henry. He looked, different. So incredibly different. It made Benedict want to ask, and yet, knew that it was not his place. The younger male almost wanted to make a comment about how they should not be speaking in such privacy . . . perhaps out of bitterness. But no. Benedict was not bitter. Heartbroken, perhaps. But he certainly was not the bitter sort. At least, that was what he told himself. After all, right now they were merely two men, often seen in public together as friends. The only two that would perhaps note their presence as anything more, would be Lucy . . . and Anthony. But even still, the thought of his brother stumbling upon him did not worry or frighten Benedict.
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For he did not intend for this to lead to anything that would raise . . . scandal. The very word itself, causing him to inwardly cringe. But alas, that was how the others had seen their relationship, was it not? "Mr. Granville," Benedict responded, slightly lowering his head in a polite nod. How odd it felt, to be holding such formalities between them. He spoke of how it was good to see him . . . hoping he has been well. And Benedict could not bring himself to respond to either. Was it truly good to see him? Benedict was uncertain. But had Benedict been well . . . that answer was far easier to determine.
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"As well as can be." Was the simple answer he could give. He was as well, as could be expected. Was there any point to return the question? Benedict wanted to hear how Henry was, his concern for the man still felt . . . for love, did not just vanish after two people parted ways. But at the same time, Benedict knew he would not receive a truthful answer. It would merely be a simplistic, expected one; much like the one the Bridgerton had offered him. "How was your visit to France?" Benedict had not even known when he returned but then . . . he wouldn't have. He had withdrew from society long enough to not of it. And that, was what Benedict had preferred for this past little while.
Tag bunny Note: Better layout coming soon!
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the rules of society.
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Second Son
Free Spirit
"Should I not have a friend?
I'm not bound by
the rules of society.
Please do not tell mother."
Personal Text
Nobleman
Rank
Aspiring Artist
Occupation
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euphoria
Offline
Tag me @benedict
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Post by Benedict Bridgerton on Apr 15, 2021 21:44:04 GMT
I'm not bound by Loved ones. The core of the word -- love -- struck in his mind. Is that what this was? Benedict had never named his relationship with Genevieve, nor were such words exchanged between them. Benedict had never thought himself to be in love. And so, foolish as it may seem, someone stating the word in any reference to how he felt about the Modiste, was . . . unfamiliar. As if he had never even considered it before. He knew the love of a family, the love of parents, siblings, friends even . . . but not romantic love.
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He slightly clenched his jaw, taking another swallow of his beverage if only to push back these thoughts. At least in Anwyl's company. Benedict had thought himself to be on the path of healing and now . . . bringing love into it, seemed like an entirely different need to recover. If that truly was, what it had been. But Benedict focused on the words of the surgeon. The rather, kind words. Words that touched Benedict, to hear that he did alright. That it was understood that he acted in the way that he did. And the words of him having had -- still has -- a deep care for Genevieve.
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Benedict had not even attempted to hide it, finding it impossible that night to set his emotions aside, so he knew that it should come as no surprise that Lewis brought this to voice. Part of Benedict wanted to blurt out that she was not his mistress, loathing this label to be associated with . . . whatever deep affections he had with Ms. Delacroix. But the other part of him, knew it was futile. Lewis most likely did not care to hear any sort of bizarre justification from Benedict, nor in depth description of his romantic affairs. Even if Benedict had brought the man into it. So instead, the Bridgerton offered a small but sincere smile.
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"Thank you," he said a bit softly. "For your understanding." For not condemning him for his behaviour nor . . . seeming to even judge him for it. "I do recognize that I was most unhelpful that night," he added a bit lightly, a joke -- a mocking remark -- made at his own expense but it was mere fact. Pausing for a brief moment, Benedict continued. Knowing that he too had to explain something, whether Lewis knew it or not. "I also recognize, that your field was perhaps . . . unneeded for the injuries that she sustained." Even Benedict knew that he could have called for a doctor who was closer; that there was no need for a surgeon. Even if the man's turmoiled state, he knew that. "However, I called upon you not just for your profession, but for your person." Looking at Lewis, Benedict hoped he understood what he was attempting to say.
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"That night, I required a man of good character, and one whom I could trust to handle a delicate matter." For he knew, what kind of scandal would be exposed should the wrong man catch wind of his and Genevieve's connections. He worried not for himself, but for Genevieve, and his family . . . and all that everyone would have to answer to. It was truly a relief, that Whistledown had not yet seemed to even discover it.
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"Thank you, for being there Lewis." And he had been there, in the most respectful of manners. Benedict's words spoken with utmost sincerity, that Benedict felt the need to remove formalities. "I am indebted to you." For the way in which he conducted not just the examination, but the entire situation. And what may not seem like a great deal to the surgeon, or to any other nobleman who held the expectation -- and entitlement -- that another would simply comply . . . it all meant a great deal to Benedict and not something that he would take for granted. Ranks be damned. Status be damned. Benedict was indeed, indebted to Lewis.
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the rules of society.
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Second Son
Free Spirit
"Should I not have a friend?
I'm not bound by
the rules of society.
Please do not tell mother."
Personal Text
Nobleman
Rank
Aspiring Artist
Occupation
|
euphoria
Offline
Tag me @benedict
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|
Post by Benedict Bridgerton on Apr 15, 2021 20:22:02 GMT
I'm not bound by The small laugh served as a . . . relief. To hear that her spirits were well enough for even the smallest indication of amusement. He had always quite enjoyed hearing her laughter, taking pride in being the one to draw the reaction. But now, that sense of pride was . . . numbed. For it was not by his doing, no tease he could offer to watch the way her features changed into ones of amusement. The way her eyes brightened and lips curved upwards. So all he could do was give a smile in return, finding almost every detail of how . . . different things were to be agonizing. But not strong enough, for him to forget his place, nor the promise he made to her to take care of her. She spoke of how she could not take his bed but fortunately, did not protest the subject too long as he sat upon him. It was at least a start, and Benedict was stubborn enough to not have her remain on her feet whilst attempting to convince her to be more comfortable.
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He felt as if he had not done nearly enough, wanting to do more and yet, knowing that what more he could do went beyond the limits and confinements of their relationship dynamic. "Yes, you can," he assured her with a continued small smile. "It will be most comfortable for you," he continued. "And I assure you, that even if you were not in it, I would not be sleeping in it out of guilt alone." The small smile remaining. The words were almost . . . playful. Guarded still, for often with their playful remarks, lay an undertone of flirtation and suggestion.
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This time, it was merely an attempt to convince her to lay in it. "So please, make it yours tonight." How odd, to be 'arguing' about a bed when there had not been a single night they spent together where they had not shared one. The thought of her being in his bed . . . well, perhaps it best he told her to make it hers. To consider it her bed tonight, and not his. It was safest to think of it in such terms, at least that was what Benedict was telling himself. "This is the least I can do for you." After what she had been through. This, was all a part of her allowing him to take care of her.
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Her next words brought further relief to him. She was allowing him to stay. And while the relief was there . . . he also knew that it would draw further emotion . . . to be in a room with her in such platonic terms. "Thank you, for allowing me to." She spoke of her trust for him, and allowed him this that further demonstrated that. Not that he doubted her words or actions. Trying to break his gaze from her, his eyes no longer trusted as they conveyed far too much, Benedict casually looked around, trying to see if she had everything she could want. "Are you in need of anything?" He asked her, trying -- wanting -- to be helpful. Was she hungry? Did she require more drink? An extra blanket? His mind racing with all the possibilities which . . . served as further distraction for the current situation.
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the rules of society.
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