Princess Marie, a renowned troublemaker of Paris has entered the Ton. Marriage, children and any prospect of love have always been a 𝘥𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘭 thought. This Author can sense a love story brewing from the moment she steps off that boat.
Yo...
Marie stood to leave and yanked her hat down further over her face, but a short pudgy man with a moustache jumped up onto a podium in the centre of the room and began speaking. The Princess quickly sat back down on the wooden stool.
"Please gentlemen, enjoy your time here and remember, we do not judge your artwork, it is all about improvement," The men cheered to it, glassing clinking, and Marie watched them all down a glass of brownish liquid.
She moved a little to the left, her beady eyes looking around the room before she noticed the man she danced with prior. "Benedict, pass me a brush," A rough voice ordered and the Lord picked one up, tossing it to him. "Benedict," Marie whispered, trying the name on her tongue. She scrunched her nose up as if the taste of his name was bitter.
She didn't like him.
"Sister?" Her eyes widened at the thought of Daphne. She realised Benedict must be a Bridgerton. Seemingly to have forgotten the link of the last names in Lady Whistledown's paper, she sat in shock. "God," She scoffed to herself, not understanding how he could be related to such a free spirit. His sister was kind and funny and nothing like him.
Marie watched the man, taking in his appearance. He wore an amber waistcoat, snaring a charcoal-stained white shirt around his torso, which was rolled up to his elbow. It revealed muscular forearms. His collar was up, a blue tie choking his neck into posture, contrasting his unusually messy hair. His arm muscles tensed when he painted strokes of charcoal onto the canvas. Marie's eyebrows raised because she wouldn't have paired him with such a medium.
She blinked away, keeping her face behind the easel as she picked up the painting supplies and began to paint. "Drink?" A guy with a tray offered and Marie froze. She nodded slightly, not looking at the guy, and took the drink from him, downing it in one gulp. She pinched the bridge of her nose as the brown liquid seared down her throat.
It settled uneasily in her stomach. The chap laughed at such a vulgar motion, but Marie didn't look up. His giggle was untamed. She would've laughed if anxiety wasn't crawling up her throat. "Bad night?" He questioned and she nodded, pushing her dark hair back into her cap discretely.
Marie collected a palette and placed as many colours as she could onto the glass. She then stood, adjusting her easel and began to paint with oils. Her face was hidden in the shadows of the circular room.
Taking a moment to decide what to paint, Marie's mind went to her favourite Shakespeare play: Hamlet. Her head wandered to Ophelia, Marie deciding that the tragedy would be her muse.
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She added hues of grey and brown, attempting to create a moody atmosphere. She enjoyed observing Benedict's painting take form, a nude woman - who Marie just realised was on the podium if the men needed real-life inspiration.
She personally thought that was bullshit, however, her crude language would've caused a Mama of the Ton a heart attack if she voiced such vulgar thoughts.
"Alright, I'm coming to have a look around," Benedict announced, slightly tipsy from his continuous stream of alcohol. He was loud, but Marie was too absorbed in her painting to register what he said. "Oh God, what will I do if Lord Bridgerton doesn't love my artwork?" A Gentleman quipped sarcastically, making Benedict and a few others laugh heartily.
"That's a beautiful piece of work," Benedict commented over her shoulder which made her jump slightly. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," Benedict chuckled, admiring her painting. She nodded softly and continued brushing on details, making him frown.
"Excuse me-" He pushed Marie's shoulder back with a warm palm, annoyed by the painter's lack of mannerisms. His face dropped, as did hers, when he recognised her face. They stared at each other for a few moments, bathing in the shocked silence.
"Mar-" He began to call her name but she slapped her paint-stained hand over his mouth before anyone could hear him. She was much stronger than he anticipated, causing the two to stumble backwards into a wall. Their eyes met in harsh glares.
Turning, she grabbed her coat before heading towards the door but Benedict grabbed her wrist. She turned in his direction. "What are you doing here? If anyone saw you, your reputation would be ruined!" He whispered through his teeth, looking around at the oblivious men painting around the room.
"What? Like I'm not already?" She whisper-shouted back. "I'm sure my parents have had enough of me and my awful reputation, as you so kindly pointed out," She sneered, pulling the door open and disappearing into the street. Benedict huffed and looked around consciously, grabbing his own coat and following her out into the night.
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Marie rushed through the street, noticing Benedict on her tail. The lighting was dark, the only way she could navigate was thanks to the moonlight which bathed the streets of the Ton. "Marie!" He shouted after the French Princess but only received dirty looks from commoners who were trying to sleep on the cold cobblestone street.
Marie pulled her gentleman's coat around her tighter, turning into a public house lit by lanterns. She walked up to the counter, the barman staring at her in shock. He was short and round, with grey stubble lining his chin that matched his long waves of white hair.
She violently slammed a pound coin onto the countertop and asked for a new coat and a back exit. The man respectfully nodded, giving her a pale grey coat which covered her masculine clothes and letting her out through the kitchen exit, no questions asked.
"For the money, keep your mouth shut s'il te plait," She ordered and the man nodded, smiling warmly at the girl. "Merci!" She called as she left, waving back and hurried down the back alleyway.
The barman returned to the pub, just in time to see a dishevelled young man bursting through the door. The drunk customers paid no attention to him. "Have you seen a woman, in, erm, men's clothes?" He questioned the barman who shrugged. "Have I ever seen a woman in men's clothes, would be a better question, Son. The answer's no. Can I get you a glass of whiskey, on the house? You look like you've been through a lot," He smiled warmly, hoping the mysterious woman was far away by now.
Well, well, well. Benedict Bridgerton has angered our Princess more than usual, causing her to leave in the middle of their dance. How scandalous! Maybe the original tension I sought is even larger than anticipated. Surely the second Bridgerton would've learnt to stay away, but he seems to be wanting more from Her Royal Highness. Who can blame him, though? She is a jewel after all.
