To Paint With Shadows | Benedict Bridgerton

Mellowed to that Tender Light

As Benedict opened the door, he was struck by the thick smog that filled the room; the sweet stench of alcohol greeting him, as his eyes searched the room.
'Mister Bridgerton.' A man called from a table just to the left of him.
Benedict made his way over, shaking the man's hand.
'Mr William Crozier?' Benedict clarified, 'The curator?'
Mr Crozier offered him a kind smile.
'Thank for meeting with me.' He added, before gesturing for Benedict to take a seat.
'A drink?' Mr Crozier asked, 'I hear the port at White's is the best in the county.'
Benedict nodded his head, before smiling nervously. 'You've been talking to Henry Granville then.' He teased.
The man chuckled. 'Indeed.' He stated, 'About more than just his choice of drink. But let us start with that.' He concluded as he stood from his seat, making his way over the bar.

Mr Crozier's stride was that of a self-assured man: based on the reactions of the men he passed, a popular one too. His hair was dark and combed-over, appearing as a way to hide his lack of it, and he wore a deep maroon, embellished in fine gold thread.
'Here you are.' He said as he placed the drinks down.
Benedict nodded his head to give his thanks, his gaze then falling to the glass in front of him.
He took a large swig, having to force himself to stop once he saw Mr Crozier watching him, yet the man did not comment on it.
'I suppose you are wondering why I have asked to meet with you.' Mr Crozier began, 'Henry and I studied together and we often keep in touch...'
Benedict watched on, unsure of where the conversation was going.
'He speaks very highly of you, Mister Bridgerton. In fact when I mentioned I was putting together an exhibition in Somerset House, for none other than Her Majesty, you were the first name he mentioned.' Mr Crozier, spoke with such animation that Benedict almost missed what he had said, rather too engrossed in the story.
'Me?' Benedict queried warily, choking on his words in disbelief.
Mr Crozier smiled once again. 'He showed me your portrait of... is she your maid?'
'Governess.' Benedict corrected.
'Yes, that was it.' Mr Crozier clapped his hands as he was reminded. 'I must say I have not seen a painting as detailed, since the one I did of His Royal Highness himself.'
Benedict felt himself blush, he still did not believe the compliments his art received, no matter how often he was told as such.
Then, Mr Crozier leaned in, his hands laced as he placed them upon the table.
'You have a real talent, Mr Bridgerton... and I want to show it to the world. Will you allow me to?' He whispered.
Benedict could not control his smile.
'I would be honoured.' He said dumbfounded, his eyes wide.
Mr Crozier leaned back in his chair. 'Splendid. We shall arrange a meeting to look over some of your work.' He said triumphantly.
'Yes, certainly.' Benedict spoke abruptly, nodding his head vigorously.
Mr Crozier pulled out his pocket watch, before standing from his seat. 'I hate to rush off, but I have another meeting I must attend.' He explained. 'It was a pleasure to meet you, Mister Bridgerton.' He said shaking Benedict's hand firmly. 'I shall speak with you soon.'
'Thank you, Mr Crozier.' Benedict responded, his face still showing his shock.
Benedict watched Mr Crozier leave: he, himself, was still recovering from their encounter. Quickly, he downed his drink, hoping it may return his head to him.
His art was to be displayed. The curator for the Queen had complimented his work. Yet, as he sat there relishing the moment, there was one person he wanted to tell...

Benedict rushed home, allowing the front door to slam as he strode into the Drawing Room: yet it was empty. He turned on his heel, only to be halted by Colin, whom he almost collided with.
'Are you quite alright, Brother?' Collin asked, gripping Benedict's shoulder.
'Sophie,' Benedict asked breathlessly, 'Miss Taylor.' He quickly corrected. 'Where is she ?'
Collin eyed him suspiciously. 'I believe she is on the lawn with Kate and Hyacinth.' Collin told him, 'Is there something I must know, Brother?' Collin asked, noticing the state his brother found himself in.
'What?' Benedict spoke, having not heard his brother.
'About Miss Taylor. Is there something you wish to tell me?' Collin delivered his line of questioning slowly this  time, hoping it would not fall on deaf ears once again.
Benedict scratched the back of his neck involuntarily. 'No. I simply must speak with her.' Benedict answered.
However, before Collin could say anything else, he was gone.
As Benedict rushed outside, the sight he met halted him.
There he saw Hyacinth directing Sophie, as she stood with a make-shift pall mall mallet, and wickets, being watched by Kate who sat with Edmund. He watched as they erupted into a fit of laughter, as Sophie failed to hit the ball once again. It tugged at his heartstrings to see the way his family seemed to care for Sophie so dearly: with a bright, immovable smile on his face, he made his way over to the group.
More laughter ensued.
'Brother.' Hyacinth greeted, causing Sophie's head to snap up.
'What on earth are you doing?' Benedict asked, unable to stop himself from sniggering, as Sophie stood squatting over the ball.
'We are trying to teach Miss Taylor how to play.' Hyacinth explained.
Sophie swung again, missing yet again.
'It appears it may be beyond our capabilities.' Kate teased, as she looked up at Benedict.
He smiled, his eyes once again returning to Sophie, who now leaned on her mallet.
'I do believe the game has been rigged.' Frustrating seeping into her tone, 'I have not hit a single shot.'
Benedict cocked his head, nearing Sophie slowly. 'It seems we have a sore loser on our hands.' He teased.
'I am not.' Sophie quickly defended.
Benedict reached for her mallet, only for Sophie to hide it behind her back.
'It is alright. We will not judge you for your deficiency of sports.' He jested, exchanging looks with Hyacinth and Kate, before once again reaching for her mallet once again.
Sophie was quick to turn away from him, her annoyance prevalent on her expression.
'I am not deficient.' Sophie exclaimed, 'I have just simply not been taught it from the day I left the cradle.' She growled.
'Then allow-' Benedict jerked, as he tried once again, this time fighting her grip, and snatching it from her, 'Then allow me to demonstrate.' He said, his voice harbouring an air of exaggerated confidence.
Sophie crossed her arms across her chest, watching as Benedict positioned himself correctly: his chest puffing with pride as he stared her down.
'It is simply a matter of,' he began, swinging his arms back.
Everyone watched as the ball, travelled neatly through the centre of the wicket: yet Benedict's gaze never once left Sophie, finding more enjoyment in teasing than, watching his shot.
'Perspective.' He said quietly, as Hyacinth and Kate cheered.
Sophie frowned. 'You are such a preener.' She said, as he resumed his position standing over her.
Benedict offered her a wink, as a smirk toyed at his lips.
'Indeed, M'lady' He goaded, dramatically dropping his head.
They remained in that position for a while, before Benedict searched for Kate and Hyacinth's whereabouts.
'I must speak with you.' He murmured, his tone serious now.
Sophie noticing this, was quick to relax her face, her eyes bearing a curiosity.
'Not here though.' He said as he dropped the mallet.
Sophie nodded.
'Hyacinth!' Benedict called out, 'May I borrow Miss Taylor for a moment?' He asked.
'I suppose. Just don't keep her for too long.' Hyacinth answered, as she chased Edmund.
Sophie followed as Benedict headed inside.

Once in the library, Benedict quietly shut the door behind them.
'I believe I see more of this library than I do my own bed.' He commented.
Sophie smiled, yet it was quick to fall, her eyes watching his every movement.
'What is it you wished to tell me?' Her voice apprehensive.
Benedict noticed this and grasped her hands.
'Do not worry, it is good news.' He clarified...
He waited a moment before continuing.
'Do you know of a William Crozier?' He asked, earning him a shake of the head.
'He is an art curator... and he has asked to display one of my pieces at Somerset Hall.' Getting to the point.
As she heard his words, Sophie's face lit up, and without thinking she leaped into Benedict's arms.'
'That is wonderful news!' She exclaimed as she drew him for a hug.
Benedict chuckled at her actions. 'Well it is not set in stone.' He added.
However, Sophie was to quick to interject: 'Who cares! At least you now might think my praises true.'
Benedict giggled.
'Has he seen your work?' She asked, leaning away from him so that she may see his face.
'Henry showed him the portrait I did of you.' He explained.
'Oh.' Sophie muttered.
'Do not worry, I'm sure Henry would have come up with an excuse as to why I had painted out governess.' Benedict reassured her.
'I suppose.' Sophie said, still uncertain.
'Besides the station of the muse, does not suggest it's beauty.' He added.
'Is that what I am, your muse?' Sophie teased.
'You are what encompasses my every thought.' Benedict muttered, as he toyed with the neckline of her dress.
Sophie rolled her eyes. 'How on earth did you ever finish that painting, when you seem so incapable of composing yourself for a single second?'
'Is that what you wish for, my composure?' He flirted, his eyes narrow.
Sophie raised her eyebrows, 'As of right now, yes, as your sister and Kate wait for out return.' She scolded.
Benedict sighed before smiling. 'I suppose you are right.'
Benedict went to drop Sophie, turning his head away to look out the window to his right.
'Hey!' Sophie he exclaimed quickly, gripping Benedict's head with her hands, and turning it back to face her.
'I did not say you could not kiss me.' She scolded, before crashing her lips into his.
Surprised at first, Benedict could not help but smirk into the kiss, but from then on his body seemed to take control.
When Sophie felt Benedict becoming a little too eager, she broke the kiss, bringing a finger to his lips.
Benedict stared at her with wide eyes: his expressions like a child who had been robbed of his sweets.
Exhaling, he narrowed his eyes. 'Must you be so cruel.' He growled lowly.
In truth, Sophie found it very difficult to fight her own desire, and had Benedict not been holding her, her knees may have given way at the sound of his voice.
'I would rather you think me cruel, than you ever regret a moment you have spent with me.' Sophie told him truthfully.
Benedict said nothing: instead he kissed her once more, as if to suggest that her thinking was ludicrous.
'I am delighted for you, Benedict, truly.' She said earnestly, 'I cannot think of a more deserving artist.'
There came that feeling: that seemed to wash over the both of them, from time to time. Something rooted deep, a warmth that did not come from the fire burning between the two of them, but rather as if it was the very embodiment of their souls.