To Paint With Shadows | Benedict Bridgerton

Afflictions of the Heart

With the last of the good weather making its final appearance at the Hearts and Flowers ball; the ton had no choice but to return to London. Lady Danbury resent her invitations ensuring everyone knew that her ball would still be going ahead, just no longer in the country.

Once the trunks were loaded onto the carriages, the Bridgertons made their escape: doing what they could to not get caught up in the thunderous downpour. As Benedict sat down opposite Daphne, he could feel her watchful eyes stalking him. She did not say anything at first, simply cooing over Augie, who sat beside her: a small smile brightening his face as she tickled the crook of his neck.
'Are we simply just not going to discuss it?' She spoke unexpectedly, her eyes still on her son.
'Discuss what?' Benedict snapped looking away from the window.
'This stormy countenance of yours. If I were anymore a fool I would suggest you are the cause of this dreadful weather.' She teased, but her tone was serious and cutthroat.
Benedict knitted his eyebrows; he was not ignorant to the fact that he had been rather hard to live with over the last few days: his tongue always ahead of his brain, sparing no one from his short lashings, he had not joined in with his family during any of their activities, no, in fact he had spent most of his time moping in the library. Despite knowing all this, he did not think he could fix it, and therefore Daphne's questioned caused him great offence: after all, there was no way mother had not told her what had occurred.
When Benedict didn't say in return, choosing to continue watching the world pass by: Daphne decided her approach may have been to harsh.
'Dear Brother, I do not believe I have ever seen you this disheartened or afflicted?' She pressed on gently. 'Mother, told me what happened at the ball. If you love her Benedict, you must fight for her.' Daphne reasoned, her volume growing in accordance with her passion.
Benedict looked to her, he wanted so badly to scoff at her instruction: it was not that easy.
'It is not that simple, Daphne.' He rebutted, shaking his head slightly.
'Love is never simple.' Daphne interjected, 'Sometimes it feels as if everything is trying to keep you apart, and you feel a fool for thinking any different.'
'Like you and the Duke.' Benedict spat, noticing how the nose Daphne's analogy was.
She hesitated slightly: 'Well... yes.' She stammered, 'But in the end it was worth it.' She allowed her eyes to wander to her son.
'But unlike the Duke, Sophie does not bear a title.' Benedict argued, crossing his arms over his chest.
Daphne narrowed her eyes, 'When has that mattered, to you of all people?' The pitch of her voice becoming deafening.
'It does not.' Benedict quickly followed up, not liking the judgment in her tone, 'But it matters to her, and it matters to the people who would stand in the way of our union.' He sighed, his voice softening, 'Besides, she does not love me, Daph.'
'Then you are blind, Brother.' Daphne concluded, saying nothing more, as she returned her attention to Augie.

The rest of the journey that followed was an awkward one; it felt as if a century past before the were greeted by the gates of their substantial home. Benedict did feel a sting in his heart when a familiar face did not appear to greet them. The uncertainty of how they were to move forward was a question that racked his brain: despite how much it hurt him, he would not undermine her decision, so he decided it best if he allowed her to make the first move. For now he would focus his efforts on finishing his painting.

'The Bridgertons have returned home.' Sophie informed the inhabitants of the Drawing Room that she quickly made her way into; the Crozier household was nowhere near as substantial, and considerably dimmer than the Bridgerton home: but she had enjoyed her time there nonetheless.
William rose from his seat, taking the telegram from her hand, so that he may read it too.
'Does that mean you are to leave us?' William's sister, who Sophie had come to know as Rose, asked from behind her pianoforte.
'Yes.' Sophie answered delicately, tapping her foot against the carpet uncomfortably, 'They are still my employers, after all... but I have had the most wonderful time here.' She added, making her way towards the girl, 'And I am most grateful for your brother's generosity.' She said, looking at the man.
'It has been my pleasure.' He countered quickly, offering her a nod of his head, 'Will you need help with your belongings, Miss Taylor?'
'I never unpacked.' She giggled, 'I did not want to intrude.' A shy smile lingering on her face.
William laughed quietly, 'Well I shall have to carriage prepared for you.'
Sophie quickly interjected: 'There is no need. The walk is not far.'
'Nonsense.' William assured her, 'Come along.' He beckoned her with a nod of his head.
'Goodbye Miss Taylor.' Rose said, taking the girl's hand.
'Goodbye Rose. Feel free to call on me anytime.' She replied, hugging the girl's shoulders.
'I will.' The girl declared with a bright smile.
Sophie offered her one final smile before she followed William up the stairs.

As she prepared her trunks, she could not help but notice the tension of which filled William's body as he stood in the doorway, his lips parting as if he wished to speak.
'Are you alright?' She asked, coming to stand in front of him.
He stared at her for a moment, before nodding.
'Yes... yes, I am fine.' He reassured her.
She eyed him warily, before thanking him one final time. However, just before she could reach the hallway, a hand grabbed her wrist. She stared back at him with wide eyes.
'Do not go, Miss Taylor.' William whispered, his eyes on his shoes, 'Do not go.' He repeated, gently pulling her towards him.
Sophie could feel the heat of his stare.
'I must.' She responded in a whisper.
Before, she could say or do anything more, his lips were on hers; the kiss carried a force to it, it was by no means rough, but it was not done with the same tenderness as her first kiss with Benedict. Sophie found herself swept up in the moment, her lips in unison with his. Yet, as her back hit the doorframe, her senses seemed to return to her: quickly, breaking the kiss.
Sophie stood in shock. What had just happened?
'I am sorry. I should not have done that.' William spoke up, rather flustered.
Sophie went to say something, but he cut her off: 'It is certainly not the way I typically begin courtship with a lady.'
'Courtship?' Sophie mumbled in surprise.
'Yes, unless, of course, you are betrothed to another?' He queried, the possibility only just striking him.
'No,' Sophie shook her head, 'But I am not a lady.' Sophie countered, more confused by how he had referred to her.
'Perhaps, not by title, but that inheritance of yours certainly provides you with the same opportunities as one.' He explained.
Sophie bit her lip; the same opportunities as one? Did he speak the truth?
'I hope I did not offend you, Miss Taylor, I understand that you may want to take this slowly.' He continued, 'Perhaps, you may begin by escorting me to the Danbury Ball tomorrow night?'
Sophie's head felt as if she were underwater; she did not think she felt for Mr Crozier in that way: the care she had for him was so different to how she cared for Benedict, but perhaps that was entirely a product of lust. Even if not, Mr Crozier was closer to her social standing, and already well established within his career: perhaps he was a more suitable prospect for her?
Noticing her hesitance, William spoke again: 'Even if were not to attend as suitors, it may provide us with an opportunity to collect information on this George Farmer.'
This offer was more convincing: she did so desperately want to know who this man was. Maybe, that is why she accepted his offer, after all, one ball could cause no harm, right?