"Good morning dearest. That letter was sent to you," Mr. Granville greeted Franny over the newspaper spread in his lap while smoking his favourite cigar.
"Hmm," Franny walked in, curiously. As she opened the letter, she was surprised to find a few, small daisy flowers falling out of it. She turned her attention to the writing but having just finished her latest painting, a portrait of the queen with spaghetti bolognese on her head, the water droplets smeared the lower part of the paper. Cursing to herself, which the Granvilles graciously ignored, she read the inscription:
To Miss Granville, in the hope that she would accept my apology and find this flower to her liking. ******* ****gerton
A lot could be deducted from one's handwriting and Franny, who took correspondence seriously, took a moment to examine the card closely: the penmanship was neat, cursive and elegant, its owner probably boasted of a healthy amount of confidence and filled out dozens of cards each day, sending them to young ladies in the company of flowers. And, of course, it was the same as on the last note, not to mention that the "gerton" was visible, therefore Franny easily figured the mysterious sender to be Colin Bridgerton. Obviously, he was apologising for the bouquet of red roses which (in)famously flew out of the window and decided to adopt more subtle tactics. Indeed, it would even have been to Franny's liking to receive daisies had they been sent by anyone but Colin Bridgerton. Before she could start plotting her masterful revenge, the newest edition of the Lady Whistledown's Society Papers was delivered.
"Oh dear, we appear to have missed the biggest scandal of the season," Lucy Granville exclaimed while noting to herself that Franny has finally secured a worthy suitor who somehow has managed to figure out her favourite flower. Enjoying the anticipation, Lucy posed a little before revealing the secret.
"Daphne Bridgerton, praised once again to be the Season's Incomparable, has traded the Duke up for Prince Friedrich," she delivered the juicy news, her voice laced with surprise.
"Most astounding. I was dead certain that they would make it down the aisle," Franny commented, rolling one of the daisies between her fingers.
"Well, it certainly does not bode well for the Duke," Mr. Granville murmured, surrounded by a mysterious cloud of smoke.
"Albeit, not at all unreasonable. I imagine if you are a princess and your prince truly listens to you, and Friedrich seems like the type who does, you can have a real impact on the state of affairs. I would die for that kind of influence."
"A little bit less death on this fine morning would be appreciated, Franny dearest," Mr. Granville remarked, handing the newspaper to her niece as he knew she was eager to read it.
"Be that as it may," Mrs. Granville added, "Do not forget the social duties of a princess, all the balls you would need to host and all the guests you would need to entertain. With impeccable manners and a genuine smile."
"On second thought being a princess doesn't sound that much fun at all," she admitted, turning to the foreign news section.
"And balance has been restored," commented Mr. Granville.
✦
"Mr. Bridgerton," Humboldt said, shifting somehow uncomfortably. "A... gift has arrived for you."
"A gift? Why then, dearest Humboldt, do you look so grim?" Colin cast an amused smile at the butler.
"You'll find it in the waiting room," he commented without an expression on his face and took his leave.
Colin walked into the drawing room, his eyes scanning the place curiously and soon falling on a bouquet of unidentifiable flowers. At first, he believed it to be intended for Daphne, but bouquets never came in singles therefore he approached. He turned the card to reveal neat, small handwriting:
To Colin Bridgerton, in the hope that he keeps his apologies and flowers to himself. This bouquet may stand as proof of my feelings towards him. With warm regards, Frances Granville
The bouquet was rather impressive with small, round, vibrant yellow flowers and at first glance nothing was amiss. Colin grabbed it and instinctively drew it close to his nose to take a sniff, instantly regretting his hasty move. The flowers, whatever type they were, smelled horrible, for the lack of a better word, and he was not going to apologise for his thoughts, they smelled as if someone pissed on them. He let out a warm, heartfelt laugh.
"What is it?" Descending the stairs Anthony Bridgerton caught his brother's laugh, and always suspicious of merriment, he decided to investigate. "Is that a bouquet for Daphne?"
"No, brother, these flowers were sent to me," Colin replied, still laughing.
"Flowers sent to a man?" Anthony raised his sharp eyebrows in a confused, disapproving manner, "Who would do such a thing?"
"Miss Granville is expressing her feelings towards me."
"Outrageous. Do remove them in this instant, I do not want any flowers near me, they attract bees."
"I can assure you, brother, this will certainly not attract bees. Or any living creatures with a sense of smell for that matter."
"How do you mean?" Colin shoved the bouquet in his face and took pleasure in his disgust.
"Get them out of my face!" he roared, snapping the flowers away. "It is flagrant enough to be sending flowers to a man, not to mention pissed-smelling ones. That chit is out of control."
"I find it rather ingenious," Colin grinned. He did not remember apologising though, was this some sort of passive-aggressive way of signalling that he should? Blimey, whoever understood the workings of female brains...
✦
Since Lucy has decided to pay a visit to the Milliner's shop to acquire a new hat in the latest fashion, and Franny was eagerly plotting some sort of revenge, God help the one against whom, Mr. Granville had decided to spend his afternoon in the club. So, there he was, smoking his favourite cigar, rather wickedly eavesdropping at how Lord Featherington once again managed to misplace a bet. Or overhearing was a more precise expression, as the room echoed the latest Featherington misfortune. Henry, contrary to his wide, did not find any pleasure in gambling as he had more than enough risks in his life. His eyes caught a familiar figure and he decided to have some amusement.
"What do you think, Bridgerton?" he asked nonchalantly, getting the addressed caught in surprise, pointing to a picture he has always found hideous, "This one more to your liking?"
"Mr. Granville," Benedict jumped quickly up, his intonation signalling that he had more to say, but Henry cut him off.
"Perhaps they should take it over to Somerset House, so it can be skyed right next to mine," he suggested ironically, cocking his head slightly in a teasing manner. After all, he deserved some fun.
"I believe I owe you an apology, sir," Benedict pleaded with genuine regret in his voice.
"Unnecessary," he replied with a small smile, lowering his voice, "I actually quite enjoy the eloquent stings of your critique."
Benedict frowned, his uncomfortable expression showing that he was not entirely convinced.
"So?"
"A touch morose for my tastes."
Henry hummed and grimaced, moving on to the next piece.
"A tragedy. The hound deserved better," Benedict delivered his next witty sting of critique, easing more into the conversation. Henry laughed out loud.
"Where is yours?"
"My," Benedict inquired, confused.
"Your work."
From his sheepish expression, Mr. Granville quickly drew his conclusion with a touch of surprise, "Are you to tell me that you are not an artist yourself?"
"Well," the younger man started stuttering, surveying the floor, "I suppose I sometimes like to... err well I mean, I almost..." Benedict brushed his hands across his nose awkwardly.
Henry, always a good soul, jumped to save him from further embarrassment, "I believe yes and thank you are the words you seek." His niece was oftentimes short on those words too.
"But either way, you should come by my studio," Henry handed his card to Benedict and took his chance to deliver one last punchline, "The pieces I do for myself are there, and I think you'll find my real work far less.. um, Oh how did you put it? Cold and lacking inner life?"
Benedict nodded, frowning both his brows and eyes, accepting his defeat, "Mm. I shall never live that down, shall I?"
"Mr. Granville," Benedict asked, cap in hand, "Why are you being so kind to me?"
Henry stopped to think for a second about his reasons, then answered honestly, "We all deserve a little kindness, don't we? Albeit, accidentally, I happen to have a person very close to my heart who constantly gets herself into trouble, and sometimes needs a little help getting out of it. And you were there Mr. Bridgerton, offering your help kindly."
Benedict smiled understandingly, turning his card over in his hands.
"And," after a moment of pondering, he turned back to him. "It might not be my place, but... I don't know what has unfolded between the two of you. Knowing my niece's temper, I can easily imagine that she has lashed out at you for offering your help. But when she comes to her senses, and I truly hope she will, she will apologise. But for the time being, I wanted to tell you that some people don't know how to accept help, not because they are too proud or plain to do so, but because they are rarely offered any. And if given, they are dreadfully afraid of the hidden agenda. Hmpf, but I have said too much. Good day to you, Mr. Bridgerton, I hope to see you soon at my studio."
Benedict stood there, biting his lower lip, wondering what to do next.
✦
If Franny wasn't a bundle of nerves, she probably would have remarked how bizarre she found Lady Trowbridge's soirée which boasted of the most quaint forms of entertainment including men throwing sticks on fire, women spinning around in hula hoops and stretching their body in inhumane angles, not to mention musicians resembling sad clowns. But she was too busy walking on pins and needles and scanning the room expectantly, so she left the witty remarks to Lady Whistledown.
"Frances Granville," Lady Danbury's voice cut through the murmur of the crowd like a cold knife.
"Lady Danbury," Franny bobbed a small curtsy, "it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance. How may I assist you?"
"Assist me, I doubt you can. With amusement, however, you can certainly serve me." Lady Danbury walked beside her. "Now, I have been following your rather unruly adventures through the scandal sheet. I might say that you have quite a talent in causing a storm among London's high society."
"That is the highest praise I could receive, especially coming from you," Glancing down, Franny noticed Lady D.'s walking stick at the hem of her dress, physically preventing her from running away. She was sure that the sly fox Lady D. was, it was not an accident.
"Cocky," the elder lady smirked at her, one of her perfectly plucked eyebrows raising. "I would like to invite you over for some tea, I have a matter that might require your assistance."
"Of course, Lady Danbury, I would be delighted!" she responded with a feeble smile. As her eyes settled on a familiar figure, her stomach did a somersault.
"And I shall reciprocate your help in advance."
"How do you mean?" she tore her gaze away to look at Lady D. confusedly.
"Mr. Bridgerton! "she yelled, gesturing to Benedict, commanding him to come closer. Franny's jaw fell, but she quickly composed herself.
"Now dear, you might fool the ton and this meddlesome Lady Whistledown, but I am much too old and much too smart not to have caught notice of the longing glances you stole," she whispered to her with an all-knowing smile.
"Yes, Lady Danbury, how may I help you?" Benedict walked up to them with a kind, but hesitant smile which could not help but grow more genuine as his gaze shifted to Franny.
"Everyone seems to believe I require help! This young lady was telling me that she would like to dance but none of the gentlemen had dared to ask her. I do not believe you to be a coward, Mr. Bridgerton," Lady Danbury, the uncelebrated matchmaker of the season, cast a satisfied look then left, leaving the pair, eyeing each other in anticipation, to decide which one of them would take the first step.