"Madeleine."
Benedict's eyes widened when her name left his lips and he quickly sat up as the girl at his knees halted her movements, staring up at him with an incredulous glare.
"Madeleine?!"
"I apologize, I-" She cut him off as he stumbled over his words to explain himself, sounding rather flustered. She scoffed and shook her head, quickly pulling her dress back on.
"You are just like every other man here, viewing women as nothing but sexual toys to exploit, no one lady is different from another." She turned on her heel and stormed out of the room, leaving him alone.
Benedict groaned and fell onto his back once again, covering his face with his hands. He could not believe he had just said that. He didn't even realize that Madeleine was on his mind, especially not while participating in what the two of them were just doing. He had never thought of her that way in his entire life, she was merely a friend and nothing more. He was incredibly frustrated with himself and he felt horrible for upsetting that woman, but he needed to get out of there at once. He pulled his clothes back on and attempted to make himself look less disheveled, before making his way downstairs.
He hurried toward the front door, ignoring any greetings and lingering gazes, sighing in relief when he was out of that crowded environment and in the fresh air.
"So this is where you ran off to, Stubbs?" His eyes widened as he heard Madeleine's voice, turning to see where it had come from.
Madeleine stood a few feet down the street, her maid standing awkwardly behind her.
"I can not speak to you right now, Madeleine." Benedict said coldly and turned, beginning to walk the other way. Madeleine frowned slightly, his use of her full name rather than her nickname not going unnoticed. She followed after him, struggling to match his fast stride.
"Benedict, will you just slow down? I'm going to rip my dress on this pavement if I must chase after you." She called after him, which he ignored. She rolled her eyes and continued after him, not one to give up.
"Benedict, please just stop! Speak to me, what is going on with you?!" She grabbed his arm, finally catching up to him as he slowed his pace.
"Madeleine, I can not-" He sighed, refusing to meet her eyes. "I must go. I can not do this right now." He yanked his arm out of her grasp, storming off once again.
She couldn't deny that she felt a bit hurt by his harsh tone, and she signaled to her maid that they could begin walking back. Her mind was racing with thoughts, wondering what Benedict could possibly be angry with her about. In the twenty plus years they had known each other, they had never had an argument. The two never stopped teasing each other and bickering, but neither had ever been truly mad at the other.
She returned home and quickly walked to her room before her mother could see her, knowing she would question her about being out so late in the evening. She sighed and plopped down on her bed, not bothering to change out of her shawl and dress. She racked her brain but could not think of anything that would make Benedict act so strangely toward her. They had been just fine dancing together and talking all night at the ball. She had to admit she noticed he was a bit quiet on the walk home, but she figured it was just a byproduct of the long night.
She sighed in frustration, standing and going to her window, which was directly across from Benedict's, overlooking the two backyards. When the two were kids, they had come up with their own version of morse code, flashing their bedroom lights at each other to communicate late at night. She thought maybe he would be more open to that, that it would remind him of the good old days as children with no worries in the world. Her hope diminished as she was met with a closed curtain. Benedict never closed his curtains, he claimed he would shrivel up like a raisin if his room was void of natural light. She frowned softly and retreated, calling her lady to help her get undressed and ready for bed.
In the Bridgerton house, Benedict sat at his desk, attempting to sketch something. At least ten lead stumps cluttered the space, results of him crushing the tip of the pencil with frustration. Everything he sketched kept coming back to her. He would draw a flower, and it would remind him of the time they spent hiding in the tulip bushes from their mothers. He would draw the moon, and it would remind him of the nights they spent in the backyard trying to find a face on it. He could draw something as boring as pebble and it would still bring his mind back to her.
A knock on his door brought him out of thoughts, and he muttered a quick 'come in'.
"Brother, you're still up?" Colin's cheery voice rang in his ears and he turned to look at his younger brother.
"Apparently." He gave him a forced grin, but Colin saw right through it and sat on the edge of his bed, watching him with furrowed eyebrows.
"Is everything quite well, Ben?" Colin's eyes drifted to the stumps of pencils cluttering the desk and he chuckled softly.
"Ah, artist's block, huh?" Benedict started to object to this comment but quickly stopped himself, realizing that it was a perfect excuse.
"Yes, I uh, I just can't seem to get anything right tonight. I will call it a day and try again in the morning." He chuckled, closing his sketchbook. "And you? Is everything well with you? Or did you just come to spend time with your favorite brother at this hour?" Benedict grinned, checking his pocket watch to see that it was 11:00.
"Yes, that is exactly it." Colin rolled his eyes, laughing nonetheless. "In truth, I could not sleep, and I was on my way to break into Anthony's study for some whiskey when I saw your light on. Care to join me?" Benedict smirked, standing up at once.
"That sounds like just what I need."
An hour later, the two brothers sat in Anthony's study, having finished almost the entire bottle of whiskey hidden in the drawer. Colin was laughing incessantly at something Benedict had said, neither man could remember what it was, but both apparently thought it incredibly hilarious.
"Oh dear, Anthony is going to have our heads in the morning." Benedict groaned, holding up the near empty bottle of alcohol. Colin laughed and gave a dismissive wave of his hand.
"We shall replenish it by morning and he will be none the wiser."
"In that case.." Benedict trailed off and Colin looked at him with wide eyes.
"Brother, is that such a good.... idea.." His last word trailed off as Benedict had already taken the bottle to his lips and was now finishing off what was left, which was almost two full glasses worth.
"Hell and the devil!" Colin laughed harder, "I can't believe you just did that. You will surely regret it in the morning."
Benedict scoffed, shaking his head and dropping the bottle in the trash can. He stumbled a bit as he returned to his chair and started laughing more.
"We must buy two bottles tomorrow, then. One for Anthony, and one for us." Colin gave his brother a confused look, so he continued. "You see, little brother, if we never stop drinking, we shall never bear the consequences." He wiggled his eyebrows. Benedict was slurring his words quite a bit, but Colin got the gist of what he was saying. He had to admit, it was rather clever. Colin gasped, just remembering something he had meant to mention.
"Brother, did you read the latest scandal sheet?"
Benedict furrowed his eyebrows, "when have I ever been known to read those?" He rolled his eyes, bringing his glass to his lips and pouting when he remembered it was empty. Colin got up suddenly and rushed out of the room. Benedict frowned, confused by his brother's actions but much too inebriated to attempt to follow him. He slouched in his chair and looked at the ceiling, giggling to himself about absolutely nothing. Colin returned a moment later, holding the latest Whistledown.
"You're in it!" He urged, shoving the paper into Benedict's hands. Benedict's eyes widened, staring at his brother.
"What do you mean I'm in it? What could the gossip possibly have to write about me?" He grimaced, not wishing to know in all honesty. Colin gestured, urging him to go on and read it.
Dearest reader,
This author finds herself compelled to share the most curious of news. For those not in attendance at the Vauxhall celebration, you missed the most remarkable coup of the season. The season's opening ball at Danbury House is a most highly sought-after invitation indeed. For every darling debutante from Park Lane to Regent Street knows, if anyone can throw a crush of a party -- it's Lady Danbury.
Tonight, the answers to our most urgent of questions were finally revealed. Which bachelors might forsake their terribly rakish ways for the exquisite blisses of matrimony instead? Which ladies shall forever capture their hearts? Thereby securing their futures. And avoiding the grim, dismal condition known as a spinster.
Perhaps one is not so lucky in this regard, stuck in a future of donning a hideous shade of yellow. Lady Featherington sure knows how to pick them out. Or perhaps one is more fortunate. Admirably proportioned, impressively refined? Then perhaps... One is a Bridgerton. A total of eight children in this most prolific of broods. The rather industrious viscountess and late viscount having produced four perfectly handsome sons and four perfectly beautiful daughters. Yes. Perfect, indeed.
It is said that second-born sons have all the fun. This much is certainly true for Benedict Bridgerton, free from his elder brother's burdens, which include the new Viscount's duty of finding a suitable wife to become lady of the house. One must wonder, how does the second eldest Bridgerton spend his time?
To the ton's surprise, it seems a certain lady may have captured his attention this evening. This jaded author is herself shocked to reveal that Mr. Bridgerton was seen enjoying himself in a dance with her, just this evening. Could Benedict Bridgerton, the tortured artist of the clan, finally find himself a reason to settle down? And could Madeleine Sinclair, who has until now, been doomed for a future of spinsterhood, finally find herself in a love match?
It appears Miss Sinclair has indeed captured the interest of the second eldest Bridgerton. Perhaps this is the season's most surprising match after all. Of course, how Miss Sinclair secured her newfound suitor is yet to be determined.Yet if anyone shall reveal the circumstances of this match, dear reader, it is I.
Yours truly,
Lady Whistledown