【8】
Dear gentle reader,
In a town full of ambitious mamas and fortune-hunting gentlemen, marrying above one's station is an art form, indeed.
But Miss Daphne Bridgerton's advance from future duchess to possible princess is an achievement that even this jaded author must applaud.
But this author cannot dismiss our ruby quite so soon. She has left our eyes and gone... rouge. It has been two days without a single ball or appearance and even this author... is getting impatient.
✑
I sat in bed, looking at the platter of food in front of me with no sense of hunger. I breathed in before I heard a knock at my door. "Yes?" I said. "M-my lady, lunch has been prepared." A housekeeper said through the wooden door.
"I am not hungry," I said. I heard voices coming from behind the door and I looked back in confusion. "It is Mr. Bridgerton, Lady Buckingham." She said before groaning internally. "Which one?" I said, throwing my head back.
I suddenly heard the doors bust open and I immediately knew it was Benedict. "My dear Hope! I thought you would be at a ball or gossiping with Daphne." He said. I said nothing as he made his way over to my bed with a tray of more food. "Benedict I am not hungry," I said tiredly.
"You say that nearly every time I come in here." He said, placing the plate of sandwiches in front of me. I sighed before pushing it away. "I am serious this time," I said. Benedict's mouth thinned into a line.
"Is it Miss Cowper?" He asked making my eyebrows furrowed with confusion. How on Earth did he know? Who told him? "How...?" I trailed off. "Mother told me Lady Cowper was being an incessant bitch." He said, shrugging his shoulders. I sighed, burying my head in my hands.
"I despise this, Benedict," I said, my eyes stung. Benedict tilted his head. "What do you despise?" He asked. I breathed in, making my shoulders tense before he got in my bed and sat in front of me. I looked up.
"This society and its expectations. It's something it and my father have in common." I said, looking down at my hands. Benedict placed a hand on my forearm. "You don't talk about your father hardly. Was he... unbearable?" He asked. I scoffed looking back at Benedict, tilting my head.
"He made my life unbearable. He thought I was the least undesirable of all my sisters. He... didn't allow me to love... he only wanted me to marry for riches and title and I was so angry with him. But, over time I became content."
"Deep down I despise him for what scars he left upon my soul. Yet, I still hold him most dear." I said before scoffing once more. "What is wrong with me?" I said. Benedict grabbed my hands with a meaningful expression.
"There is nothing wrong with you, Hope. Your soul isn't scarred, and it is fine to still love your father after what he did. Even though I do suggest we make haste over to his estate and sock in the eye." He said a soft chuckle left my mouth. He smiled softly before letting go of my hands, grabbing a sandwich from the silver platter, and holding it in front of me.
I shook my head. "No, Benedict," I said with a tired expression. "If you take one bite I'll stop bothering you and leave you to your own devices." He suggested, well, I would certainly get more time alone. Even though deep in my bones I wanted someone here.
I grabbed the sandwich hesitantly and took a huge bite. I chewed the tasty food before placing the half-eating sandwich back onto the platter. Once I swallowed the food Benedict hummed happily.
"Now, you have another ball. I suggest that this evening you wear a dress you want to." He said. I looked over to the side.
✑
Another ball, say? I dreaded this unlike any other. I stood in front of my mirror, straightening the dress that was crème colored but had a black, diamond-embedded fabric on top. I wore white gloves and my hair was in a bun as always.
I stared down at the diamond earrings James had bought for me upon my ears. It was indeed beautiful but it was not entirely my taste. I sighed messing around with the earrings before I could see Lady Bridgerton walking into my room slowly.
"Might I say... I've never seen you like this, dearest." She said. I raised an eyebrow in suspicion. "Like how?" I asked, straightening the necklace.
"You've never worn a dress like this, Hope. Am I wrong for beginning to think there is another suitor you're searching for?" She asked before I immediately turned to look at her. "No, Lady Bridgerton. I just... wanted to play the field and wear something new, I suppose." I said, looking back at my reflection.
"Rubies." Lady Bridgerton said. I stopped my movements. "Rubies were always your most appealing gem." She said before walking out of my room. I glanced down at the diamond earrings before unclamping them both quickly and putting them back into the black velvet box that sat on my bed.
I reached for the ruby tiara and I picked it up, placing it upon my head. I was content with how I looked which didn't happen often.
✑
Dear gentle reader,
As we all know, there is nothing this author loves more than a scandal, and tonight's soirée promises more than its fair share, courtesy of the recently widowed Lady Trowbridge.
Some may call her celebration too provocative, and I would caution any young lady from getting caught up in the sensual nature of her fêtes.
For one scandalous move between an unwed couple, a wayward touch, or heaven forbid, a kiss, would banish any young lady from society in a trail of ruin.
✑
We entered into the ballroom and hundreds of people from the ton. The ballroom had checkered floors and dark wooden walls. The dancing area was filled with couples waltzing. I was being escorted by Benedict and he sighed, looking around the room.
"The ruby is back, I hope Lady Cowper and her bitch of a daughter have not attended for their sakes." He spoke before I elbowed him. "Benedict!" I hissed with a whisper. He slyly smiled. The music was absolutely beautiful, I could spot the orchestra not too far away. Benedict looked over at me.
"I shall get us drinks." He said before leaving my side. I breathed in, looking around seemingly not spotting Daphne anywhere. I suddenly see someone standing at my side. I glanced over to see... Miss Cowper.
She smiled innocently. "Hope!" She said my first name as if we were close friends. "You look beautiful, as always." I could tell she was lying through her teeth because she was in public. I hummed. A silence lingered. She turned her body to look directly at me.
"You could have chosen anyone. You have gentlemen lined up to pay you tribute. Yet you and Daphne did not hesitate to try to steal my chance of happiness away, did you? I knew the marriage market would make rivals of me, Daphne, and you, but I never thought capable you of being my enemy."
My eyes widened with anger and I looked over at her. "You shot first! With your lingering insults and your teasings—you shot first. I merely took the bullet." I said, looking away. I could see a red rose upon her cheeks. "Incessant pig. I wonder why your father kicked you from his estate. Now I know why." She said, I held in a breath and kept looking forward.
"How could any man want to be with a woman... who couldn't hold her weight?" She whispered before walking away. My eyes began to sting. Another ball was wasted, another moment of happiness stolen from me because I was not perfect.
My breathing became rapid and the music around me turned contorted. The room began to absolutely spin. The opera singer on stage echoed in my head and my hands shook at my sides. Tears began to fill my eyes and the room seemed to spin.
I grabbed the ends of my dress and turned around, pacing back to the carriage. All I wanted was tonight, that was all I wanted.
✑
the third point of view
Benedict walked back towards where he once left Hope with two glasses in his hands. One was filled with gin and lemonade, and the other was filled with just the lemonade. He suddenly looked at where she once stood and found no sign of her. His eyebrows furrowed with confusion before he began looking around the ballroom.
"Where did she go?" He mumbled under his breath. He suddenly spotted Miss Cowper with a group of season's eligible women. "She's a pig, I'm guessing that's why her father shifted her off here." She said before her and the girls all giggled. Benedict's face turned cold before he began walking over to her, setting down one of the glasses on the table.
He smiled sweetly, the women noticed his presence before immediately bowing, fanning their bosoms. "Mr. Bridgerton." They all said, with strawberry-sweet expressions. He looked directly at Miss Cowper.
"Miss Cowper. My, may I say you are the light in this dim room." He said, practically lying to her face. She bashfully giggled. "Why thank you, Lord Bridgerton. May this light dance with you this evening?" She said, signaling to the card tied to her wrist. He hummed before walking up to her slowly. She batted her lashes.
"I would rather... die than dance with an insufferable, spoiled, insecure, bitch." He said sweetly, making sure the people around him didn't hear. Her mouth went slack and she looked at him with shock. "Why-." Before she could finish her sentence Benedict pretended to stumble and spill the lemonade onto her dress.
She gasped loudly and eyes landed upon them.
"I am so very sorry Miss Cowper! I am just so clumsy these days!" Benedict chuckled before turning around and walking out, setting his now empty glass back onto a table nearby. He went outside and saw that one of their carriages was gone. He sighed, realizing Hope had fled. He walked up to their other carriage, a footman stood next to it.
"I shall return home quickly." He said, the carriage door was pulled open for him and he got in.
✑
hopes point of view
I paced restlessly in my bedchambers, wrestling with an onslaught of tears triggered by Miss Cowper's every utterance. Benedict's reassuring words seemed futile in the face of the doubts and insecurities that welled up within me.
As the tears threatened to spill, I closed my white-gloved hands into fists, attempting to rein in the emotional turmoil. Approaching the mirror for what felt like the thirtieth time tonight, I halted. Staring at my reflection, I scrutinized every imperfection down to its last molecule.
My hand trailed across my collarbones, tracing the three "beauty marks" that adorned the left side. Gazing down at the skin of my bosom, a faint mark on the surface of my right breast caught my attention, and I swallowed deeply. Examining my arms, I noticed a subtle plumpness that, while hardly noticeable to others, weighed heavily on my perception.
Tears cascaded down my face, and a soft sob escaped my lips. In the midst of my distress, I suddenly envisioned Benedict rushing into my room. Turning to face him, I instinctively splayed an arm out.
"Stop! Do not step closer!" I exclaimed aloud.
He halted.
Confusion flickered across his face, but it gradually transformed into concern as he observed my distressed expression. Uttering my name, he took a tentative step closer.
"Benedict! This is not the proper time; just leave!" I yelled, my plea echoing in the room. Benedict shook his head defiantly. "No! I'm not going to leave you to your own devices again after what Miss Cowper has done to you!" he declared, determination etched in his features. I lowered my hand, locking eyes with him as tears streamed down my cheeks, my face flushed with distress.
As I uttered my fears to Benedict, my voice trembled with a mixture of despair and indignation.
"You heard what she has gossiped about me... So you must understand that her words are to be true someday. Lady Whistledown will name me the season's most imperfect."
A quiver ran through my breath, echoing the turmoil within. "I shall be ruined, Benedict. My father was right..." I confessed, my gaze drifting away. Benedict, concerned, took a step closer, seeking to unravel the depths of my pain.
"Right about... what?" he inquired, bridging the emotional distance. The raw honesty in my response cut through the air like a blade.
"That if I am anything but porcelain, I am worth nothing.He is right, Benedict. Who am I if I am not like those porcelain-skinned ladies of the ton? Who am I if I am not unbreakable? Who am I if I cannot keep a suitor?! WHO AM I IF I AM NOT ART?! I am not worthy of love! I am not worthy of a husband, of this family!" My last words erupted with a fiery anger, painting the room with my emotional upheaval.
Benedict, moved by my pain, closed the gap between us. My body shook uncontrollably, and each breath felt like a battle against the icy tendrils of despair. Benedict, unwavering, cupped my face, forcing me to confront his unwavering gaze.
"Hope, you are art. You are the masterpiece DaVinci was too unintelligent enough not to paint. It's a testament to his limitations, a blind spot in his artistic perception. Hope, you are not merely seen; you are cherished. Your existence is a masterpiece. You are a canvas painted with the hues of resilience and grace. Your imperfections, the brushstrokes of a life lived authentically, make you a masterpiece beyond the comprehension of the ordinary observer. I desire you to see yourself the way not only I, but our family sees you."
Despite his reassuring words, my body continued to shiver. "No... No..." I cried, caught in the grip of overwhelming emotion. Benedict, his concern deepening, called my name repeatedly, but my response was lost in the echoes of my distress.
"Hope, you must breathe," he implored, his hands resting on her shoulders. Yet, my lungs rebelled against the oxygen, cries replacing words. In a desperate attempt to anchor me, Benedict grasped both of my hands.
Placing my right hand on his heart and my left on her own, he guided me through a slow, deliberate breathing exercise. "Do as I do," he instructed, his breath syncing with mine. The room became a sanctuary of shared breaths and synchronized heartbeats.
Gradually, I gained control over my erratic breathing. The uncontrollable sobs faded, leaving only the rhythm of our breaths in the silence of the room. As Benedict enveloped me in a tender embrace, my exhausted body found solace in his warmth. The storm within me began to subside, and for a moment, the world outside ceased to exist.
"Trust me, Hope. Lady Cowper and her devil child won't be a bother for you anymore." He said. I breathed in, finally resting my body completely. He pulled me away from him and cupped my face. "Remember the artist I rambled on in front of? The man offered to let me work in his studio and I went there this previous night and it is exceptional. I shall invite you." He offered with a grin. I shook my head.
"I shouldn't distract you from your work, this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, don't let me ruin it with my theatrics," I said, Benedict was quick to scoff. "I would be honored if you brought your theatrics, dear Hope." He said, looking at my unsure expression.
"You will meet people who won't criticize your every move, I assure you. I will just paint you with some acquaintances, I promise you will grow to be fond of it." He said. My eyebrows furrowed. "Paint me?" I said, why would he invite me to be painted?
"Yes. Is that a yes?" He said he hid his impatience so well. I sighed, realizing if I attended this event of his I wouldn't have to breathe the same oxygen as Miss Cowper. I nodded my head and he smiled brightly. I suddenly heard muffled talking coming from downstairs. Me and Benedict looked over at my open door.
✑
We walked down the grand stairs and spotted Daphne and Anthony speaking on something that was quite intense. Once we reached them we stood there with confused expressions. They stopped talking and looked back at us.
"What is it?" Benedict says, Anthony storms towards him and began pulling him away by his arm. "You and I need to talk." He said. Benedict was quick to look back at me and grab my hand, making me walk along with them.
"Daphne, bed," Anthony said sternly.
We were pulled into Anthony's study. It had dark wooden walls and a perfect fireplace. He had told Benedict everything that had happened at the ball tonight. Daphne and the Duke of Hastings were caught in a steamy exchange but Anthony described it as the Duke defiling Daphne.
And since the Duke did not want to marry Daphne... supposedly... Anthony ordered them to duel. Which was highly illegal in London.
Anthony examined the silver gun in a red wooded box. Benedict paced around the room, trying to understand the passing events. "I will need you to stand as my second," Anthony said. His brother stood still, looking at him. "What if you get yourself killed?" Benedict said. Anthony barely looked at him, he seemed not to care.
"Then the title and estate will pass to you." He said. It must have been just me, but I saw a flicker of fear in Benedict's eyes. I looked over at Anthony. "You must think on this. If you kill Hastings—." I was cut off by Anthony's interjection.
"I shall have to leave the country. And you'll be the head of the family in every way that matters." He said, we suddenly heard muffled laughing coming from outside of the room. The three of us crowded around the door that was open slightly ajar. We could see Colin watch his mother go up the grand stairwell with a smile.
He turned to look at us before sighing.
"Good God, did someone die?" He said, clearly annoyed.