Sketched Out || Benedict Bridgerton

Magic Lighting.

As all the clocks struck 11pm, people of the ton slept soundly, with only those few who enjoyed a glass of whisky still awake.

Alice realised she was neither. She tossed and turned as she tried to exhaust herself enough to fall asleep. Her day had just added onto the realisation of her possible futures. Those being either married off to an old half-wit, or being an on-the-shelf spinster for all of eternity. She realised the latter was a much better option, who desired a marriage with one who you could never love, even if you tried?

She propped herself up in bed, tuning her ears to try and listen for anyone in the house being awake. She was sure the servants would be asleep, or in discreet areas of the house, avoiding awaking anyone else.

Although the feeling of the coverlet was incredibly comforting, she found her feet moving towards her dressing room, the one she inherited when her final sister married off, before she even had a chance to think.

She picked out some riding clothes, making sure to pick out the darkest colours, then donned her riding boots and gear, as well as a black coat. These were hidden in a secret box, shoved in a shadowed corner, because her mother disapproved of any well-bred lady riding a horse. It was silly, Alice thought to herself, her mother had such strict standards, which she always felt the need to go against. Maybe it would stop her marriage efforts, who knows..?

She slipped out into the hallway, squinting her eyes as she tried to make out the way around the house. She didn't light a lantern or candle, because she had no intention of being found.

As she made it downstairs, she looked around, before darting through the side door, usually used by servants, leading straight to the stables. Although never having true practice, she had learnt how to ready a horse by watching her late father, or a butler.

She picked out one of the horses with midnight black hair, she wasn't prepared to take any of the brightly spotted ones, which her mother proudly possessed. (Mainly since they were Mr Cloves favourite kind of horse).

•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•

Within a half hour, she was galloping along the streets of Mayfair, then as the lights began disappearing behind her, she no longer knew which streets she was one, just that her direction was correct.

She eventually made it, although it had started raining, to a small stable outside a decently sized house, which was very clearly not asleep yet. She tied up the horse, struggling with the knot due to the wrinkles now forming on her fingertips. She heard a few drunken voices in the distance, which she guessed were people walking home.

After a few minutes, she finally sorted out the knot, and started stumbling towards the door, her water soaked clothes had made her shiver. She knocked politely on the door, looking left and right while she waited for the door to open, she hoped he wouldn't mind her coming here, he didn't usually.

As the door clicked open she heard a warm, but drunken, voice speak, "Sorry, house is fu- Ah! Alice, how lovely to see you, do come in!"

She smiled as she replied, "Good evening, Mr Granville." She coughed before she spoke again, "Would you mind me staying in the gallery for a short while?"

He almost immediately spoke again saying "Of course you can dear! Do watch where you're walking, excuse my frank speaking, but there are a lot of drunken idiots looking to get some." He coughed discreetly as he nodded his head towards some of them. "I'll escort you through actually!"

She looked around as she mumbled, "Oh, no, I know my way, don't bother yourself with me!"

He tilted his head slightly as he chuckles, "No! My pleasure, I should like to teach you some more art skills anyway!"

She nodded as she followed him through the maze of alcohol and sweat. Sir Henry Granville was a splendid painter, and a great man, but the parties he threw normally ended up looking like brothels.

She almost tripped over a tangle of people making out when she accidentally elbowed a woman in the back. "Oh, sorry miss." And as she was about to keep walking, she saw a man she instantly recognised. Well, you could see his chestnut hair and facial structure from anywhere. It was Benedict Bridgerton himself. Her eyes widened as she tried to keep up with Henry. She just couldn't pull her eyes away from the mess she could see him getting into.

Now, she wished she had just looked away, because before she realised, Benedict was now looking right back at her , with a confused expression playing on his face, almost as if he was trying to figure out who she was.

Instantly, she scurried down the hall to the gallery where Henry awaited her.

•*•*•*•*•*•

Usually, Benedict went to Sir Henry Granville's house to get tips on his artwork, or to paint and sketch. But earlier today, he was invited to one of his parties, which were usually named the best by the members of his club. He found himself not wanting to disappoint Mr Granville, and ended up going.

But now he was here, and was attracting a bit of female attention, he was growing bored, Well that was until he saw Henry walk past, with an extremely familiar young woman. He knew Henry Granville was married, and also liked men, so he was utterly confused. He found himself looking at her, and turns out, she seemed to be staring right back at him. She recognised him, he could tell in the way her expression was spread, but he just could not decide who this was.

She was very clearly a lady of the ton. It was obvious, the way she held herself, her walk, even the way she controlled her facial expression. Her hair had clearly been tugged out of a coiffure, it fell down over her shoulders in waves. Under the slightly red lighting from the candlelights, it looked a caramel colour.

And she disappeared into the art rooms Benedict had used many times before.

He hadn't realised he was holding his breath, and he felt ridiculous. He'd seen many beautiful women before, and he was sure he had seen this woman before, but in the sea of redish orange lighting, she was stunning.

He looked back at the woman who was currently leaving a mark on his neck, and excused himself.
He didn't know whether to stride into the art rooms or go home? He just knew he couldn't stay with the ladies begging his attention.