To Paint With Shadows | Benedict Bridgerton

Get Their Fingers Burned

The preparation of Aubrey Hall, for tonight's Hearts and Flowers Ball, was in full swing. Violet and Daphne once again discussing the flower arrangement, as they did every year. Despite, Benedict's hatred for balls; he was finding it  all but impossible to maintain a gloomy attitude, perhaps that was because upon his arrival in the Drawing Room, he laid eyes on the one thing that never ceased to make him smile: Sophie Taylor.
There she sat with Hyacinth, the both of them deeply engrossed in their lesson; after everything he had learned of her yesterday, he could not look at her in the same way: a woman  so virtuous that she did not even seem real.
'Good morning, Dear Sister.' He greeted, petting Hyacinth's head. 'Miss Taylor.' He continued, staring at her intently.
Yet, his gleeful smirk was soon wiped from his face, when Sophie offered him the slightest of nods: her eyes never meeting his.

A thousand thoughts threatened to seep into his mind, but before he could act on any of them, the sound of his brother's commanding voice spoke to him from the doorway.
'Brother. A word.' Anthony stated, a venom to his tone: one that matched the tension in his jaw.
Benedict looked over to him, analysing the expression on his face: something was wrong. He returned his gaze to Sophie, hoping that he may catch a glimpse of her face before he departed, but she simply remained with her head down: something was very wrong.
So, hesitantly, he followed his brother to their father's study.
'Anthony? What is it?' He asked anxiously, as he shut the door behind him.
His brother simply paced the room; Benedict had not seen his brother this worked up in a long time.
'Brother?-' he asked once again.
Yet, Anthony soon spoke, clipping his question slightly: 'What is between you and Miss Taylor?' Anthony asked quickly, closing the distance between him and Benedict.
'What?' Benedict mumbled, the inquiry causing a chill to run the length of his spine.
'I saw her this morning, leaving your chambers, Brother.' Anthony spat, yet he fought to keep his voice low, 'Do not deny it.'
Benedict's head dropped: his worst fears being confirmed. He let out a shaky breath, not giving his brother a response.
Anthony hummed, as he nodded; his brother's lack of defence told him all he needed to know.
'I have know you to be a fool at times, Brother.' Anthony hissed, 'But I have never known you to be so selfish!'
Benedict looked up at him, his eyes wide as he listened.
'Whatever this is, it is to end now, Benedict.' Anthony instructed him.
Benedict spoke now, his eyebrows knitted: 'I have never once scorned you for your affairs.' Benedict argued.
'I was never bedding my sister's governess!' Anthony bellowed through gritted teeth.
Anthony took a breath, alarm pulsing in his eyes once he realised there was but a door between him and the rest of his family.
'Miss Taylor is a bright young woman, and you have all but ruined her prospects.' Anthony whispered.
Benedict did not care about the insults that his brother hurled at him, he simply worried about one thing.
'You will let her go?' Benedict queried, in reference to  Sophie's employment.
Anthony sighed, as he made his way over to his father's chair: pinching the bridge of his nose, hoping doing so will allow him to keep a level head.
'I will not.' He stated calmly, after thinking on it for a moment, 'My anger is not with her, she has merely fallen for the tricks of your seduction.'
Anthony prepared to deliver one final blow: 'You have always been the more compassionate one out of the two of us, Benedict. I thought better of you, I truly did.'
Benedict simply stared at his feet, his mind numb.
Anthony shook his head, still reeling from everything he now knew.
'Get out, Benedict.' He spoke softly.

As Benedict made his way out of the room, his feet seemed to carry him. His mind still drowning in the truth of what had just happened. He presumed that Sophie knew, after all, why else would she explicitly ignore him as she had? Oh, and that had hurt him so deeply: a simple absence of a look had crushed his heart. How was he to live without her? He would have to pretend she did not exist, for that is the only way he could appease his brother: but he couldn't do it. The sex meant nothing to him in the grand scheme of things, he could suffer through his desire for her. What he could not lose was the safety he felt when he was with her; he relied on her opinion and support; every time she spoke, he wished she would never stop, so that the sound of her voice would never cease, nor the richness and glee of her laughter.
That was when it all became clear...
He loved her.