athena crauford has been best friends with daphne bridgerton since childhood, they spend every waking moment together. which means the bridgerton's have become very acquainted with the crauford's, benedict bridgerton has always had an eye for athena...
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Finally, I am able to enjoy the art in the comfort of my own presence. I should be doing something possibly more productive with my time, like 'finding a husband' as my Mama would say, but if Lady Danbury's predictions are correct, I may not have to look further than my best friend's brother.
Enjoying art gives me peace of mind, and allows for reflection upon my own life. I can relate images and scenes back to my own life, or imagine myself in those places, in those flowerbeds soaking up the sun. Wandering these halls gave me a sense of purpose amongst all the chaos raging on in the party next to me, only separated by a wall.
Stopping in front of my favourite painting of all, I can picture myself as the girl in the frame. Sitting, plainly reading out in her garden on a beautiful day. It was not an elaborate painting, or a tacky one, but plain and simple. Gorgeous.
"This is your favourite is it not?" A voice shocks me out of a trance I didn't realise I was in, Benedict is now by my side, staring up at the same painting I loved dearly.
"I am surprised you remembered." I say blankly,
"I do notice the little things you say, or the way you look at something. It gives it all away. It is a look of pure love." he turns his head, and those ocean blue eyes crash upon shore again. "Athena," he stares, "I am terribly sorry. I know I betrayed your trust, but I am willing to do anything it takes to repair it. I miss you exceedingly so."
I take a moment, Lady Danbury's words run through my mind. 'Prepare to notice smaller gestures. Do not expect him to declare love for you in a grand gesture, Benedict is more of a quiet soul, but will do anything for the people he loves, and you my dear are one of those people' he truly did express love through seemingly minute actions, I suppose it's the poet in him.
My eyes soften to his gaze, "I forgive you. It has been utterly boring these past weeks, I can only tease Colin so much." I watch as relief flood through him,
"It shall never happen again. I never want to risk our friendship, whatsoever it is far too important to me." he smiles,
"Should we continue to look at the paintings?" I ask, taking his arm.
"Actually, I thought it might be nice for you to see what I've been working on these past weeks."
"Really? What might that be?" I raise a brow, but he silences me by placing a finger on top of my lips, a gesture I find myself quite romantic.
"No, that will surely spoil the surprise." he states, and leads me to the door, heading off into the night.
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Leading me back to the scene of the crime, Benedict is now with me as we make the journey to the art club. When we enter, that familiar stench of rotted wood, and expensive whiskey fills the air, but this time instead of being alone to face the jeering men, Benedict holds me by the waist and leads me through to the studio.
