[2] The Duchess of Kent and Strathearn | B. Bridgerton

Chapter 15

A Shoulder To Cry On

The Duke of Kent and Strathearn stood at his easel, brush in hand, studying the way the light fell across Tessa's form. She sat poised in the center of the room, her body wrapped loosely in a white blanket, the fabric gently slipping from one shoulder. Her expression was serene, her eyes distant, lost in thought as she held her pose. The room was quiet, save for the soft sounds of the brush moving against the canvas.

As Benedict painted, he couldn't help but smile, thinking of how eager his wife had been to see his work. Ever since he'd joined the Royal Academy of Arts, she had been his biggest supporter, her excitement contagious as she urged him to pursue his passion. He imagined her reaction to the finished piece — the warmth in her eyes, her proud smile. It wasn't common for a man to bring home a portrait of another woman, but between him and Charlotte, there was an unspoken understanding. This was art, nothing more, a symbol of his growth, of his dedication to his craft.

He glanced again at Tessa, adjusting the shading to capture the softness of the blanket against her skin. His thoughts wandered briefly to Charlotte, picturing her smile when she'd see how far he'd come.

"Bridgerton. Tessa. Mind if I join you?" Rupert walked in the room.

"The more the merrier," Benedict smiled and nodded at his friend.

"His Royal Highness will be happy to have you here before the two "me's" gang up on him," Tessa smirked.

"The..." Rupert's face softened in realization and moved to see what the Duke of Kent and Strathearn was working on. He looked between Tessa and the portrait and just stood there, perplexed. "It's remarkable. I should think it your best work to date."

"Well, perhaps we have all earned a drink," Benedict grinned proudly and went to serve the drinks.

"I am glad to see you blossoming, Bridgerton. I think many of us at the Academy assumed you'd be all drink and no paint," Rupert continued saying. "Just escaping newly royal duties...or your wife."

"Why ever would they assume that?" Benedict questioned, still with a smile on his face as he handed Tessa her drink. "And, even if I were to want to escape my wife, I couldn't. She has eyes everywhere, that woman."

"Well, considering your acceptance... Not because you are married to the King's daughter, no. I mean, not even that could have been used as an advantage to get you in since the founders are in a bit of a cross with the Royal Family," Rupert explained, and chuckled. "I meant how your acceptance was based on, well, you know..."

"Rupert," Tessa gave him a warning look.

"What– Enlighten me," he said confused, looking between his two acquaintances. "Please. Wha..."

"Your brother's large donation to the Academy. It's what truly secured your place," Rupert look at them with a nervous glance. "I thought you knew."

The Duke of Kent and Strathearn's smile slowly faded as Rupert's words echoed in his mind. His heart sank, and he felt a deep knot form in his stomach. He had thought his admission to the Royal Academy of Arts was a result of his own hard work and passion. He had asked his wife to refrain from using her influence, and she had kept her promise. But now he knew the truth—it wasn't her, it was Anthony, his brother, pulling strings behind his back.

He could barely process the revelation. His hands tightened around his glass of whiskey, knuckles turning white.

"I need some air," he excused himself from the room and made his way outside, his legs feeling heavier with each step.

His heart raced, anger and disappointment swirling together in a mix of emotions he couldn't quite pin down. By the time he reached his carriage, the frustration erupted. He growled, slamming his fist against the wall of the carriage as he climbed inside.