The Artist's Muse

World Could Wait

The season is still young, yet engagement announcements are already being declared. Never fear, ladies, this season's most sought-after bachelors are still very much bachelors. I do offer a word of caution to my young readers: only one of you shall be selected by Mister Bridgerton and Mister Thyne, should they choose a bride at all this season.

For the ladies who desire Mister Thyne, please be aware he does not turn a blind eye to your transparent attempts to win his heart. Really, now, pretending to be interested in art when one cannot draw a child's version of the sun?

All eyes will be on the dance floor at the upcoming ball. Who shall manage to fill their dance cards with this year's most eligible bachelors? This Author wishes you luck.

LADY WHISTLEDOWN'S SOCIETY PAPERS, 25 JULY 1815

x.x.x

Benedict entered the Featherington's ballroom alone. His family had arrived much earlier than he for he was attempting to avoid the initial rush of young ladies desperate to fill their dance cards. He was not seeking someone desperate. He was truly not seeking anyone, but he had told himself he would make more of an effort to find a wife. Hiding would not enable him to do so, but he refused to lower his standards.

Slowly, Benedict weaved through the crowd to where he'd spotted Colin. As he did, however, a blonde woman stumbled into him from the dancefloor.

She laughed breathlessly, lifting her green eyes to Benedict's. "My apologies! The dance floor is so blasted hot. I feel a little light in the head!"

"Oh," Benedict said, startled. "Perhaps we should fetch you a drink and get some air?"

The woman smiled softly. "I think that sounds wonderful."

Benedict held his arm out for her to slip her hand into and led her to the drink table, each of them selecting a drink and a pastry before Benedict guided her toward the back terrace. They descended the steps into the garden, both silently sipping their drinks as they walked along the floral-smelling path. It was much cooler than the ballroom had been, but the breeze did not have a chill to it.

"It's a lovely night," the woman commented as they stopped at a bench and sat, each keeping a respective distance from the other.

Benedict nodded, humming in agreement as he took a bite of his pastry. "It is much more comfortable out here as well."

"Yes," the woman replied with a laugh. "I love to dance, but the dance floor at these sorts of balls can be quite suffocating. It is like being a wild animal that is surrounded by a hunting party!"

Benedict looked at her quickly, forgetting the pastry that was raised partway to his mouth. "I feel the exact same way."

"Oh, praise be!" she exclaimed, reaching over and putting her hand on Benedict's arm. "I was quite afraid you were going to find a sly way to convince me to dance with you instead of just doing a good deed like I hoped!"

Benedict put his pastry down. "No, to tell you the truth, I wish to never need to step foot on a dancefloor."

"Why's that?"

Benedict tore his eyes from hers, frowning into the darkness. "They do not provide the intimacy required to truly learn who a person is."

The woman was quiet for a moment before she spoke. When she did, her voice was free of any judgment. "That is quite a profound statement for one to make."