The Artist's Muse

Evening Meal

It appears Miss Flor Hardinge has taken a leave of absence from the ton until further notice. Reports stated she was visiting an ill friend. Her most likely suitors, Mister Thyne and Mister Bridgerton, were spotted at a gallery together. Perhaps they are putting aside their differences, or perhaps they are determining one another's weaknesses to win the hand of Miss Hardinge. It will be a spectacle to witness.

LADY WHISTLEDOWN'S SOCIETY PAPERS, 26 AUGUST 1815

x.x.x

Benedict sat stiffly in the carriage as it bumped along the street toward Lander's home. When Benedict had left, there had been a series of questions from his family as to where he was spending his evening. He had simply stated the truth. That had opened up a series of other questions as to why he was spending an evening of drinking with Lander when Lander had stolen Flor from Benedict. Perhaps it hadn't been the best plan to tell them the truth, but Benedict had been far too nervous to create a feasible lie.

He did not know how he could possibly make it through the evening with the churning of his stomach. The thought of eating the smallest amount of food made him feel ill. Perhaps he could tell the driver he needed to return home because he'd come down with a sudden illness.

Benedict quickly scolded himself. He was not a coward. Whatever happened during dinner would not end with him dead, so what was there to fear? He could have a civil dinner with Lander to discuss art and aspirations. They could even discuss Flor in a calm manner. Benedict would not acknowledge the other topic Lander had hinted at. He would not fret about it unless Lander mentioned it.

As the coach slowed to a stop, Benedict quickly gathered himself. It really was quite possible to allow fear to take hold.

The door opened and Benedict nodded his thanks. Lander stood at the bottom of the steps, a nervous smile on his face. That was off. Benedict had not pegged Lander as one who ever became nervous. He always appeared so sure of himself.

"Good evening," Benedict murmured as he approached Lander.

"Good evening," Lander replied brightly without an ounce of nervousness in his voice. Perhaps Benedict had imagined the smile. "Dinner is waiting for us in the dining room."

"Terrific," Benedict said with a little too much spirit. "I am so looking forward to it!"

"Are you quite well?" Lander asked as they entered the house.

Benedict scarcely remembered it from his grand escape mere weeks ago. It was not as large as his family's home, but there were signs of wealth. Ornate art hanging on the walls. Fine sculptures and cases with flowers darted the dark wood hall. There were stiff-looking chairs in each corner of the entryway that Benedict was sure no one sat in for how uncomfortable they appeared.

Benedict followed Lander down the short hall to the dining room that held a long wooden table that was full of food on one end. Windows lined the wall across from the door with the navy curtains tightly shut.

As Benedict slid into the chair, Lander took the one at the head of the table, directly to Benedict's left. Lander and Benedict remained quiet until the servants who seemed to appear from thin air had filled their plates and departed, closing the doors behind them.

"I believe that you should attempt to have a gallery display of your own in the future," Lander said as he picked up his fork and knife, slicing through the thick piece of meat on his plate.

Benedict cleared his throat, turning his attention to his own plate, which was filled with meat and vegetables and pasta. "Oh, I don't know about that. I do not think my art is at that caliber quite yet."