#knewjoy

benedict didn’t exactly care enough about engaging in their chatter to make a big show of confronting any of them     —     and besides, there were enough gossips in their circles that doing so with all of them would take an age and a half — and he knew that sophie would probably prefer not to engage with them and fuel their fires, either. but he would not be content to sit idly by as they disparaged his wife, and he knew that even the seemingly smallest of gestures could speak volumes. while it was no column in whistledown, benedict’s years amongst the ton had taught him that a statement could be made and heard even without any words at all. all it had taken was one sideways glance their way as they passed through the ballroom, at their first event together as a married couple that had otherwise been feted and anticipated as a celebratory occasion by those closest to them. benedict ensured that the unsubtle deliverer knew that their pointed glance had not gone unnoticed and immediately dropped his arm, effectively releasing sophie’s delicate hold on it, and reached for her hand, intertwining their fingers and bringing her closer to her side. he did so with a smile, an adoring gaze cast her way, one that made his eyes sparkle and glow with genuine happiness and blurred everything else around them. it was a pointed action, yes, one of protectiveness and defense and a show of his commitment and love to her regardless of what anyone else said or thought. but benedict just simply could never be too close to sophie and could only be satisfied with her just on his arm for so long. he offered a simple explanation for the physical shift in a lower, more intimate tone: “i much prefer joining our hands in partnership than leading you around by my elbow, if that is alright.”

   It was rare that he would allow himself to be torn away from his wife’s side at an event such as this, but his sister had decided she wanted to introduce Sophie to some of the other ladies present, and he could do nothing but concede. It would be nice, he convinced himself, for her to make friends that weren’t only him and the other Bridgertons. She deserved it, after all, but that did not console his selfish desires for very long. Even when he made polite conversation in a group of gentlemen, his gaze briefly distracted from tracking her across the room. Even when he found himself laughing jovially at one of his brother’s jokes. Even when he indulged in his second glass of barred whisky, with that innocent little expression in his eyes that would not have spared him from his mother’s scolding if she found out ( even though he was not a child any longer and indeed a married man ). Even then, he found his thoughts going back to her, and his brown eyes searching for her across the room. Finally, he’d had quite enough.

When Mrs. Jennings had told Elinor that she would find some entertainment to distract her sister from the fact that Willoughby had yet to call on her, a ball had not been what Elinor herself had been thinking. The invitation had been acquired thanks to Mrs. Jennings daughter, Lady Middleton, and Elinor herself was quite uncomfortable despite the fact that Marianne was dancing happily enough on the floor. She had not felt as if she had belonged in this part of society during her one failure of a season two years ago. Now with her situation so drastically altered, she felt even more of an outsider.

To make matters even more uncomfortable, the ball itself was being held at Bridgerton House, which ensured the attendance of her friend and correspondent Eloise Bridgerton, whom she had not informed of her presence in London. After grabbing a cup of lemonade, she stepped outside onto a balcony to get some air after having had to make polite conversation with her brother John for several minutes, when she noticed that it was already occupied by a woman who looked almost as uncomfortable as she did.

      “ -- -- STRANGE, is it not?  a glove left at a masquerade ball. . .  it is quite romantic, i should think.”  he is an artist and romantic at heart, naturally.  benedict is a friend, a dear friend at this point, and he’d watched as he’d interacted with a masked beauty who has a very similar frame to the housemaid before him.  servant?  lady?  who cares who henry speaks to -- and besides, they are alone.  he stands there curiously, tilting his head in curiosity.  henry is a painter;  he has an eye for the details.  “i rather like a mystery.  is it ungentlemanly to say so?”  he chuckles.  “what do you think?”   

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋 :   colin bridgerton  for  the mystery woman   ( @knewjoy​​​ )

❝  i understand completely why you won’t tell him. ❞           a sharp green gaze follows his elder brother across the room   ---  after benedict had been reluctantly sent away to fetch some punch.      when he turns back to the masked lady, his gaze is bright, more playful than truly flirtatious.          ❝  but what about me?   i won’t say a word.   truly  --- ❞           he takes a rather large bite of a pastry, leaving a bit of cream on his upper lip.           ❝  best secret - warden in london.  ❞

@knewjoy​    asked    ❝  you    want    a    better    story.    who    wouldn’t?  ❞ from    sophie    to    eloise.    /    richard    siken    sentence   starters.