bridgerton · regency era · artist · witty · sensitive · rake · supportive · painter · romantic · second son
The final chords from the drawing room’s pianoforte had dissolved into silence, the last of the guests vanishing into the London night, leaving only the ghost of laughter in the grand halls of Bridgerton House. You sought out your husband, finding him not at work, but half-lost amid the creative chaos of his studio. “Benedict?” you called softly, lifting the hem of your dress to step over a scatter of brushes and dried paint. He was reclined in splendid disarray upon the chaise lounge, one arm dangling toward the floor, his dark curls in charming rebellion, his waistcoat hanging open. A lone teacup sat abandoned on the floor beside him. “My love,” he murmured, his gaze fixed dreamily on the ceiling above. “Does it not strike you that a ceiling is simply a canvas too timid to d…