This is a mistake, was the mantra Benedict thought all through his trek towards Granville's flat. A mistake to continue to ponder over what he'd seen, a mistake to question, a mistake to be here when he knew Mister and Missus Granville were out of the house, attending some luncheon with the lady's mother, if his sources were correct.
An absolute, abominable, fool hardy mistake to seek out Edith Granville with the sole purpose as to probe her for what she knew of her uncle's love affair with Lord Wetherby.
Well…perhaps not probe, not like a constable looking to lock a man in chains, but more like an inquisitive mind, having never fathomed the idea that love could exist between two men as it had between men and women for a millenia. Yes, that was it. A mere curiosity, a question asked, and that was all.
All that she might do is throw him out, and Benedict was hard pressed to assure himself that the loss would be easy to cope with.
Edith was raised a lady, much like his sisters. Raised on notions of love, fed teachings of honor, and groomed with a haughty (yet narrow) idea of what a respectable woman was and what she tolerated. And ladies, although kept from this sort of thing, ladies of the ton knew well enough that love making was for men and women.
So, how was it that Edith Granville accepted her uncle without pause? With her pedigree lineage and her eleven suitors during her first season? She'd been on the fast track to being one of the first married ladies of her season, and now she painted in cantankerous solitude in her uncle's home, not a marriage prospect in sight. Was it desperation? Was she silent and compliant to keep a roof overhead? She had two brothers, if he recalled correctly, who she could have run away to, and a father who would not have turned her away to live in poverty. Lord knows he would have housed and protected his own sisters in a heartbeat had they needed it.
A new surge of determination had him rushing a little faster to Granville's home, and had him raising his hand to beat on the knocker with fast taps before he could think twice.
The lovely face that greeted him was the housemaid he knew sometimes posed for Henry's guests, but he could not recall her name. No matter, he was not here to see her.
"Is Miss Granville receiving visitors today?" He said it as a courtesy, for he did not intend to be turned away.
"Er…" The maid paused, casting a look over her shoulder before turning back to him. "Y-yes, Mister Bridgerton. Please come in. Please wait here for a moment, and I will inform my lady of your arrival." With a soft dip of her chin, she hurried away through the foyer
" What ?" Edie sat straighter in her seat, eyes widening as she took in Isabelle's announcement. "Why would you let him in here!?"
"Miss…he's a Bridgerton." The maid replied as though it were the only answer.
"Yes? And I am Granville and you are a Taylor. What has Pointy's surname have to do with him arriving here, uninvited, unannounced and wholly unwelcome!?"
"You don't just slam the door shut in a Bridgertons face."
Edie gaped at Isabelle, feeling oddly fused to her spot on the lounge, her bare toes curling inwards as though to hide from the unexpected caller. After her uncle had left, towed out the door by Lucy at the earliest of hours, Edie had decided that the day left alone warranted a day without stays, without stockings, left only in her nightgown and housecoat, hair unbound as she idled away the hours snacking and painting.
"Isabelle, I am not dressed !" Edie hissed, finally moving to stand and wretch the opening of her housecoat closed, worriedly peeking behind Isabelle in case Pointy proved impatient as well.
Isabelle kept a cool head in the face of Edie's rapidly growing alarm.
"Go through the kitchens, and ascend the steps of the servants stairs and make your way to your chambers. I shall have the gentleman sitting here and ply him well with tea while you dress."
"Yes, or- or ," Edie countered. "You can tell him you made a mistake and tell him to go away and never return." Isabelle tilted her head at her lady, mouth pinched into a flat line and Edie knew she had never seen Isabelle so put off before, and could not help but let a low whine escape her lips before obeying her instructions.
Benedict was nearly done with his cup of tea when the maid announced Edie's arrival into the parlor. Standing to greet her, Benedict bowed his head, briefly catching sight of Edith Granville's scowl, one he expected only existed because of the scar tissue that turned the corner of her mouth downwards. Or, perhaps, his unannounced arrival had truly irked her and her gentle upbringing had refused to allow her to turn him away.
He also noted, somewhat amusedly, she wore her housecoat over her green dress, her hair falling down over her shoulder in a loose plait, wisps of hair falling around her face. She almost looked beautiful.
"Forgive me, I did not expect any callers today, so I profusely apologize for inconveniencing you while I composed myself." She spoke in a curt voice, and Benedict's earlier thoughts of being a fool returned to him with a soft whisper of smug satisfaction at being right.
"Right." Benedict murmured, and then he straightened when he realized how right she was. "Ahem…well…right." he stated, firmer this time, though still feeling oddly chastised. But still, he refused to leave without answers, without ascertaining what the daughter of a well respected duke thought of her uncle's lover. "My apologizes, Miss Granville, I did not intend to disturb you–"
"Then you would not have come." she said, clasping her hands together
"–but there are some…matters I wish to…discuss…with you."
Edie paused. "You sound so worried, Pointy;" her scowl deepened, and she stepped closer. "Has someone been accosted? Have you–?" she halted before she could ask if he'd been harmed in Henry's home, or if some poor creature was accusing him of doing the harm. She did not think the latter was true, but one could not be too careful about these things. "Is something the matter?" She asked.
"I…" he began, and for a moment he faltered, searching for the right words. For a moment, he thought of changing the subject to safer topics, worried that perhaps Edith didn't know as her uncle had indicated. But why would Henry have made him believe otherwise? Without much thought, he blurted, "Have you ever been in love, Miss Granville?"
Edith blinked. " Pardon me? " she hissed out, momentarily shocked into silence. "You…" her mind worked fast, heart hardening itself in offense at such a question. Her face had made it impossible for anyone to fall in love and yet he still had the gall to ask her that? "You truly are a ridiculous man, Mister Bridgeton."
"Wait, miss…" Benedict tried, only to be cut off when Edie stood abruptly.
"It is far, far from your concern if I have ever…well, you know." It made her face flame to even think of the notion of being in love, shame and anger and longing fighting within her heart, each claiming they deserved to own the word 'love'.
Once, she thought she'd had it with her lover, Hugh. But she'd been wrong and learned that love was not hers to own. It could only be borrowed for a short time, lent out with a string attached to yank it back in again.
"No, miss, please. I only wanted to say that, in my view, one has little control over who one finds love with. And I…well, I suppose I only wish to know if you'd ever found yourself in love with someone inappropriate."
"Are you accusing me of something?" She bit back, eyes narrowed, stance ready to turn and flee.
"What?" Benedict exclaimed. Good God, this was not going well at all. In his haste to form the basis of this delicate conversation, he'd forgotten that Edith was prickly and defensive, likely not to find ease in a gentle introduction to this talk. " No ! Good God." He held his hands out in a placating manor. "Miss Granville, I have become aware of a personal relationship between your uncle, and one Lord Wetherby."
Edith became unnaturally still, and for a moment, Benedict thought she might have stopped breathing.
Suddenly, her angry voice was cold as ice, soft and gentle. "I do not know what it is you speak of, Mister Bridgerton, and if you are suggesting that we have-have unnatural acts within this house, I shall have to demand you leave. It is highly offensive."
"I think you know very well what it is I am referring to, Miss Granville. At the very least, your uncle has confirmed you have knowledge of it."
"Are you a constable? No . You are the second son of a viscount and hold budding talent as an artist. I suggest you remember your place in the world and mind your own business."
Benedict's mouth tightened, and a look of such fury crossed his handsome features which inspired a wave of fear to crash over Edie like a wave upon a rocky took a step back out of caution, hiding her trembling hands by clenching her fists at her sides. "I am a man who will choose my place, madam. And I am no fool. I know very well what I saw."
Then, he turned to leave.
And Edie's feet rushed after him of their own accord, her hand reaching out to curl under his arm and hook around him, hands clenching tight to his coat.
For a long moment, the two just stared at one another, blue eyes meeting blue, one filled with anger, while the other, he noted, were filled with fear. It took a moment before Edie's actions caught up with her mind, and she hastily backed away from the tall man, hands coming to clasp together before her.
"I…My apologies, Mister Briderton." she spoke in a voice that was softer than he'd ever heard it, and it nearly worried him. "Please, do sit. I will…we will talk." Benedict eyed her critically, and Edie's voice took on a pleading tone. "Please." It took another moment before Benedict turned back, silently accepting Edie's offer. A little surge of relief soothed over her frayed nerves, but not nearly potent enough to put her at ease. Turning her body, she strode towards one of the chest of drawers pressed against the far wall, kneeling down and opening one of the drawers.
"What are you doing?"
"I think this discussion requires a stiff drink, wouldn't you?" She called back, rooting about for a moment before producing a half full bottle of brandy.
Benedict did crave the burn of a good brandy, but hell if he would admit it to Edie, still burned at her harsh reminder that he was still only Number Two.
She took his silence as his disapproval, turning to look back at him while she stood up and began to walk back towards the sitting area. "No? Well I certainly need a little bit more courage to face this conversation." With that she uncorked the bottle and took a swig, her face contorting as the liquor washed down her throat.
Benedict blinked, unsure whether or not to admire her boldness or be put off.
"Well, Pointy, how have you…" She grunted softly as she sat down, the neck of the bottle securely in hand. "Found out about my uncle's interests? You're not…" Edie tilted her head. "Similarly inclined, are you? Because I wouldn't have pegged you for it."
Benedict rolled his eyes and held his hand out for the bottle of brandy. "No." he replied, pausing to take a swig. "Dear god, that's strong." He groaned as he sat back down.
"It tastes stronger when you drink it from the bottle than from a glass. Quite lovely, isn't it?"
"And to think you were a debutante." He murmured, taking another long drink with a wince.
A sardonic grin tugged at her lips. "With a face like mine? Come now, Pointy." She took the bottle back and took another drink. "I am far better suited as the thing children make up stories about. I have plans to make people believe I am a witch in my old age. Keep solicitors at bay, and all that."
"I remember you to be quite lovely." He remembered little about her but that. She had been a girl in a crowded room when he knew her, nothing else. A girl his mother had pushed for Anthony to dance with, but when Anthony had disappeared from the ballroom, his mother set her sights on him instead. A dance that went by in a flash, and forgotten just as quickly.
But, he'd remembered her with stark clarity after her attack. A gruesome, bloody sight, he had heard. Ruined forever, lucky to be alive , they said. And while men at White's were almost cruel in their recollection of her beauty—all talk of Edith making a suitable wife had vanished with the slice of a knife—a handful of gentlemen said they hoped the bastard who had cleaved her life in half, suffered a slow death, while the rest of them agreed and toasted to his future in hell.
The unintentional barb twisted in Edie's gut like the knife that had once slashed across her face. She had been lovely, beautiful and graceful and her father had had high hopes of her marrying into nobility. Now he would be happy if a merchant sailor took her on.
But Edie would never let the hurt show on her face, and covered whatever might face flickered over her ruined features with a grimace after a third and final gulp of alcohol.
"Well, Bridgerton." She began, setting the corked bottle on the table. "I have had enough libations. Now tell me, what is it you want?" She thought of the money hiding upstairs in her room, and dread settled like a stone in her heart. It would be hard to part with it, but for Henry, she would.
A beat passed in silence. " Want ?" He asked, narrowing his brows.
"Money? A kind word or two to art curators, or nobles looking to commission a piece?" She didn't really think he was the kind of man to ask for the use of her body, but she had come to learn men had a particular desire to want things just because they could. It seemed to give them pleasure to take it, to be made to feel a mighty conqueror. Such was the reason she had been disfigured.
If that monster could not have her, he certainly made sure no one else would.
Benedict scoffed. "You, madam, have the incredible talent of assuming all the wrong things about my character."
Edie bristled. "Well it is highly unusual for a gentleman to come and ask for only answers regarding matters such as these, especially when they have little to do with the lady you now question."
Benedict paused, thinking once more of his sisters. Daphne would more than likely faint to think of men like Henry under her roof. Eloise shared his curious spirit but was still too innocent in the ways of the world, while little Francesca and Hyacinth were too young to understand why exactly this might be cause for alarm.
And, as a man who had been taught to turn men like Henry over to the law, more than anything else, he wanted to better understand why he himself felt no revulsion towards Henry and his lover.
Edie began to fiddle with her fingers, the silence far too loud for her ears and her already fraying nerves.
"Do you take issue with whom my uncle has fallen in love with?" she asked finally. She prayed that Bridgerton only wanted something in exchange for silence, for money was far more easily handed over if the alternative was grappling with blind hatred, or a man's perversion.
"No." Benedict replied at once. "No, of course not. I only wonder why you do not seem to."
Edith frowned, her scar deepening. "Love is love, Bridgerton. Why not take it when you have the chance?"
True, when she had first learned of Henry's fondness for his own sex, she had been horrified, silenced by her own disillusionment. And then, angry to remember Lucy, affronted on her behalf.
Henry had sensed the day she had found out, when his niece who had once been so close to him had suddenly gone cold and aloof. No longer did she take her dinner with him, nor did she sit beside him and watch raptly as he painted. His studio was filled only with the sound of his brush, without the harmony of his niece's pencil scratching over paper. She spent days in her room, and Henry had left her alone, afraid she would find his intrusion so abhorrent, she would leave back to her father's home that instant.
He feared imprisonment, but he also feared losing his Edie forever.
Once the odd feeling of betrayal had waned some, she'd ventured down to his studio, lonely for his company and never left again. She kept her distance, working across the room, asking curt questions here and there, but nothing else, speaking nothing with substance. It was not until she caught sight of Lord Wetherby's lingering touch on Henry's back did she start to thaw. After a time, Lucy came to assure her she was not despondent in her marriage, and although their love was that of two great friends, it was a better marriage than she could have hoped for in the blush of her girlhood.
And though she laughed and cavorted about with her uncle as freely as she had when she was a small child, there were times that seeing Lord Wetherby made her feel awkward and stuttering, and she found she was much more comfortable avoiding his company.
"And, as you said, one cannot control whom they fall in love with, no more than a sailor can command the waters which he sails. Why disparage things we cannot change?" She paused, regarding the man before her with quiet interest. "So how did you come to learn of this?"
To her great joy, Pointy's cheeks became that soft petal pink she adored. "I erm…well I…" he was far too aware he was speaking to a lady, and the man's niece no less and did his very best to be delicate. He had learned too slowly that Edith was not naive, but he was not entirely sure how worldly she was either. "I opened a certain door in error. Let us leave it at that."
"It is quite a shock, isn't it?" She spoke softly, her eyes cast across the room, far away in a memory.
"Quite." Benedict mumbled back curtly, his eyes fixed on her face. He couldn't imagine it had been easy for her, but looking at her now, and recalling all the times he'd seen her and Henry together, he did not doubt that she loved him still.
He might have even thought Henry kept his niece close to him to ensure she kept her silence, that he swathed her with all her heart desired, to make her silent, her chains a comfort she could not afford to lose. But Henry spoke of his niece with reverence, an affection in his eye that reminded Benedict of how his father had looked at his children when he'd been alive. Henry was more a father to Edie than an uncle, and it was love that kept this secret from the world. Not shame, nor greed.
"You did not answer my question, though." She added, reproachful yet almost tentative. When Benedict looked up at her again, he was sure he'd never seen Edith so…small. All the other times he'd seen her, she was a presence to behold–bold and unapologetic. Even when her shoulders were slumped and her eyes narrowed in concentration, neck tilted crookedly to take in her own artistry, she did not fold in on herself. Until now. "What is it you want?"
Benedict sighed, realization dawning on him with a harsh clarity that set his teeth on edge. Her continuing determination to assume the absolute worst of his character and intentions was quickly trying his patience. When had he ever displayed less than courteous manners to her? Had he ever done anything to her to warrant her mistrust? Her scorn?
"I've no need of money, madam, if that is what you assume." He bit out. "And you insult me even further to assume I'd want to be recommended for a commission based on some veiled threat, rather than the quality of my work."
Finally, Edie's frustration broke through and she spat venom back at him. "Then what is it you want? I have satisfied your curiosity and you can either tell me what you want, or you can leave!"
Benedict's rebuttal was just on the tip of his tongue, his own anger pulsing through his veins. But he bit his tongue. The woman was as prickly as nettles, but skittish, likely as not to snap and bite like a wounded beast.
"I am not asking for anything, Miss Granville. I only ask for honesty, and you have given me that." But then, he could not help but add, "Unwillingly, and with all the reluctance of a petulant child, but still."
Edie scoffed, but her shoulders fell from their tense perch. For a long moment, it was silent between them, the ticking of the clock their only company for a long while.
The woman cast her eyes on her visitor, wondering briefly when he would leave. Perhaps he had more to say, more questions, and perhaps if she answered them, he would put them both out of their misery and leave, putting this awkward conversation to an end.
"I'd…" she began, searching for the words, her eyes set on her fidgeting fingers. "I'd thought of it…of running back to my father, forgetting I ever had an uncle named Henry." She admitted. "But then…I had my heart broken, by a man who never even cared for me." Hugh, who she had inspired girlish dreams of what their children would look like. "And after that, I was angry. And jealous. Of Henry and Lord Wetherby." It shamed her now to remember those dark feelings, to have resented someone she loved so dearly because of an insignificant worm like Hugh. "And I considered it. Returning to my father, even telling him about Henry, watching his world burn down."
Benedict was astonished, and kept silent as Edith revealed her darkest secret.
"I knew I never could; I knew what would happen to Henry if I did, and I couldn't live with myself if I had." Her uncle would have been hanged, labeled a sinner, a degenerate and disgraced. The horrible truth of it permeated the air like a poisoned fog, and Edie almost felt dizzy with it. "It took time to realize what I had had was not love. It wasn't real. I had made it up in my own head. But what Henry has… that is as real as I have ever seen it."
Once more, silence reigned over them, Benedict silently pondering Edie's confession. He had not thought Edie had ever been in love with a man, thinking the opportunity had passed her by in the wake of her misfortune. But, by the sounds of it, she had thought herself in love afterwards, not before. He found himself evermore curious, wondering who the man had been, where they were now, and how such a creature could be so vile as to break this particular woman's heart.
"I believe, Miss Granville, that I should take my leave. I thank you for your candor."
He moved to stand, and Edith did as well, her eyes wide and finally able to look him in the face.
"Mister Bridgerton, you and I have spoken as honestly as we can thus far. And I shall ask that we speak as such a while longer." Edie said, hands once more fidgeting.
"Yes?"
Edie swallowed dryly. "I…I am not one to beg. But…I heartily beseech that you keep this information private. You…you must understand the consequences of such–."
"Consider me a mute on the topic." He cut in, voice soft and genuine.
"Thank you, Pointy." She murmured, her fear slowly draining out of her the longer she stared into Benedict's soft blue eyes.