Half of it

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Content, for once in my life, I arrive at the Granville home later that evening in my black cloak that helps me to disguise myself. Henry greets me and unlocks the door to the studio as he allows me to enter. "So, my dear? I have said it once and I shall say it again. I must have my share of the gossip, do tell me just how the ball was for yourself tonight."

"You were there, Lord Granville. I do believe I cannot tell you anything that you have not seen with your own eyes." I lower myself into my seat, and I begin to unpack the paints that have been set aside, choosing a light pink for the base of my painting. I discard my old canvas and start new. "I may have danced, I may not have dance. It is not as though it matters too much."

"My dear, of course it matters. The man I saw you dancing with, is he the suitor you are so madly in love with?" He suggests, leaning back against the chair, his body relaxed. I assume he has already consumed much alcohol and tobacco, and so will discuss almost anything and everything with me. "You cannot deny that you are in love with him, Peaches. I have never seen you paint with pink before. To an artist, that is a simple sign. The heart expressing itself on the canvas, your emotions exploding onto the easel. You are in love and that is only the half of it."

"I am not in love. I have only know him for two days and I do not fall in love with someone after two days. I am not like my sisters who become infatuated with every man that crosses them in the streets of London. I will not be in love." I scowl, re-evaluating my colour choices, and instead opting for a dark gray that covers the pink. "There, is that better for you, Lord Granville?"

"You are in love, Peaches. That is not something to be ashamed of, I am in love. Lucy is in love. Your sisters are in love, your friends are in love, you are the odd one out by not being in love. You must accept this so that you can act upon it! Seize your moment, Peaches, be an artist and a romantic and allow your heart to speak rather than your head. Or are you afraid?" I am well aware that he thinks by calling me afraid, he can awaken something in me that will tempt me to fight back. But I am not a man with anger issues and so this will not work. "Is he in love with you?"

"What does it matter if he is anyway? We could never marry. He is more important than me, he could be a viscount one day. I am the youngest child in my family, when my father dies, it would take a hundred deaths for anything to pass along to me. I do not know what I am to do. He had occupied my thoughts for the past two days and all he has done is converse with me as any polite noble man would do. Why do I feel this way, Henry? I feel as though I am in agony." I shake my head, and in a moment of weakness, I allow myself to become vulnerable. "I am sure that he would be so wonderful for me. He would allow me to paint, I know that, he paints himself. He is rather good at it too. And when he smiles, I... I do not care how many sunsets and autumn leaves and pretty white flowers I have seen, nothing compares to how I feel when I see that. It is pathetic, is it not? To feel all of this after only two days?"

"Perhaps you are not a painter, perhaps you are a poet. When you are faced with true love, it does not matter how long you have known or loved that person. All that matters is that you hold onto them and you do not allow them to leave. You must at least try, Peaches. You tell me of Penelope's pining, and you hate that, do you not? You have always told me how you hate her pining. Do you want to spend your days pining as she does, or do you want to take action and seize your moment? Do something of it?"

"Of course I do!" I whine, becoming frustrated once again and dropping my paint brush, turning to Lord Granville so that I may concentrate all my energy on the conversation we are having. "But you forget that I am a lady and I am not a lord. I cannot initiate anything, and I cannot partake in anything until he has married me, and I do not know how I am to convince him to marry me."

"You are different, Peaches. Unlike any woman I have met in the ton, and I am sure that he is thinking the same thing of you. You must continue what you are doing, continue to dance with him and walk with him and converse with him whenever possible. This is the only way you shall get what you want, Peaches. Persistence and determination and time, they are all you have and they are all on your side."

"You are too kind, my lord." I let out a final sigh, and I stand. "I do think I shall perhaps go home tonight. I am feeling exhausted from the events of today and this chatter. I appreciate your advice, my lord. And as always, I appreciate everything you do for me. I am not worthy of your friendship and tutelage."

"If you are not, Peaches, then no one is."

I bid him farewell and return home. When I sneak back through, I see that there is a letter addressed to me, and I am careful as I collect it and rush to my room to read it.

Dearest Peaches,

I do believe your paintings put me to shame. You are destined to paint, that much is clear to me from only a few brief sketches, I should love to see the completed works of Peaches Featherington.

I apologise once more for Anthony tonight. His attitude has changed significantly recently and he is rather unpredictable. He becomes more like our father every day.

I do hope I shall see you again tomorrow at the next ball. I find myself getting fed up with dancing, but the promise of dancing with you makes it seem not so tiresome.

Yours,
Benedict Bridgerton

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