𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚗𝚒𝚌𝚎 - 𝚋𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚌𝚝 𝚋𝚛𝚒𝚍𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚘𝚗

𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚎𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝

Benedict left his family in an open room of the home, and led Florence down twisting hallways, passing several paintings as he did, his hands weren't on her in favour of her trailing behind at her own pace.

Eventually he turned swiftly and she followed blindly, her eyes were quick to investigate, she breathed in the fumes of parchment and drying ink, it was a study that was for certain, as soon as she was distracted by the work area, he moved around her to close the door effortlessly and slide the bolt across ensuring a locked door for their privacy - his family could be invasive sometimes.

"You wanted to speak to me, Benedict?" Florence speaks quietly, Benedict doesn't miss how her voice cuts the unspoken tension between the two as if her sweet, soothing voice was a warmed knife and the atmosphere was frozen butter. After she spoke, there was a pregnant pause as he milled over his next choice of words, he could hardly tear his eyes away from her all evening and now there was nothing between them but a table.

"Benedict?" She cautiously asks, she is standing behind the desk, her eyes flickering over his face as she washed confusion continue to drown him, she curses herself as he wets his lips as his breathing becomes staggered and she can't help but let her eyes linger. He opens his mouth and starts to pronounce something.

"Florence, I've not been able to take my eyes off you this whole evening, you will always be the prettiest one in the room, you will always be my deepest desire, I radiate with joy at even the mere thought of you, I would compare you to the stars but you are incomparable, I am willing to do anything for you, take on any burdens at all if it meant you were free of a moment of pain, I need you, and in return I offer you everything ever imaginable, I have known you not long but I can't go another minute without you knowing of my hearts true passion - you," Benedict spoke, with urgency in his voice, he really hadn't meant to just dump it on her like that, and by the deep sigh she draws in, he believes he's messed up, and badly.

"W- What are you saying?" She asks, her words are shaky as they roll off her tongue, and Benedict really wishes he had never asked to talk alone, really wishes that he never met her, and a part of him wishes he could kiss her and just take her. After she speaks, it is clear she is in a frenzied panic, her eyes are closed but they remain fluttery and she breathes shallowly again.

Benedict makes his way over to her and her eyes are quick to flinch open and she moves backwards to the wall, and he takes that as a sign to stay behind the table and let her have her space.

"I'm saying, I need you Florence, not to be my prized possession but to be my equal, you are what makes me want to breathe, I don't know if this is all those drinks talking but I want you in anyway you'll let me have you. I must've changed the damned tablecloth too many times to see your standards, let us court, I don't care if you want no children, if you despise art," He is quickly cut off by Florence.

"I like art, love it actually." She mumbles, and he breaks out in a massive smile upon seeing it, she speaks again, "That doesn't mean I want a courtship, there'll be no need for it because there is no possible marriage because I don't want nor need a husband, if you want anything else then ask, I'm sure I won't be opposed but never ask me again for a courtship, my answer will always remain a 'no'," She looks saddened by what she had said, and Benedict's eyes fell completely, robbed of any possible happiness and Florence groaned internally.

"If I cannot worship you like that please offer me the kindness of being a model for a painting by my own hand?" He inquires, he stumbles over some of the words but if Florence noticed she didn't mention it, he silently thanked her for that, she nodded saying nothing and a smile slightly graced his lips even if her head was held low.

"I have to return back to Lady Danbury, Erika will be around here in the coming days to inform you of the next available date of mine."

And with not another word she was gone.

"Well as confessions go, I don't think that was awful, could've done better," Benedict mumbled to himself.

•

Erika had decided on exactly a week later, Florence had a lot of spare time in between but Erika decided to let her rest more, she was constantly a witness to Florence depriving herself of happiness and the following consequences, what would be the difference now?

Benedict had given Erika a location, a studio somewhere remote, Erika relayed the information back to Florence, and as the days fell away she grew more and more panicked and regretful of her decision.

It was Erika that had to make sure she was actually in attendance for the painting session, of course not without complaints from Florence. She couldn't count the number of times Florence begged her to just take her home to Sweden, she proclaimed she couldn't care less about not having a husband when she went back, what would the difference be, her parents were always disappointed with her these days. But Erika had to do this, so she left Florence.

Florence eventually found her way inside, accidentally colliding with a pacing Benedict as she did so. They both mumbled quick apologies, and walked in an annoying silence all the way into the studio.

Florence was in awe at all the materials, paintbrushes neatly lined up in size order, various paint colours stored around, and a stool where the artist would sit, a large easel with a blank canvas begging to be used on it.

"How would you like me?" Florence asks, her eyes are too fixed on everything around the room, she hadn't realized what her tone was with the words, Benedict suddenly coughed appearing to be choking on air, her cheeks dusted pink as she thought about it.

"You can either be on the floor, or take the artist's stool, or I can find you something else completely-"

"I think I'll take the floor, thank you," She says dismissively. She gracefully gets to the floor, it's carpeted and the fabric will be quick to start annoying her with it's itchy material. Benedict takes his stool as she positions herself, in a sudden burst of confidence, he decides to bravely ask Florence of something.

"Would you mind if you sit for the painting nude?"

authors note
i'm not going to lie but this chapter is so short because i procrastinated for way too long and because i cut a scene i decided to just write for the next chapter