Chapter Text
The immediate aftermath of Adrien’s statement was silent. Benedict didn’t seem bothered by his abruptness in shutting down that particular line of questioning. Benedict also didn’t seem urged to point out that, technically, that was question five. Whether because he had not realized this, or because he did not want to wait until they crossed paths again, though it seemed increasingly likely to happen sooner rather than later, we cannot be certain.
The silence was intermittently broken by Adrien humming softly, punctuating the occasional stroke of his pencil on paper. Benedict, to his credit, did not immediately pursue any other line of questioning, content to pencil in his view of the pond alongside the older Artist.
Adrien doesn’t look up from his work, “Your technique is good.” He pauses after that, and it is clear to both that there’s more Adrien wants to say.
Benedict frowns slightly, “I sense there is a ‘but’ coming.”, his voice is light, but it doesn’t take perfect sight to see that the comment, or the looming insinuation, bothered the Bridgerton.
“However, there is a ‘however’ coming.” Adrien says, eyes flicking over, “Your technique is good, not perfect, but that comes with time. However, you focus on too many things. It’s… crowded.”
“Crowded how, exactly?”
Adrien’s eyes flicker again, and his teeth run across his bottom lip quickly, as he clearly seems to be searching for the right way, the most passive way, to respond. “What, in this scene, is supposed to draw your eye?” He waits a half-second before continuing, “The pond, ideally. But here you have three subjects. The pond, the lanterns, and the people. Now, there’s nothing wrong, per se, but it detracts from the whole image.” Adrien stops, seemingly losing what words were to follow. Instead, he eventually settles, “It’s not incorrect. Art can’t be objectively incorrect, but it’s worth asking yourself what you are trying to say in your art.” Adrien finishes his monologue, not entirely unakin to that of Professors at the Royal Academy.
Benedict lets the criticism steep for a few minutes before he breaks the silence, which is just teetering on awkward, “Then why do you paint? What is your art trying to say?” he risks asking a sixth question. Adrien didn’t call him on the extra two he’d asked, until he’d asked why he’d stopped. Perhaps one more would not be amiss? Newsflash, sometimes things that seem innocent may, in fact, be more telling than either speaker originally realized.
Adrien hums, “It is easier to remember, when there is something physical to look at.”
It didn’t take a genius to know that Adrien was not referring to remembering a pond.
“Remember what?” Benedict pushes lightly, hesitantly, as if approaching a rabbit or squirrel. The comparison is amusing, and not entirely wrong when labeled against the Vicomte.
And like a squirrel, hearing the snap of leaves and twigs in the woods, Adrien stills. He exhales sharply, like a dragon puffing smoke from its nostrils, and hums. He does not answer, instead clearly replaying the conversation, lips tilting downwards. “That…. Is not important. Not to anyone but myself.” he finally forces out, voice almost monotone, a sharp contrast to the original light and bookish tone from before. Clearly, a nerve has been struck.
Benedict doesn’t apologize, but he’s smart enough to know when to backpedal, “Of course.” He accepts the answer, not continuing down that particular conversation.
Silence falls again. There is a slight tension in the air, but it seems to fade away before Benedict’s eyes, and the balance is restored. And, as seems to be the norm, the pair go back to drawing. Until, inevitably, Benedict becomes brave again. And when people become brave, they tend to make rather reckless in regard to impulsive decisions.
“There are better gardens at Bridgerton House.”
Adrien looked up, a flash of genuine surprise making itself known before reverting back to his usual bored expression, “And you are inviting me to come paint them?”.
“That is what I implied, yes.” Though anyone with half a brain could see beyond that. Fortunantly though, our pair of artists remained very, very blind.
Adrien hums, “Well then, Monsieur Bridgerton, I accept.”
The Vicomte de Montfaucon had agreed to paint the gardens and surroundings of Bridgerton House. He had not agreed to become closely acquainted with the rest of the Bridgerton Brood. This distinction, he would discover, was largely theoretical.