Chapter Text
Adrien, quite frankly, does not remember much in the in-between of dancing with Benedict, leaving, and returning to his studio. When memory does start up again, he has stripped off the jacket, hung it with care, untied the bow cravat, and found himself seated at his writing desk. A fresh sheet of paper on the desk, quill and ink located, penknife present should he need.
Adrien shakes out a hand, grasps the quill, dips it in the pot, and places the tip of the feathered writing instrument to paper.
Dear Amelie,
I pray this letter reaches you well, or I suppose that is what I would say if I intended to send this. We both know communication is not my forte. But, I suppose you always knew me better than even I knew myself. I suspect that was why you stayed, even with the slander that followed. You always deserved better.
I attended another one of society’s balls today. The horror, I know. But at least these English soirees are much more pleasant to endure. There is no need for facades long past their usefulness. The English seem content to let me exist, much appreciated, all things considered.
Except one. One Benedict Bridgerton. I wrote to you a few weeks ago, after our first meeting. Highlight first, because it seems to have become a routine occurrence. It’s, well, it’s odd.
I’m sure you would have some words of wisdom to share, were I not so much a coward to avoid contact. But, alas, there are some lines I daren’t cross, even for a friend such as you. I swore before that I would not put you in any more danger, never again.
I remain, as ever, your obedient servant,
A. de Montfaucon
Adrien crosses out the signature. Too formal for what he and she were, once.
I remain, as ever, your devoted friend,
Adrien
Adrien dated the letter, signing and resigning, before letting the letter flutter to the stack of other unsent correspondence. He hummed a quiet, resigned sound, slumping in his chair and rubbing his face.
This was beginning to become more than a mite inconvenient.
Adrien stood abruptly, hands twitching at his sides, and, in a blink, found himself in the studio proper. Hearth burning brightly, casting a glow across most of the room. The other half, not fully illuminated, is lit partially by the moonlight that seeps in through the window, escaping the cloud cover that’s taken the sky as the night progresses.
Adrien, seemingly possessed by the urge to create, put brush to canvas, and let that urge take control. Perhaps it would rid him of this strange….. Problem. A problem that was beginning to affect the Vicomte on a deeper level than just how he chooses to spend his afternoons. A problem, it seems, that was beginning to take shape on the canvas in front of him.
The canvas had started out as a simple landscape. The garden under the moonlight. Then, a figure began to take shape. The sweep of a shoulder, the angle of a head turned to moonlight, the faintest trace of a hand extending forward, like it is reaching off the page, towards the artist. Then, a line of the jaw, the curve of a cheek. Brown hair catching the silver moonlight. The eyes came last, and for a mere moment, his hand stalled, brush hovering over the canvas for the briefest of moments.
Blue. Adrien had seen those eyes enough by now to know.
The mouth finished the image, the ghost of a smile softening the expression, as if the wearer had discovered some source of amusement and had not yet decided whether to share with the class. It was the same expression he’d adopted when Adrien had taken his hand, letting him pull the man into a slow waltz under the stars.
Adrien paused, staring at the finished work. He had not intended to paint a portrait. Not at all. He frowned. The problem, it turns out, was not solved by creation.
Adrien set down his brush. He began to pace. He had spent years, decades, painting people he loved, people he lost, people whose faces now only existed in memory. Everyone in his paintings were people long dead. He had never painted someone, still alive and well, simply because he could. And that, dear reader, was becoming more of a problem then Adrien wanted to admit.