✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚ 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐒 ˚｡⋆ ༘˚✧
· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·
𝐯𝐢𝐢.

𝐈𝐓 appears that the Huxleys, of the venerable Windsor estate, are set to host a spectacle of unparalleled grandeur. This Saturday, their residence shall open its doors to an exclusive assembly, celebrating a five-day event that promises to dazzle the ton.

From the whispers that have reached our ears, this grand affair will feature elegant balls, refined soirées, and an array of social engagements designed to leave a lasting impression. The anticipation for such an event is palpable, and it is said that both the setting and the company will be nothing short of spectacular.

Our dear Miss Athena Huxley, having made quite a stir this season, will be the center of attention as she prepares to return to her beloved Windsor. One can only imagine the charm and grace with which she will host her guests, and it is certain that her efforts will be rewarded with a season of unforgettable memories.

We eagerly await further details of this illustrious event and anticipate that it will be the highlight of the season. Until then, let us prepare ourselves for a whirlwind of elegance and excitement, all set against the backdrop of the Huxley estate.

Lady Whistledown's Society Papers,
18 June, 1815

𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 his brief but intimate encounter with Miss Athena Huxley a few days ago, Benedict Bridgerton found himself pondering the cause of her abrupt departure. She had just confided that she had purchased a gown specifically for him, and then, without a moment's hesitation, she had stormed out, leaving him alone. After a few minutes of reflection, Benedict had taken his leave of the Huxley residence, unable to return or further understand the reason for her sudden exit.

When Benedict had later visited his family at the Bridgerton estate that evening, his mother had presented him with an invitation from the Huxleys. The invitation detailed a forthcoming five-day event at their residence in Windsor, extending a warm request for his presence.

He had, of course, accepted the invitation and had swiftly departed from his family to return to his own residence. There, in the solitude of his drawing room, he sat with a glass of cognac, gazing out the window. Benedict grappled with a sense of unease about his decision, yet his desire to see her and express how deeply he yearned for her, and no one else, overshadowed his doubts.

For years, he had eluded the attentions of every debutante in London, finding none to pique his interest. Yet, there she was, standing before him with a smile so innocent and joyful it seemed to illuminate her very being. That radiant smile had weakened his resolve as he placed the first kiss of the season upon her knuckles. Benedict had never experienced such a profound connection with anyone before and was resolute in his determination not to let it slip away.

The days leading up to the Huxley's grand event passed in a blur of restless anticipation for Benedict. As he prepared for the journey to Windsor, his thoughts remained fixated on Athena. He found himself rehearsing in his mind the words he might say and the ways he might convey the depth of his feelings for her.

On the morning of his departure, Benedict took one last look at his surroundings, ensuring he had everything he needed for the five-day stay. He donned his finest attire, carefully selecting garments that would suit both the formality of the occasion and his personal desire to make a memorable impression. The journey to Windsor was filled with moments of contemplation, each mile bringing him closer to the possibility of a new beginning.

Upon his arrival at the Huxley estate, the grandeur of the property took his breath away. The estate was meticulously prepared for the arrival of the ton, with every detail reflecting the opulence and elegance befitting such an occasion. Benedict was greeted warmly by the Huxleys, Athena's parents, their hospitality making him feel welcome despite his earlier uncertainties.

The first evening of the event was marked by a grand ball, with guests arriving in their finest attire and the atmosphere brimming with anticipation. Benedict, keenly aware of Athena's presence, scanned the room, eager to catch a glimpse of her. His heart skipped a beat when he finally saw her, adorned in a gown that radiated the grace and beauty he had admired so deeply. It was the very dress he had seen her in her bedroom, the one she had bought with him in mind.

The gown was a stunning shade of rose with delicate silver embellishments that seemed to capture the light and shimmer with every movement. It was as though Athena had stepped out of his dreams and into the grand ballroom, the dress a testament to her elegance and the thoughtfulness she had put into choosing it.

"Mr. Bridgerton!" a shrill voice cut through the hum of conversation behind him. Benedict turned to find Anastasia Waterloo standing before him. Her gown was a delicate shade of light purple, adorned with a small tiara that sparkled subtly in the ballroom's light.

Benedict managed a graceful smile, though he could not entirely suppress the irritation he felt. "Miss Waterloo, how delightful to see you here at the Huxley's residence in Windsor. I must admit, I was unaware of your invitation, but I am pleased to see you nonetheless."

His words were accompanied by a slight tremor in his voice, betraying his underlying discomfort.

"Shall we not continue our dance from Lady Danbury's ball?" Anastasia suggested with a bright smile, her gaze flicking over Benedict's shoulder as though she hoped Athena might observe them.

Benedict turned to glance behind him, his eyes meeting Athena's. To his surprise, rather than any sign of distress or hurt, she appeared indifferent. Her expression was calm and collected, as though she were merely an observer rather than someone emotionally involved in the scene. He then shifted his gaze to Nathaniel Beaumont, who was speaking earnestly to Athena.

Benedict observed as Athena responded with a graceful laugh, her eyes sparkling with amusement. She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, seeming entirely at ease and engaged in the conversation. The sight was a quiet, yet poignant reminder of the distance that had grown between them.

Benedict felt a pang of jealousy and hurt at the sight of Athena's interaction with Nathaniel Beaumont. It was as though a cold weight settled in his chest, watching her so at ease, her laughter flowing effortlessly as she engaged with Beaumont. He wondered if her indifference towards him was a reflection of her true feelings. Could it be that his earlier fears were justified—that she had indeed lost interest in him because of his dance with Miss Waterloo?

As the evening progressed, Benedict found himself increasingly distracted. His mind replayed the moments of their last encounter: Athena's unexpected declaration, her subsequent flight from the room, and the longing he had felt since. He grappled with the notion that perhaps he had been too late in realizing his own feelings.

Benedict redirected his attention to Miss Anastasia Waterloo, who seemed somewhat perturbed by his distracted demeanor. Her voice, laced with a hint of irritation, broke through his thoughts.

"Mr. Bridgerton?"

Clearing his throat, Benedict offered a polite but strained smile. "My apologies, Miss Waterloo. May I have this dance?"

With a graceful nod, she accepted, and Benedict guided her onto the dance floor. As the orchestra struck up a lively tune, he could not help but notice Athena positioned directly across from him, her arm draped elegantly over Nathaniel Beaumont's.

The sight of Athena, so absorbed in her conversation with Beaumont, stung Benedict more sharply than he anticipated. He focused on the rhythm of the dance, trying to maintain composure and engage with Miss Waterloo despite his restless mind.

"Are you excited for the festivities that are to take place over the next couple of days?" Miss Waterloo's voice drew Benedict's attention back to her.

He nodded quickly, masking his distraction. "Yes, very much so. Do you happen to know any details about them?"

Anastasia smiled graciously. "I am aware of three balls and three dinners, nothing more. Oh yes, and a garden party with tents and drinks."

Benedict swung her around in her twirl and held her tighter around the waist. "That sounds most delightful. I am quite eager for the garden party, as I have a great fondness for nature."

Miss Waterloo expressed a sound of disdain. "I detest it. The smell of grass and the dirt on one's shoes is quite disagreeable. I would much prefer to remain indoors, sipping tea, as any lady should."

Benedict thought back to when Athena had told him how she loved being in her flower garden, watering the plants and savoring the scent of each blossom as if for the first time.

"Well, it is not to everyone's taste," he chuckled, focusing on the dance. Whether he liked it or not, Miss Waterloo was a proficient dancer and an agreeable partner.

When the music ceased, Anastasia curtsied, and Benedict bowed in return. "You do not dance poorly, Mr. Bridgerton," Anastasia teased as they walked to the side.

Benedict couldn't help but smile back. "You are quite accomplished yourself, Miss Waterloo."

𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 days earlier, Athena arrived back at their house in Windsor. Upon her arrival, she immediately made her way to the garden and sat down on a bench, letting the sun shine down on her. She had missed this—the feeling of freedom. Whenever she was outside, it was as if she were thoughtless and free to do whatever her mind desired.

She had arrived alone at the house; her parents and elder brother had chosen to stay in London to get everything in order. This did not bother her. In fact, she thought it would be pleasant to have two nights to herself. It would give her time to reflect on her feelings towards Benedict Bridgerton.

After her talk with one of the maids the previous day, she had agreed to think about what she wanted and what her heart truly desired.

Athena rose from her seat in the sun and began to pluck flowers, creating a beautiful bouquet. She first chose a few pink tulips, then lavender and hyacinth, and lastly, a couple of roses.

"Could these be placed in my bedroom?" Athena asked as she walked inside. One of her maids had been standing just inside, avoiding the sun while waiting for her return. Early in her life, Athena had instructed every maid in the house not to accompany her outside, but to stay inside. This way, she could have her privacy, and they did not have to sweat in the sun on her behalf.

Athena returned outside after handing her maid the flower bouquet. She wanted to pluck a few strawberries before heading inside for tea. Strawberries were her favorite, right after cherries. She gathered a small handful and went into the kitchen to wash them.

"Miss Huxley!" one of the kitchen maids almost shouted upon seeing Athena walk in. Athena thought to herself that this must be one of the new maids, as she often went into the kitchen to wash berries.

Athena giggled. "I am here to wash my strawberries, as I always do when I am home in Windsor."

The maid's face turned red. "Oh, my apologies, miss. But I could wash them for you, so you need not trouble yourself."

"Do not worry, I can manage it myself." As Athena spoke, she noticed a batch of dough on the counter. "What is it that you're baking?" she asked, nodding towards the dough.

The maid, shocked by her interest, cleared her throat and said, "Pie, a blueberry pie."

Athena's face lit up. "Oh, I love those! You must teach me."

The maid was taken aback, having never heard such a request. "What?" she managed to say.

"I want you to teach me how to make a pie, right now," Athena insisted, turning around to grab an apron. "We are paying you for something, are we not?"

The maid nodded, agreeing with what Athena had said. "Alright then."

Athena smiled happily and washed her hands in the bowl of water. "How do we start?"

"First, you would have to make a dough, but since I have already made it, I will tell you how."

The maid took a deep breath, composing herself. "To make the dough, you need flour, butter, a bit of sugar, and a pinch of salt. You mix these together until the mixture resembles breadcrumbs, then add a small amount of cold water to bring it all together."

Athena nodded, listening intently. "I see. And then what?"

"Once the dough is formed, it needs to be chilled for a while before rolling it out," the maid continued. "Since our dough is ready, we can move on to preparing the filling."

Athena's eyes sparkled with excitement. "What do we need for the filling?"

"We use fresh blueberries, a bit of sugar, lemon juice, and a little cornstarch to thicken it," the maid explained, gathering the ingredients. "Would you like to mix them together?"

"I would love to," Athena replied eagerly. She took the bowl the maid handed her and began combining the ingredients, enjoying the process.

As they worked, the maid instructed Athena on how to roll out the dough and line the pie tin. Athena followed her directions carefully, finding a certain joy in the simple, hands-on task.

"You're a quick learner, Miss Huxley," the maid remarked, her initial nervousness fading as she warmed to Athena's enthusiasm.

"Thank you," Athena said, beaming. "This is quite enjoyable. I've always admired the skill of baking but never had the chance to learn properly."

They continued working together, assembling the pie and placing it in the oven. As they waited for it to bake, Athena had asked maid of her favourite recipes and meals to cook.

When the pie was finally ready, Athena could hardly contain her excitement. "It smells divine!" she exclaimed as the maid took it out of the oven.

"It does indeed," the maid agreed, smiling. "Would you like to have a slice now, or shall we wait until tea?"

Athena pondered for a moment. "Let's wait until tea. It will be a perfect treat then."

The maid nodded, setting the pie aside to cool. "Very well, Miss Huxley. It has been a pleasure teaching you."

"The pleasure has been mine," Athena replied sincerely. "Thank you for your patience and guidance."

Who knew that baking a pie could be such a lesson in life, and how much joy it could bring? It seemed quite unfair that they did not have the chance to bake. Athena turned around as she was about to leave, her eyes bright with newfound enthusiasm. "Promise me that you will teach me other recipes?"

The maid, her face lighting up with a warm smile, replied, "If you wish for me to, then I would, Miss Huxley. I enjoyed it very much."

Athena returned the smile, feeling a sense of camaraderie with the maid. "Thank you. I look forward to our next lesson." With that, she left the kitchen, feeling lighter and more hopeful than she had in days.

It was a relief to occupy her mind with something other than Benedict Bridgerton, not because she found the thought of him unwelcome, but because her imagination would often conjure unsettling images of him with Anastasia, causing her undue heartache.

Later that day, Athena sat within the tranquil confines of her painting room, gazing at her most recent creation. The canvas depicted a delightful scene of dogs tumbling over one another, each of a different breed. In the background, a serene lake shimmered, bordered by a field of yellow and orange flowers—her favorite colors, which always seemed to illuminate her paintings.

"What am I doing with my life," Athena mumbled to herself, her voice tinged with a mix of frustration and melancholy. "How have I ended in this situation?"

The room, filled with the scent of oil paints and turpentine, was her sanctuary, a place where she could lose herself in creativity. Yet, today, even this beloved space offered little solace. Her thoughts wandered back to Benedict, to the confusing swirl of emotions he stirred within her. She couldn't shake the image of him with Anastasia, nor the pain it brought.

Athena sighed deeply, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the brush strokes on the canvas. The bright flowers in the background seemed almost mocking in their cheerfulness, a stark contrast to her current mood. She had always found comfort and clarity in her art, but now it felt like a mere distraction from the tumultuous feelings she harbored.

"Why is it so hard," Athena muttered under her breath, her frustration evident. "I enjoy being around him, so why is it so hard for me to admit?" She had a habit of speaking to her paintings as if they were confidants, always listening, never judging. In the solace of her painting room, she found it easier to voice her innermost thoughts and fears.

She looked around and found an empty canvas standing in the corner of the room. Athena tied her apron securely around her waist, then gathered a few colors from the cabinets. An idea had sparked within her, and she was eager to bring it to life on the blank canvas before her.

Arranging the paints on her palette, she mixed hues of blue, green, and white. The scene she envisioned was one of tranquility and reflection, something that might bring her a sense of clarity amidst the tumult of her thoughts.

She began with broad, sweeping strokes of blue, creating the expanse of a serene sky. As the brush glided across the canvas, her mind wandered back to her recent conversations and encounters. "He is absolutely perfect, so why would he ever care about me?" Athena murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. Her brush, almost of its own accord, traced the shape of a heart before she swiftly covered it with another layer of blue, as if erasing her own vulnerability.

Athena selected a new brush, its bristles fine and delicate. Dipping it into a pot of white paint, she began to paint small, ethereal angels on the canvas, their wings outstretched in graceful flight. As she worked, her mind remained a flurry of emotions, and she spoke softly to herself.

"Why is it that I never trust my own instincts?" she mused aloud, her voice tinged with frustration. "I knew who he was. I had read all about them in Lady Whistledown's society papers. Yet, despite knowing the truths laid before me, I chose to be naive."

Athena's frustration grew, her emotions boiling over as she stared at the serene scene on the canvas. She grabbed a larger brush and dipped it into a bold, dark hue. Her movements became increasingly vigorous and uncontrolled as she began to paint over the delicate angels and the gentle sky. Thick, erratic lines formed as she furiously swiped the brush across the canvas.

"How could I have been so blind?" she spat out, her voice rising with each stroke. "How did I fail to see that he truly does not care for me? I let myself be blinded by illusions and flattery!"

The calm blues and whites of her previous work were now obscured beneath heavy, tumultuous strokes of dark paint. Her anger and disappointment seemed to be channeled through each harsh mark, the once serene angels now lost in a storm of chaotic lines and clashing colors.

"I should have seen it," Athena continued, her words interspersed with the aggressive movements of her brush. "I was foolish to think that my feelings could change his indifference. It was all just a grand facade, a fleeting illusion that I was too naive to recognize!"

She painted over the gentle landscapes with harsh, angular shapes, the once soft and inviting scene now overtaken by a tempestuous swirl of dark colors. The canvas, which had begun as a symbol of her inner turmoil and longing, was now a representation of her raw, unfiltered anger.

As the brush moved more erratically, Athena's breathing grew heavier, her frustration evident in the jagged strokes that marred the canvas. The contrast between the serene angels and the aggressive, dark lines painted a stark picture of her inner conflict.

Eventually, Athena paused, her hand trembling slightly as she looked at the chaotic canvas before her. The storm of emotions had left her feeling both exhausted and strangely liberated. The painting, now a reflection of her tumultuous feelings, stood as a testament to her struggle to reconcile her hopes with the harsh reality.

Taking a deep breath, Athena set the brush down, her eyes still fixed on the tumultuous canvas. A tear glided down her cheek before landing on the floor. "I am to marry Nathaniel Beaumont," she murmured to herself, the words almost sounding like a vow. "He cares for me."

The declaration seemed to echo in the quiet room, a promise of resolve amidst her confusion. With renewed determination, Athena tossed her apron aside and stormed out of the painting room, her footsteps quick and decisive. The turmoil within her had solidified into a resolute plan, her heart set on a future she was now prepared to embrace fully.

𝐁𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐂𝐓 had been observing Athena for several minutes now. She stood with an elegance that captivated everyone around her, her laughter resonating with a lightness that seemed to charm Nathaniel Beaumont. Each smile she cast in Nathaniel's direction tugged at Benedict's heartstrings, making him ache with a deep, unspoken longing.

He yearned to be the one to elicit that radiant laughter, to be the one she looked at with such warmth. He imagined holding her close, keeping her near so that she could not escape his embrace again. The thought of pressing his lips to hers, feeling their softness against his own, was almost overwhelming. The sight of her lips, so vividly red and shining in the light, only deepened his resolve.

Just as Benedict was on the brink of retreating to his room, he felt a sudden jolt of hope. Athena's gaze met his across the room. He smiled warmly, hoping to catch even a sliver of her attention. But her eyes, so full of emotion only moments before, simply glanced at him and then turned back to Nathaniel.

Benedict's resolve hardened. Unable to bear the sight any longer, he decided it was best to withdraw. With a heavy heart, he made his way across the room, deliberately ignoring Athena. He passed by her without a single glance or word, his steps resolute and final.

Benedict made his way down the quiet corridor, the peace of the house offering a stark contrast to the lively ball he had just left. The soft light from the sconces cast gentle shadows on the walls, and the elegant details of the hallway seemed to calm his restless mind.

Benedict's steps slowed as he approached the door, intrigued by the faint light spilling into the corridor. The gentle glow cast a warm, inviting hue that contrasted sharply with the cold, muted tones of the hallway. His curiosity piqued, he edged closer to the door, which was slightly ajar.

He hesitated for a moment, listening for any sounds from within. Hearing nothing but the soft hum of distant conversation from the ballroom, he pushed the door open gently. The light from the room painted his face with a soft illumination as he peered inside.

It was a large room, filled with a collection of exquisite paintings that adorned the walls. The space was bathed in light from the expansive windows, which offered a picturesque view of the garden beyond. Benedict could easily imagine how the room would look in daylight, with the sunlight streaming in, illuminating the paintings and casting a gentle glow over the elegant furnishings. The serene atmosphere of the room provided a stark contrast to the lively events of the evening, and Benedict felt a sense of calm as he took in the tranquil surroundings.

In the center of the room stood a stool beside an easel, upon which rested a canvas. The painting before him was done in bold strokes of blue and white. As Benedict approached, he noticed the intricate details beneath the thick, dark blue layers. Small, delicate angels with exquisitely rendered wings emerged from the background, their ethereal forms painstakingly painted with great care.

He reached out tentatively, his fingers brushing the surface of the canvas. He marveled at the texture of the paint, imagining the artist's brushstrokes and the emotions that must have been poured into the work. The scene before him spoke of both tranquility and turmoil, a vivid reflection of the artist's inner world.

Benedict's gaze lingered on the painting, a soft murmur escaping his lips, "Athena."

He could think of only one person who could have created such a poignant work of art. His mind raced with questions, the depth of emotion evident in the painting suggesting a struggle he could only begin to comprehend. "What have you been dealing with?" he wondered aloud, feeling a pang of concern and curiosity.He wanted to ask her, but he knew he could not. After the way she had looked at him tonight, there seemed little chance she would ever confide in him. The aloofness in her gaze had been unmistakable, and it was clear that any attempt to approach her might only deepen the distance between them.

↶*ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊ-