[ He's been keeping his hands to himself because they are still dirty, and so he resists the urge to reach in and touch her, perhaps to brush some of her hair aside or to turn her chin towards him. It's tempting, especially when he pulls back and she turns to look at him, her color high in her cheeks and her eyes sparkling and bright. He has learned what that look means, and it usually only means good things.
However, they are in the middle of the public wing of the house, and Benedict is many things, but an exhibitionist is not one of them. So, despite the fact that she smells delectable and looks like she wants him to kiss her again, he reluctantly draws back so that he is sitting properly in his chair again, and goes back to his explanation as to how he cares for and maintains his gear. ]
Mm, I hear that wives enjoy being told they're right by their husbands.
[ She's more playful with him now. She's glad that they're able to converse more without the stilted air of formality now that they're growing more comfortable with one another. She makes herself focus as he teaches her. She reaches out handles the different pieces the way he instructs her.
Oil ends up on her hands. She's getting a little dirty in the lesson, even absently swiping a hand along her cheek to push back a strand of hair. She makes mental notes of everything, so she can remember again in the future. She knows she'll forget some of the finer details, but repetition is what sears it into the brain. Just like music. ]
I may need to write some this down, so I can review later.
[ Most of Benedict's compatriots in the Guard are more or less his age, though of course there are many who are careerists, just the same as he. The boys tend to gossip about dalliances and the like, short-term and fleeting and boastful in ways that are fairly obviously embellished, but the older cohort are more resigned with their tales; stories about angry disagreements, broken promises, bitter divorces.
He hopes that his marriage to Francesca won't go down that route. When he agreed to it, he figured that an arranged marriage would be simple: he'd get her with child and then they'd live separate but more or less parallel lives.
It's not really turning out that way.
The little smear on her cheek is painfully charming, and he's tempted to reach in and rub it away, if he wouldn't make it worse by touching her. ]
It's alright. There probably won't be much need of you to take care of these tasks for me; you aren't a squire, after all. [ And what soldier would he be if he came home and dumped his things in the lap of his wife? ]
I know, but I'd like to know and understand what you do, including the tools needed.
[ She doesn't want to simply be a pretty doll of a wife that's ignorant to what her husband does. She wants to be involved in his life if he's amenable. They get along well, so they might continue this path of learning each other both body and mind.
Her mother and father have set the precedent for their family on wha a marriage could be like. It's a partnership filled with trust and love and friendship. Her siblings have found similar connections. Despite the arranged match, she's been hopeful something like that could spring from this marriage with Benedict.
Her hands are dirty with a few stains on the skirt on her dress. She doesn't notice them, and if she does, she hardly remarks on them. Her attention is fully on her husband. ]
[ There's no harm in her knowing. In fact, at some point, Benedict knows himself well enough to know that he's going to give in to the impulse to teach her at least a little hand-to-hand; not as much as he taught Gwen, or even Bridget in preparation for her duel, but enough to protect herself should the need arise. Nobody expects pretty little dolls to be able to fight back, and she might be able to use that to her advantage.
He feels badly about her skirt, but she did say she was willing to try even if she gets dirty, so he says nothing. ]
Well, most often I just wear it again, but today I think it will go back to its locker. I think the both of us are in need of a bath.
[ Francesca looks down at her hands. She's noticing the smudges on them as well as the ones on her skirt. She takes it all in stride. Like he'd said, a bath is due for the both of them. She's never had a midday bath, but she's not against it. She'll make sure to give her dress to her lady's maid to ensure it laundered properly.
She waits for him to gather his things. She wants to help, but she's unsure what he's willing to let her carry for him. ]
You're right. I'm not sure you'll like the smell of oil and dirt all over me.
[ He has sharper senses. She's learned that he likes her scent, and he can't tell little things about it. Where she's been, who she's seen, what soap she'd used. ]
[ He's used to carrying it all himself, but with Francesca standing there with him, he does find a few things for her to hold. Not his weapons themselves, of course, because they are both too heavy and also too dangerous for her to be bandying about with no training.
Once she's got a good hold on the little bits and pieces, he lets himself lean in closer. ]
On the contrary. I rather like it when you smell like my things.
[ The particular mix of chamois, oil, and copper is as familiar to Benedict as his own sweat. That Francesca has picked up a hint of it is almost comforting. It makes her smell his. Smirking, he gives her a little wink and then ducks his head in to press a quick nipping kiss to her jaw before straightening and ushering her out of the room. ]
Come along. I'll show you how to store everything where it belongs.
[ She's glad to be useful. He gives her the smaller, less dangerous bits that she can carry easily. She gathers them all against her chest, so she can carry more. She's just got it settled when he leans in. Her lips part slightly at the rumble of his voice. Her body radiates the heat of arousal and pheromones simply from that sentence. It mixes in with the oil and copper and all the rest into something both so sharply feminine but edged with his masculinity.
She laughs softly at his cheeky wink. He gives a quick kiss that he steals quickly. Like he's trying to get it in lest someone sees. She lets him guide her out of the parlor to head to his locker. There are servant nearby that are ready to attend to them. Francesca gives them her attention when she speaks to them. The servant glances at the items in her arms and offers to take it from her instead. ]
[ Like many of the High Houses, part of the retinue of Sorellin House are guardsmen. They have a Master of Arms, as well, although Hughes is not warriorborn like the Lancaster House's Master of Arms, Esterbrook. He was Benedict's first teacher in how to move about the world accommodating for those around him, and his lessons have stuck with him on such a strong, fundamental level that Benedict isn't sure he can be or do anything else.
Francesca needn't worry that her husband's too-strong hands will pinch or crush or otherwise damage her. His control over himself is exceptional.
"Locker" is a bit of a strong word for the place where Benedict keeps not only his weapons, but also the items used to care for them. Sorellin House has a small gymnasium, one equipped with the sorts of things he uses to maintain his stamina, and on one wall of that is a row of cupboards. While there is a lock upon most of the doors, it is rarely engaged; the weapons within are typically too difficult for all but the strongest humans to wield. That is where he leads Francesca, shifting the bundle in his arms easily enough to free up a hand to open the cupboards where he keeps his cleaning tools. ]
Thank you, Joshua, but I believe between the two of us we can manage.
[ Joshua gives them both a skeptical look, but considering he's known Benedict for nearly four years now, he doesn't try to voice a dissenting opinion. Tugging on his forelock like he's doffing a cap, he replies with an "Of course, Sir Benedict. Mrs Sorellin." and then wanders off, leaving them more or less to their own devices again.
Benedict hangs up his saber with no indication that lifting it one-handed is difficult at all. His gauntlet follows suit. During his usual every day, he might wear it casually, but as he is on his honeymoon, he has elected not to go about his own house armed. ]
[ The gymnasium is an area of the house that she hasn't visited. There's much to the house she still hasn't seen, but this particular room is where Benedict spends a lot of his time. She holds his things while she casts her eyes around the room to take in all the details to it. House Bridgerton has a similar one though smaller in size. She'd rarely stepped foot in there.
She turns her attention to Joshua and offers a kind smile. She's been introduced to most of the staff at the house. She hasn't quite gotten to know them well outside of her lady's maids. He takes his leave while Benedict begins putting away his weapons. He handles everything with such ease thanks to his warriorborn strength. He's an impressive man, suffice to say. ]
Is this where you do your training?
[ He disappears in the mornings to keep his body and skills honed. She really wishes to observe one day. ]
[ He plucks things from her arms almost absently as they move from one place to another, then briefly glances over it all to make sure it's all where it should be before closing the cupboard door. ]
Truthfully, most of the time I use the training grounds, down at the Guardhouse.
[ The space is more expansive, and there are usually people around he can spar with. It works better for him, especially since then he doesn't have to feel too terribly guilty if he breaks something, and it works especially well for his fellow Guardsmen, who can practice going up against one of the warriorborn. ]
[ Everything goes to their place very nearly. Nothing is askew or put back haphazardly. Benedict has great respect for his gear which is understandable. That same gear is what keeps him alive in his line of work. She tries very hard not to think of what it'll be like when he's gone for the first time during her marriage. She knows she'll fret the whole time and likely miss him terribly. The honeymoon is not only allowing them to get to one another, but it's getting her accustomed to his presence around the house.
The Guardhouse is also another place she's never been. She's not so sure if her presence would be welcome there. ]
May I watch one day? Is that allowed?
[ She knows there are spaces that aren't appropriate for ladies, but she's still hopeful. Once her arms are empty of items, she drops them to her sides. The bodice of her day dress now bear the marks of his gear though she isn't troubled by it. ]
[ He glances at her in surprise as he wipes his hands on his shirt. ]
You can watch me train here any time you like. Provided, that is, [ he adds with a cheeky little smile, ] that you get up in time to do so.
[ It's unfair to tease her about sleeping in, he knows that, but he'll do it anyway. It's not his fault he's taken great pride in pleasing his wife in the morning, learning how to touch her and breathing in the scent of her, warm and relaxed and trusting. If she needs a nap after that... that's not his fault either.
He eyes her dress but says nothing, instead offering her his hand as he turns towards the door. ]
I don't think there's any edict against you watching at the Guardhouse, but I'm not sure you'll enjoy it very much. I can't vouch for everyone's manners.
[ She shoots him a look that her pretty lips pressed into a mouse of vexation though it doesn't last. Francesca is typically an early riser, but of late, her husband tires her out that she stays abed long after the sun has risen. They both know he's the reason for it, but they also know that neither have complaints. It's been very enjoyable to wake up to his touches and the way he coaxes her into peak after peak until their scents combine once more.
She takes his hand, so they can return to their wing with their private rooms. They've shared the same room since their wedding. Her trousseau and other items have been placed there, dresses folded or hung up with care. They find their places next to his like they've always belonged there. ]
As long as you're there, I'll enjoy. I need not mind bad manners from the others if I do not give them attention. So long as you're fine with it, I'd like to observe, it's here and at the Guardhouse.
[ They walk through the halls at a leisurely pace. There's no hurry. Supper is still a few hours out. This is usually when Francesca would read curled up by some warmth of the crystals, but she's better pleased to have her husband's warmth instead. ]
[ That cross little pout of hers has his smile widening, the petty little part of him that mostly rears its head when he's around Gwen feeling quite proud of itself, and he doesn't stop himself from indulging in the urge to dart in to buss a little peck of a kiss to her lips.
Her hand is soft in his, pleasantly cool, and he gives her hand a little squeeze as they walk back towards their rooms. ]
If you give it enough time, Predator will be back in her moorings soon, and Gwen can accompany you. I'd say you can't get into too much trouble with her keeping you company, but actually, you'd get into quite a lot more trouble with Gwen at your side.
[ Every time he gives her a kiss, she brightens with utter happiness. She's especially vibrant when he does so outside the privacy of their rooms where such affection would be more limited amongst others. It feels like a stolen treat that they're sharing together. Her hand holds his, but she wraps herself around his arm to keep him close. Their rooms are kept in a more private wing which has been particularly helpful given their raucous nights. ]
I look forward to it. Perhaps a little bit of trouble will be good for me. [ She says it so sweetly with the most innocent of looks on her face. She's always been dutiful and obedient. Eloise has always been the most belligerent amongst the Bridgertons. Francesca thinks it would be good to get out of her comfort zone. See what more is out there outside of music and the ton. ]
[ Francesca isn't the only one who grew up around an abundance of love in the home. While Benedict is perfectly restrained in public, his childhood was a happy one and he's much looser in the privacy of his own home.
The thought of letting Gwen loose on his bride makes him nervous, as it rightly should. Gwen is a force to be reckoned with, and he adores every diminutive inch of her even though she drives him 'round the bend and straight back again. He hopes that she will approve of his match, even though he had very little to actually do with it.
What he knows, not hopes, is that she will disapprove that he did not fight it. Her mother expressly forbid her from spending as much time with him as she did, and she immediately attached herself to his side. Her mother told her in no uncertain terms was she going to join the Guard, and she shattered two marble busts and reduced a priceless mahogany door to matchsticks in the resulting row, then marched her way down to the recruiting office and signed herself up regardless. Her mother told her she had to come back to high society life after her first year and disastrous first mission and Gwen...
Gwen had become functionally one step up from a pirate. That she is the executive officer on the Spirearch's personal errand-ship means very little to Lady Lancaster.
If she had told Gwen she had to marry someone for the good of her House and her Spire, he has a feeling Gwen would have figured out how to grow wings and taken flight without a ship to aid her. That or she would have burned the vattery down. She won't understand why he agreed. He's not really sure if he could even explain it to her, even if he tried.
He rubs his thumb over Francesca's knuckles. ] Just a little bit, please. I'm too young for gray hairs.
I think you'd look rather distinguish with some silver.
[ He's already a strikingly handsome man with an elegantly aristocratic air about him. It's hard to imagine them growing old when they're in the peak of their youth. His job is dangerous, so there's truly no guarantee he'll make it to old age. She'll pray to all the gods out there to ensure he does that. She doesn't relish the idea of being a widow especially not when her husband is such lovely company.
They reach the double doors to their rooms. She allows him to open it for her to usher her in. The crystals are low, so it's slightly cooler than they usually keep it.
She passes by her vanity mirror and spots the smear of oil along her cheek. Her nose crinkles and she turns back to him. ]
[ He tosses his head, playacting like his hair is longer than it is.
In truth, they might never find out. She's right that his work is dangerous, perhaps more so than she even knows, and many women are made widows by war. Still. Benedict expects to live a long and full life, maintaining his physical capability well beyond the age when most humans begin to lose them. If all goes well, Francesca will get to see her husband dawdle not just grandchildren, but perhaps even great-grandchildren on his knee.
Assuming their lives go that way.
When they enter their rooms, Benedict allows her hand to slip from his, so that she can move to her armoire as she pleases.
Having shifted to his own wardrobe, her question doesn't get answered immediately, not until he's pulled his shirt off over his head and used it to wipe ineffectually at whatever oil still lingers on his hands. He really will need a proper wash. Glancing at her over his shoulder, he smirks. ] Not the whole time.
[ She wouldn't say she's messy. No, messy is reserved for when her husband gets his hands on her in the evening after supper and wrinkles her dress from rucking them up her thighs and running his fingers wild through her hair. She's mostly just dirty, but most of it is simply on her dress. The rest of it is in her arms and hands as well as that streak along her cheek.
His cheekiness nearly ends him a retort, but it dies on her tongue when she turns and finds him shirtless. She's seen him like this quite a few times now, and yet, she's still enamored by the sight of him.
There's a rush of arousal and pheromones radiation off of her. She sniffs haughtily though it's not quite effective on her sweet demeanor. ]
Do I amuse you, husband?
[ She reaches behind her to untie the ribbon that ties her day dress back in a pretty bow in the back. She can get out of day dresses easier than her nicer gowns, but it means dirtying her hems with oily hands when she grabs them to tug it up and off of her.
She thinks she'll be able to do it elegantly. One graceful movement. She's done it a few times before. Francesca soon finds herself a bit tangled up and stuck in getting her dress off. She looks ridiculous with her corset and silk smalls exposed along with her stockings and slippers. The dress covers her arms and her, stuck at her shoulders.
Oh, yes. She's providing plenty of amusement for him. ]
[ Any sharpness in Francesca's tone is immediately undercut by the fact that he can smell her when she turns to look at him.
It's funny. Benedict is not entirely unused to being desired, although he has always scrupulously avoided looking at that fact head-on. It had always felt inappropriate, in a way, not just because it was something he wasn't supposed to know, but because he knew that the women who might have been desiring him knew nothing about him and that made it feel...disingenuous.
She starts to wriggle out of her dress but then gets stuck, and Benedict seizes the opportunity to him without any hint of guilt.
The room isn't cavernous, but it is still comfortably large; still, Benedict's long legs eat up the distance in a blink, so he can step up behind her and wrap his arms around her, halting her progress with her dress. ]
Amuse is not the word I'd choose... [ He's gotten quite used to seeing Francesca in various states of undress, but just because it's a familiar sight doesn't mean it doesn't kindle his blood regardless, and he allows himself to run appreciative hands down her body. ] Do you need assistance, wife?
[ She's slowly growing used to the way Benedict moves so silently. She doesn't jump when she feels him press against her. There's just a little shiver before she rests back against him. His hands roams her body now that the dress isn't providing any sort of coverage though she is ridiculously trapped in it.
From the sound of his voice, her husband isn't turned off by that fact. ]
Then what word would you choose? [ Her voice is a little muffled from the inside of her dress. The fabric moving against her head has mussed her hair and freed some strands from the pins that keep them in place. She does a little wiggle against him. ] Please? Lest I be trapped like this forever.
[ Francesca relaxes back against him, and he finds himself appreciating that even more than the sudden bloom of interest he smelled from hear mere moments before. It's still there, though, he can tell, and his own body warms in response, enough so that he ducks his head down to press a kiss to a sliver of skin at her shoulder that is still exposed despite how her dress has tangled her in a cocoon. ]
Arouse, perhaps.
[ He chuckles, amused by her embarrassing tribulation, and gives her a little squeeze as he straightens and sets aside his own desires to see to what, exactly, his wife has gotten herself tangled in. ] Hold still, let me see what's got you caught.
[ He can't see it, but there's color high in her cheeks. The way he says it has that bit of that low rumble to it that she enjoys so much. His beard brushes along her skin before she feels the press of his lips. He's distracting her from undressing and getting herself cleaned up because her thoughts are traveling a different path.
Thankfully, Benedict steers them back to her current predicament. An earring had caught on the dress which causes a painful tug whenever she tries to pull it off. ]
My earring, I think. [ She moves her head experimentally and feels the painful pull at her lobe. ]
[ Her pretty dress had indeed gotten tangled in one of her earrings, the overlay snagging the little prongs in such a way that all her tugging was just getting it more and more ensnared. Of course, when she went the other way, the earring simply rotated in its place, ensuring there was no way for her to get out of this snare without help.
Luckily, she has a husband now for such things.
His keen eyesight is helpful in this arena, as well as his general dexterity, though he feels a bit like an oversized oaf while he's trying to winkle the delicate fabric away from the slightly less delicate metal of her jewelry. ] Just a moment. I've almost got it.
[ Sure enough, a minute or two later, he manages to get the two items disentangled, and then he's able to finish drawing Francesca's dress up over her head, leaving her standing before him in her underthings, pleasantly rumpled.
His hindbrain associates that sight with only one thing, so he really can't be blamed for the look on his face when she finally turns to see him. ]
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no subject
Date: 2026-02-19 05:45 pm (UTC)[ He's been keeping his hands to himself because they are still dirty, and so he resists the urge to reach in and touch her, perhaps to brush some of her hair aside or to turn her chin towards him. It's tempting, especially when he pulls back and she turns to look at him, her color high in her cheeks and her eyes sparkling and bright. He has learned what that look means, and it usually only means good things.
However, they are in the middle of the public wing of the house, and Benedict is many things, but an exhibitionist is not one of them. So, despite the fact that she smells delectable and looks like she wants him to kiss her again, he reluctantly draws back so that he is sitting properly in his chair again, and goes back to his explanation as to how he cares for and maintains his gear. ]
no subject
Date: 2026-02-19 06:01 pm (UTC)[ She's more playful with him now. She's glad that they're able to converse more without the stilted air of formality now that they're growing more comfortable with one another. She makes herself focus as he teaches her. She reaches out handles the different pieces the way he instructs her.
Oil ends up on her hands. She's getting a little dirty in the lesson, even absently swiping a hand along her cheek to push back a strand of hair. She makes mental notes of everything, so she can remember again in the future. She knows she'll forget some of the finer details, but repetition is what sears it into the brain. Just like music. ]
I may need to write some this down, so I can review later.
no subject
Date: 2026-02-19 06:29 pm (UTC)[ Most of Benedict's compatriots in the Guard are more or less his age, though of course there are many who are careerists, just the same as he. The boys tend to gossip about dalliances and the like, short-term and fleeting and boastful in ways that are fairly obviously embellished, but the older cohort are more resigned with their tales; stories about angry disagreements, broken promises, bitter divorces.
He hopes that his marriage to Francesca won't go down that route. When he agreed to it, he figured that an arranged marriage would be simple: he'd get her with child and then they'd live separate but more or less parallel lives.
It's not really turning out that way.
The little smear on her cheek is painfully charming, and he's tempted to reach in and rub it away, if he wouldn't make it worse by touching her. ]
It's alright. There probably won't be much need of you to take care of these tasks for me; you aren't a squire, after all. [ And what soldier would he be if he came home and dumped his things in the lap of his wife? ]
no subject
Date: 2026-02-19 06:55 pm (UTC)[ She doesn't want to simply be a pretty doll of a wife that's ignorant to what her husband does. She wants to be involved in his life if he's amenable. They get along well, so they might continue this path of learning each other both body and mind.
Her mother and father have set the precedent for their family on wha a marriage could be like. It's a partnership filled with trust and love and friendship. Her siblings have found similar connections. Despite the arranged match, she's been hopeful something like that could spring from this marriage with Benedict.
Her hands are dirty with a few stains on the skirt on her dress. She doesn't notice them, and if she does, she hardly remarks on them. Her attention is fully on her husband. ]
What do you do after you've tended to your gear?
no subject
Date: 2026-02-19 07:03 pm (UTC)[ There's no harm in her knowing. In fact, at some point, Benedict knows himself well enough to know that he's going to give in to the impulse to teach her at least a little hand-to-hand; not as much as he taught Gwen, or even Bridget in preparation for her duel, but enough to protect herself should the need arise. Nobody expects pretty little dolls to be able to fight back, and she might be able to use that to her advantage.
He feels badly about her skirt, but she did say she was willing to try even if she gets dirty, so he says nothing. ]
Well, most often I just wear it again, but today I think it will go back to its locker. I think the both of us are in need of a bath.
no subject
Date: 2026-02-19 07:35 pm (UTC)She waits for him to gather his things. She wants to help, but she's unsure what he's willing to let her carry for him. ]
You're right. I'm not sure you'll like the smell of oil and dirt all over me.
[ He has sharper senses. She's learned that he likes her scent, and he can't tell little things about it. Where she's been, who she's seen, what soap she'd used. ]
no subject
Date: 2026-02-19 07:59 pm (UTC)Once she's got a good hold on the little bits and pieces, he lets himself lean in closer. ]
On the contrary. I rather like it when you smell like my things.
[ The particular mix of chamois, oil, and copper is as familiar to Benedict as his own sweat. That Francesca has picked up a hint of it is almost comforting. It makes her smell his. Smirking, he gives her a little wink and then ducks his head in to press a quick nipping kiss to her jaw before straightening and ushering her out of the room. ]
Come along. I'll show you how to store everything where it belongs.
no subject
Date: 2026-02-19 08:21 pm (UTC)She laughs softly at his cheeky wink. He gives a quick kiss that he steals quickly. Like he's trying to get it in lest someone sees. She lets him guide her out of the parlor to head to his locker. There are servant nearby that are ready to attend to them. Francesca gives them her attention when she speaks to them. The servant glances at the items in her arms and offers to take it from her instead. ]
Oh, no, thank you. I can carry this just fine.
no subject
Date: 2026-02-19 08:39 pm (UTC)Francesca needn't worry that her husband's too-strong hands will pinch or crush or otherwise damage her. His control over himself is exceptional.
"Locker" is a bit of a strong word for the place where Benedict keeps not only his weapons, but also the items used to care for them. Sorellin House has a small gymnasium, one equipped with the sorts of things he uses to maintain his stamina, and on one wall of that is a row of cupboards. While there is a lock upon most of the doors, it is rarely engaged; the weapons within are typically too difficult for all but the strongest humans to wield. That is where he leads Francesca, shifting the bundle in his arms easily enough to free up a hand to open the cupboards where he keeps his cleaning tools. ]
Thank you, Joshua, but I believe between the two of us we can manage.
[ Joshua gives them both a skeptical look, but considering he's known Benedict for nearly four years now, he doesn't try to voice a dissenting opinion. Tugging on his forelock like he's doffing a cap, he replies with an "Of course, Sir Benedict. Mrs Sorellin." and then wanders off, leaving them more or less to their own devices again.
Benedict hangs up his saber with no indication that lifting it one-handed is difficult at all. His gauntlet follows suit. During his usual every day, he might wear it casually, but as he is on his honeymoon, he has elected not to go about his own house armed. ]
no subject
Date: 2026-02-19 08:48 pm (UTC)She turns her attention to Joshua and offers a kind smile. She's been introduced to most of the staff at the house. She hasn't quite gotten to know them well outside of her lady's maids. He takes his leave while Benedict begins putting away his weapons. He handles everything with such ease thanks to his warriorborn strength. He's an impressive man, suffice to say. ]
Is this where you do your training?
[ He disappears in the mornings to keep his body and skills honed. She really wishes to observe one day. ]
no subject
Date: 2026-02-19 09:14 pm (UTC)[ He plucks things from her arms almost absently as they move from one place to another, then briefly glances over it all to make sure it's all where it should be before closing the cupboard door. ]
Truthfully, most of the time I use the training grounds, down at the Guardhouse.
[ The space is more expansive, and there are usually people around he can spar with. It works better for him, especially since then he doesn't have to feel too terribly guilty if he breaks something, and it works especially well for his fellow Guardsmen, who can practice going up against one of the warriorborn. ]
no subject
Date: 2026-02-19 09:28 pm (UTC)The Guardhouse is also another place she's never been. She's not so sure if her presence would be welcome there. ]
May I watch one day? Is that allowed?
[ She knows there are spaces that aren't appropriate for ladies, but she's still hopeful. Once her arms are empty of items, she drops them to her sides. The bodice of her day dress now bear the marks of his gear though she isn't troubled by it. ]
no subject
Date: 2026-02-19 09:41 pm (UTC)You can watch me train here any time you like. Provided, that is, [ he adds with a cheeky little smile, ] that you get up in time to do so.
[ It's unfair to tease her about sleeping in, he knows that, but he'll do it anyway. It's not his fault he's taken great pride in pleasing his wife in the morning, learning how to touch her and breathing in the scent of her, warm and relaxed and trusting. If she needs a nap after that... that's not his fault either.
He eyes her dress but says nothing, instead offering her his hand as he turns towards the door. ]
I don't think there's any edict against you watching at the Guardhouse, but I'm not sure you'll enjoy it very much. I can't vouch for everyone's manners.
no subject
Date: 2026-02-19 09:53 pm (UTC)She takes his hand, so they can return to their wing with their private rooms. They've shared the same room since their wedding. Her trousseau and other items have been placed there, dresses folded or hung up with care. They find their places next to his like they've always belonged there. ]
As long as you're there, I'll enjoy. I need not mind bad manners from the others if I do not give them attention. So long as you're fine with it, I'd like to observe, it's here and at the Guardhouse.
[ They walk through the halls at a leisurely pace. There's no hurry. Supper is still a few hours out. This is usually when Francesca would read curled up by some warmth of the crystals, but she's better pleased to have her husband's warmth instead. ]
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Date: 2026-02-19 10:36 pm (UTC)Her hand is soft in his, pleasantly cool, and he gives her hand a little squeeze as they walk back towards their rooms. ]
If you give it enough time, Predator will be back in her moorings soon, and Gwen can accompany you. I'd say you can't get into too much trouble with her keeping you company, but actually, you'd get into quite a lot more trouble with Gwen at your side.
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Date: 2026-02-20 12:18 am (UTC)I look forward to it. Perhaps a little bit of trouble will be good for me. [ She says it so sweetly with the most innocent of looks on her face. She's always been dutiful and obedient. Eloise has always been the most belligerent amongst the Bridgertons. Francesca thinks it would be good to get out of her comfort zone. See what more is out there outside of music and the ton. ]
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Date: 2026-02-20 12:33 am (UTC)The thought of letting Gwen loose on his bride makes him nervous, as it rightly should. Gwen is a force to be reckoned with, and he adores every diminutive inch of her even though she drives him 'round the bend and straight back again. He hopes that she will approve of his match, even though he had very little to actually do with it.
What he knows, not hopes, is that she will disapprove that he did not fight it. Her mother expressly forbid her from spending as much time with him as she did, and she immediately attached herself to his side. Her mother told her in no uncertain terms was she going to join the Guard, and she shattered two marble busts and reduced a priceless mahogany door to matchsticks in the resulting row, then marched her way down to the recruiting office and signed herself up regardless. Her mother told her she had to come back to high society life after her first year and disastrous first mission and Gwen...
Gwen had become functionally one step up from a pirate. That she is the executive officer on the Spirearch's personal errand-ship means very little to Lady Lancaster.
If she had told Gwen she had to marry someone for the good of her House and her Spire, he has a feeling Gwen would have figured out how to grow wings and taken flight without a ship to aid her. That or she would have burned the vattery down. She won't understand why he agreed. He's not really sure if he could even explain it to her, even if he tried.
He rubs his thumb over Francesca's knuckles. ] Just a little bit, please. I'm too young for gray hairs.
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Date: 2026-02-20 02:44 pm (UTC)[ He's already a strikingly handsome man with an elegantly aristocratic air about him. It's hard to imagine them growing old when they're in the peak of their youth. His job is dangerous, so there's truly no guarantee he'll make it to old age. She'll pray to all the gods out there to ensure he does that. She doesn't relish the idea of being a widow especially not when her husband is such lovely company.
They reach the double doors to their rooms. She allows him to open it for her to usher her in. The crystals are low, so it's slightly cooler than they usually keep it.
She passes by her vanity mirror and spots the smear of oil along her cheek. Her nose crinkles and she turns back to him. ]
Has this been on my face the whole time?
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Date: 2026-02-20 03:57 pm (UTC)[ He tosses his head, playacting like his hair is longer than it is.
In truth, they might never find out. She's right that his work is dangerous, perhaps more so than she even knows, and many women are made widows by war. Still. Benedict expects to live a long and full life, maintaining his physical capability well beyond the age when most humans begin to lose them. If all goes well, Francesca will get to see her husband dawdle not just grandchildren, but perhaps even great-grandchildren on his knee.
Assuming their lives go that way.
When they enter their rooms, Benedict allows her hand to slip from his, so that she can move to her armoire as she pleases.
Having shifted to his own wardrobe, her question doesn't get answered immediately, not until he's pulled his shirt off over his head and used it to wipe ineffectually at whatever oil still lingers on his hands. He really will need a proper wash. Glancing at her over his shoulder, he smirks. ] Not the whole time.
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Date: 2026-02-20 04:30 pm (UTC)His cheekiness nearly ends him a retort, but it dies on her tongue when she turns and finds him shirtless. She's seen him like this quite a few times now, and yet, she's still enamored by the sight of him.
There's a rush of arousal and pheromones radiation off of her. She sniffs haughtily though it's not quite effective on her sweet demeanor. ]
Do I amuse you, husband?
[ She reaches behind her to untie the ribbon that ties her day dress back in a pretty bow in the back. She can get out of day dresses easier than her nicer gowns, but it means dirtying her hems with oily hands when she grabs them to tug it up and off of her.
She thinks she'll be able to do it elegantly. One graceful movement. She's done it a few times before. Francesca soon finds herself a bit tangled up and stuck in getting her dress off. She looks ridiculous with her corset and silk smalls exposed along with her stockings and slippers. The dress covers her arms and her, stuck at her shoulders.
Oh, yes. She's providing plenty of amusement for him. ]
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Date: 2026-02-20 05:17 pm (UTC)It's funny. Benedict is not entirely unused to being desired, although he has always scrupulously avoided looking at that fact head-on. It had always felt inappropriate, in a way, not just because it was something he wasn't supposed to know, but because he knew that the women who might have been desiring him knew nothing about him and that made it feel...disingenuous.
She starts to wriggle out of her dress but then gets stuck, and Benedict seizes the opportunity to him without any hint of guilt.
The room isn't cavernous, but it is still comfortably large; still, Benedict's long legs eat up the distance in a blink, so he can step up behind her and wrap his arms around her, halting her progress with her dress. ]
Amuse is not the word I'd choose... [ He's gotten quite used to seeing Francesca in various states of undress, but just because it's a familiar sight doesn't mean it doesn't kindle his blood regardless, and he allows himself to run appreciative hands down her body. ] Do you need assistance, wife?
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Date: 2026-02-20 05:24 pm (UTC)From the sound of his voice, her husband isn't turned off by that fact. ]
Then what word would you choose? [ Her voice is a little muffled from the inside of her dress. The fabric moving against her head has mussed her hair and freed some strands from the pins that keep them in place. She does a little wiggle against him. ] Please? Lest I be trapped like this forever.
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Date: 2026-02-20 05:44 pm (UTC)Arouse, perhaps.
[ He chuckles, amused by her embarrassing tribulation, and gives her a little squeeze as he straightens and sets aside his own desires to see to what, exactly, his wife has gotten herself tangled in. ] Hold still, let me see what's got you caught.
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Date: 2026-02-20 05:53 pm (UTC)Thankfully, Benedict steers them back to her current predicament. An earring had caught on the dress which causes a painful tug whenever she tries to pull it off. ]
My earring, I think. [ She moves her head experimentally and feels the painful pull at her lobe. ]
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Date: 2026-02-20 06:32 pm (UTC)[ Her pretty dress had indeed gotten tangled in one of her earrings, the overlay snagging the little prongs in such a way that all her tugging was just getting it more and more ensnared. Of course, when she went the other way, the earring simply rotated in its place, ensuring there was no way for her to get out of this snare without help.
Luckily, she has a husband now for such things.
His keen eyesight is helpful in this arena, as well as his general dexterity, though he feels a bit like an oversized oaf while he's trying to winkle the delicate fabric away from the slightly less delicate metal of her jewelry. ] Just a moment. I've almost got it.
[ Sure enough, a minute or two later, he manages to get the two items disentangled, and then he's able to finish drawing Francesca's dress up over her head, leaving her standing before him in her underthings, pleasantly rumpled.
His hindbrain associates that sight with only one thing, so he really can't be blamed for the look on his face when she finally turns to see him. ]
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