The entire ton has been in a frenzy for weeks since it's been announced that there'd be visitors from Nassau joining them. While the new governor couldn't find the time to travel to London, he's sending someone in his place, and a couple of pirate escorts. Well. Pirates. Now that piracy has been notable demolished there, the word really seems out of place, but it's the only thing that society will ever regard them as.
Some members of their society are properly scandalized about it. There's been mutterings that a few families refuse to attend the circuit of parties for fear of their lives and belongings, or not wanting to even be partially associated with them. But it seems that most of them are quite keen about it. There's something exotic and new about pirates in their midst, and, really, Benedict suspects that quite a lot of the ladies (and, truly, some of the men) are letting their fantasies run a bit wild. Eloise has certainly taken the bull by the horns and will tell practically anyone who might listen how a seemingly uncivilized group of people respect the contributions of women more than her own community.
Benedict, for his part, is neither here nor there about it. Certainly he understands the excitement, but he attends the parties and the balls because he's a Bridgerton and it's expected of him. And that's very much why he's here, standing to the sides as he sips his champagne when he sees them. The men are very obviously not one of them, but despite that, they seem impossibly comfortable and sure of themselves. Some of the more desperate ladies have made their flirtations, and Benedict watches, mildly amused. When there's a moment where the pirates are left alone, Benedict decides to swoop in. Why not? He has no obligations to make a match here, and kindness, he's certain, can't create much scandal.
"You'll have to forgive them," he says, to the shorter of the pair as the taller one seems to have wandered off. "I'm afraid they're rather like sharks smelling fresh blood in the water."
Jack, Silver has learned, is somehow even worse in fancy settings. The problem is that the other pirate has has gone from chatty-with-a-purpose to chatty-because-he's-enabled, which means he'd drawn quite a crowd in the fancy ballroom they're all in at one point. The place seems to be split--there's the people who find them to be dashing adventurers, and those who are convinced they're going to suddenly kidnap someone and hold them ransom. Max is talking to one of her confidants, tucked in a corner of the place's upper floor and looking like she's presiding over the place despite the looks she's receiving from time to time due to the company she and Featherstone brought. She acts like the queen she is, even if some people don't seem to think so.
Really, it all works to their advantages. Silver's not exactly comfortable about the fact that he's here but he's not about to show it, Anne refusing to go. Silver would join her if he wasn't vaguely interested, wanting to see the world Flint once saw regularily. Morbid curiousity he's currently regretting.
They're dressed a little nicer than they usually do, although Silver has his black coat. They stick out like sore thumbs even overlooking the fact that Silver is leaning against a crutch--his missing leg gets whispers, some looks of wonder, some of fear. The looks of pity are the ones that make Silver lean against a pillar instead of take a seat or get a chair. Spite is a powerful motivator.
He passes the time by talking to the ladies that try to chat him up, charming and polite--he even flirts with one back just because her face was particularily red and he wanted to drown out Rackham's stories for a few seconds. Confidence is key and the free alcohol's pleasing. Rackham and Silver have already drank an entire bottle of wine between the two of them like it's absolutely nothing, and Rackham is starting to get worried about Anne when a man approaches them, and Silver looks him over, assessing him. Taller than him, though not by much, a face pleasing to look at.
"I assure you, I'd rather real with actual sharks in this regard," He explains honestly, a smile crossing beared features. "I know how to handle those."
Perhaps it's a terrible thought to have, but Benedict is quite surprised to hear the man speak. He speaks so properly, not at all like one would imagine pirates or ruffians to sound like. Taking a sip of his drink, Benedict offers a soft chuckle.
"I've no doubt. Not even years of experience has made me any better at dealing with these particular swarms."
Though by fortune, Benedict's never had to worry too much. The attention is on Anthony first and foremost, and only once he's well and married might they turn their gazes to him. It sounds horrifying.
The other chuckles, and Silver's left feeling mildly intrigued. So far there's no indication the other initiated to show off or ask him to leave, which was what most of the men who talked to him had done so far. Just a pleasant conversation.
A huge part of Silver doesn't trust it. The other part just takes a sip of his drink from his far too fancy glass.
"Surely there must be some sort of gimmick in order to survive," he reasons, "if you've done this regularly for years.."
Silver's brows lift, and he can't help the fact that he also finds it funny. The whole thing is preposterous. The thought of lineage mattering like this is completely far-fetched to Silver, even before he'd joined Flint's crew. Senority he understands, but not when it comes to things like this.
At least this guy seems to think the same. Everyone here has been both far too easy and incredibly difficult to read. It's what's keeping him here instead of heading home.
"Silver," he says simply, and instead of shaking the other's hand he firmly clasps the other's forearm just above the wrist. "John Silver. Benedict, I don't suppose you would do a man a slight favour?"
The grip is a bit startling, but fortunately Benedict isn't the sort to assume ill intentions. He quickly swallows down the drink he's taken and sets aside the small glass.
"Yes, of course, Mr. Silver. What is it you need?"
He supposes his brother might chastise him for being too helpful in the moment, but it's polite, and were Silver one of the other Lords or men about the place, then there'd be no harm in Benedict agreeing to lend a hand.
Benedict isn't entirely certain he needs a personal chef. He hasn't starved yet, has he? Sure, he has no idea how to actually cook himself (the most used appliances in his flat are the kettle and the microwave), but his mother's cook always makes so much food during weekly family dinners and when you're living in the heart of London, there's so much take away. But his mother had a small fit the last time she dropped by and the state of his fridge and his cupboards, and Benedict knows better than to every argue with her.
So a personal chef it is, someone hired to stop by a couple of times a week and prep his meals up for him. His mother hopes that Benedict might even learn a little how to cook, but he thinks that's being rather optimistic.
The worst part of it all, as far as Benedict is concerned, is having someone he doesn't know just come into his home. Is he meant to talk to the man, or leave him alone? Should he be a good host or just carry on like the man isn't there at all? He supposes he'll find out soon enough. The chef's due to arrive any moment, and Benedict's trying to pass the time by sketching at an easel in his living room.
It's a pretty easy gig, all things considered. Cook things that are easy to prep a few times a week in between shifts at the Admiral Benbow and catering for rich people and weddings. More important than easy, it's regular. He's never been one for cooking fancy, always preferring taste over expensive ingredients and pomp and circumstance, and while those incredibly fancy dinners he can whip up are quite the moneymakers, it's nice to shut your brain off as you head into a place where you can just cook.
He's been working for a fancy caterer as a side gig which is what landed him this in the first place: he talked to someone who talked to someone else who casually overheard one of the Bridgertons (fancy people, Silver's come to recognize) that they were looking for someone to help cook for their poor son. Silver, of course, slid himself right into that conversation. Even managed to get them to do it without a background check. You can be the best cook in London and still die poor courtesy of not knowing the right people.
So he's at a rather posh area of town, the place he caters but would never dream of living. The doorman lets him in without a single thought, seeing the groceries in both of his arms, and even helps him all the way up to the door. He knocks for Silver and opens it for him, too, so when the cook enters it's with both of his arms full and a quick polite muttered 'thank-you.'
There's no one there right away--Silver's used to someone immediately hovering with private gigs like this, and so he calls out a bright 'hello' as he takes in the place. Nice. Huge. The amount of things he could (and would) have stolen once upon a time just casually lying around here is unfathomable.
Instead, he spies the other across the extremely large room and offers another smile, bright, confident and friendly. First impressions are everything.
"You could only be Benedict," he says cheerily. "Your doorman went ahead and let me in."
Benedict is just starting to turn from the easel when the chef says his hello. He smiles apologetically.
"Sorry, I wasn't sure if I'd heard the knock or not - I promise I'm not entirely mannerless."
Well, that's a great first impression. Sometimes Benedict just finds himself getting caught up when the inspiration strikes and he loses himself in the process a bit, but now he's back, looking at a rather handsome smile. So maybe this idea of his mother's isn't such a bad idea after all.
"I have to assume by the bags that you're Mr. Silver, otherwise you're either a very clever or very terrible burglar. The kitchen's just this way -" He doesn't necessarily have to show the man, it's open concept and the kitchen is very obvious but Benedict motions and walks to it anyway. "I'll leave it entirely in your hands."
Silver nods, deeply amused by the burglar comment. The other seems apologetic, almost, which throws Silver for an honest to god loop. Enough that his smile is genuine as he sets the groceries down.
"I'll be out in a few hours," he promises. It seems like the other wants him to be left alone, which is fine for him--he's got work to do. "I've got a list of your preferences if you'd like to go over it? I often find a family's view of one's appetite is far different than one's own."
Not that he'd known anything about family. The other is cute, in a nice, safe way--a boy next door. Curious. He wonders if his girlfriend realizes how lucky she is.
"And, more importantly, if you've had dinner yet."
"Truthfully I'll eat anything, but my mother never gets anything wrong when it comes to her children. It's almost eerie."
Honestly, if any of the Bridgertons went on a game show and had to answer questions about one another, they'd probably win. Benedict doesn't really see many families these days as close as they are.
"But I suppose she has the advantage of me having eaten under her roof for two decades." And a weekly family meal. "And I've not had dinner, no," he adds, with an amused smile.
"Lady Bridgerton cooks?" Colour Silver surprised, his eyes wide, brows arched. It could be that Benedict is just very friendly with his family, which, again, is something Silver's not expecting. Either way, it's rather surprising. He catches himself, making sure he tears his gaze away from the other by surveying the kitchen fully. He's got everything he could possibly want, only... He hasn't touched anything.
Rich people.
At least this one's cute and has a soft voice.
"Forgive me," he doesn't want to misspeak. "Baked salmon?" he says instead, offering another easy smile.
Someone threw the first punch. The only thing Silver can say for sure is that it wasn't Rackham. Vane, however was definitely in the process of finishing it. The Benbow is loud and usually once the kitchen closes and people start drinking, there's some sort of altercation--be it their little group infighting or just unwelcome guests. Seems like the latter, and Max is immediatley shouting in that french accent of hers to take it the fuck outside, Anne with her hand suspiciously by her jacket like she's got a knife (she's on probation and she probably shouldn't), and the moment Vane flings the drunk idiot into the table next to them (Max is not happy), Silver decides the chaos isn't worth it and wordlessly grabs Benedict's arm to pull him up.
They head out the kitchen exit, moving through the back, Silver breahtless and laughing and helping Benedict walk by putting a strong arm around his waist, and in a matter of minutes Silver is helping Benedict up two flights of stairs in a very small apartment complex, downtrodden and almost derelict but surprisingly cozy. He even lets Benedict lean on him while he fishes for his keys.
"I told you," Silver states, finding his keys finally. "Vane finishes any fight he's a part of."
It's the most exciting night Benedict's had in ages. He spends most of the short walk to Silver's flat laughing, half at the events at the Benbow and half at his own obvious drunkenness. Not only is he glad for Silver there to support him, but he finds that he enjoys the feeling of that strong arm wrapped around him.
And most importantly, Benedict notes that Silver hasn't put him in a cab to send him home. Silver is taking him to his flat.
He smiles at Silver, just admiring him while the man gets them inside the apartment.
"So does my brother. But not nearly so spectacularly."
Benedict laughs again, this time at the mental image of Anthony slamming someone on to a table, and he stumbles a bit.
"Your brother does not want to meet Vane," he assures, and once they get into the apartment he winds up closing the door with his foot, making sure Benedict actually coems through safely.
Jesus. He's rumpled, he's laughing, his face is flushed... Benedict looks absolutely divine, and if he were any other man Silver would probably have pushed him against the wall right behind the Benbow.
But he's Benedict, and as much as silver finds him attractive, he'd rather they continue to talk than waste that. Plus, he's very, very drunk. There are boundaries, and ones he doesn't intend to cross.
Instead, he puts his keys on the kitchen counter and helps the other to the futon that serves as his couch. His place is small but clean, a crutch propped against the wall. Silver even manages to try to get Benedict onto the couch.
He'd like to glance around. From what he has noticed, it's quite a small but endearing place, but Benedict's finding it hard to really focus on anything except Silver. Maybe they really have been flirting all this time. Benedict smiles broadly.
As he settles on to the couch (with help), he keeps a hold of Silver's arm and tries to tug him down beside him.
"It's a small apartment," Silver says, and while he doesn't stop Benedict, he doesn't sit down. He's momentarily transfixed, lost, he thinks, in the way the other has that stupid smile.
"I was going to get drinks for us," he says softly, and he finds he can't pull away from him.
Benedict doesn't really need any more drinks, anyway. Maybe some water. It can wait, either way. He doesn't quite see the point in it. Silver's brought him home, why act on pretenses at this point?
It's a very strange predicament to be in. Of course, people have been using marriages to arrange alliances and seal pacts for centuries, and it's certainly not unheard of in Benedict's society circles. So rarely, really, do people ever meet and marry for love. Though Benedict's mother had, and his sister had, and Benedict's enough of a romantic to have hoped for the same for himself.
But when he wanted to find his match outside of the aristocracy, he hadn't really imagined this scenario.
He understands it. From a political stand point, if this is what London - and, subsequently - England and her colonies need to thrive, then it's an alarmingly important position to be given. And, really, what better family than the Bridgertons, who occupy a very unique position between nobility and royalty. Daphne, of course, is married, and Anthony is much too important, but Benedict has the second son status that makes him equal parts important and trivial. If things go sideways, it's not a Viscount they're losing.
Anthony, ever the protective sibling, had been furious. Benedict had been glad for it. He's not certain he's ready to carry the weight of something as vital as this, and knowing that, no matter what, Anthony would have his back had been something of a relief. But Benedict was prepared to act like he could take this in stride. He'd accepted his fate (not that he'd had much choice) and he wasn't about to bring any sort of shame on his family. Which is why he's in the salon at a hotel, sitting and absently sketching to keep himself from pacing nervously. There's a fresh tea service with biscuits, too, ready for when Benedict meets the man he's going to have to marry.
It's a strange predicament, but one that makes sense. Mostly he's furious at Max for saying yes before he had even heard the negotiations had been even put on the table. Even worse, it's what makes the most sense.
Rackham has his crew. Billy Bones dead, last he heard--and Flint murdered by Long John Silver. And John, well, he's a Pirate King, one that all of England wants to hang. He's got one good leg, and while he's leagues above others at fighting, the fact remains that his short-lived vanguard days are over. But he is still very much a Pirate King.
So of course he's the one to marry some nonce of a nobleman. Madi proposes it to him, and that's the only reason he accepts it. They've been frayed--broken, and he'd thought it beyond repair, but Madi had reached out to him for the first time in what felt like forever.
Marriage it is.
He'd arrived naught but two days earlier, which gave him barely enough time to get his bearings and bathe. He hasn't even had time to purchase proper appropriate clothing even if he had any desire to. Mostly, returning to London gives him a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He at least ties his hair all the way up, however, and he'd brought a jacket and linens that were at least clean, even if they were from Nassau.
The steady tap of his crutch comes first, and when Silver rounds the corner his blue eyes immediately start raking over the place: exits, first. Windows, and the like. His gaze finally stops at Benedict, just as the servant ushers him towards the man. He's painfully aware of the guards outside, which is fine, seeing as he's also left his own.
He's a nice looking man, at the very least. Silver looks at him, face completely impassive, before limping over.
As soon as Benedict hears people approaching, he closes his sketchbook and sets it aside and makes sure he doesn't have pencil on his fingers. He's standing up from his seat when the man is ushered in, and Benedict puts on a pleasant and well practiced smile - which freezes a bit on his face in surprise.
He's not sure what he'd been expecting. The man in front of him looks like a pirate, but Benedict had been under the impression that pirates were more haggard. Yes, the man appears to have only one leg, but otherwise he's quite handsome. Even despite the distance, Benedict can notice how blue his eyes are.
Perhaps, he thinks (and the thought almost makes him blush), this won't be so terribly bad.
"Yes. John Silver, I presume."
He lets the smile relax into something more natural, despite how nervous he feels, and he holds out his hand. Do you shake the hand of the man you've been promised to? Benedict thinks it's probably the most acceptable greeting, in any case.
Silver looks down at the hand before he looks up at Benedict. They're not pristine and clean like everything else in here. A quick glance around the room earlier and he'd spotted paper. A writer, then, or thinker. Perhaps even an artist.
"I am." It seems only a month ago that admitting it in London would mean a hanging. Silver takes the other's hand with his own roughed and calloused one, shaking it.
"You and I are to wed." His gaze is stern, serious. He thinks it could be worse, however. There's a softness to Benedict that's aesthetically pleasing.
"Yes." Benedict lets out a laugh, half to get out his nervousness and half because he appreciates the bluntness of the statement. "I do believe we are. I must admit, a part of me is glad I won't need to try and survive another courting season."
It had been exhausting dodging all the mothers and daughters that sought him out. And, while his own mother is a bit displeased about the arrangement, Benedict thinks that at least now she doesn't have to guilt him about being unwed anymore.
"Rum," Silver's choice is automatic, though he stops moving forward the moment he remembers this is some sort of tea thing and not an actual bar. Right.
High society.
"...Tea's fine," he says, and his smile behind his beard is rather forced as he makes his way to the seat opposite Benedict, grunting as he sits down and puts his crutch to the side. There's some suspiciously looking deliciousness on the tables, too. Delicate and sugary. He pauses, lips parted.
"You're aware of what you're getting into?" he says, because there's no point in formalities. Not in a situation like this. Politeness for the sake of politeness will only make them miserable, he thinks. At the very least, Silver would be doomed.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hey, i just met you, and this is crazy
Some members of their society are properly scandalized about it. There's been mutterings that a few families refuse to attend the circuit of parties for fear of their lives and belongings, or not wanting to even be partially associated with them. But it seems that most of them are quite keen about it. There's something exotic and new about pirates in their midst, and, really, Benedict suspects that quite a lot of the ladies (and, truly, some of the men) are letting their fantasies run a bit wild. Eloise has certainly taken the bull by the horns and will tell practically anyone who might listen how a seemingly uncivilized group of people respect the contributions of women more than her own community.
Benedict, for his part, is neither here nor there about it. Certainly he understands the excitement, but he attends the parties and the balls because he's a Bridgerton and it's expected of him. And that's very much why he's here, standing to the sides as he sips his champagne when he sees them. The men are very obviously not one of them, but despite that, they seem impossibly comfortable and sure of themselves. Some of the more desperate ladies have made their flirtations, and Benedict watches, mildly amused. When there's a moment where the pirates are left alone, Benedict decides to swoop in. Why not? He has no obligations to make a match here, and kindness, he's certain, can't create much scandal.
"You'll have to forgive them," he says, to the shorter of the pair as the taller one seems to have wandered off. "I'm afraid they're rather like sharks smelling fresh blood in the water."
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Really, it all works to their advantages. Silver's not exactly comfortable about the fact that he's here but he's not about to show it, Anne refusing to go. Silver would join her if he wasn't vaguely interested, wanting to see the world Flint once saw regularily. Morbid curiousity he's currently regretting.
They're dressed a little nicer than they usually do, although Silver has his black coat. They stick out like sore thumbs even overlooking the fact that Silver is leaning against a crutch--his missing leg gets whispers, some looks of wonder, some of fear. The looks of pity are the ones that make Silver lean against a pillar instead of take a seat or get a chair. Spite is a powerful motivator.
He passes the time by talking to the ladies that try to chat him up, charming and polite--he even flirts with one back just because her face was particularily red and he wanted to drown out Rackham's stories for a few seconds. Confidence is key and the free alcohol's pleasing. Rackham and Silver have already drank an entire bottle of wine between the two of them like it's absolutely nothing, and Rackham is starting to get worried about Anne when a man approaches them, and Silver looks him over, assessing him. Taller than him, though not by much, a face pleasing to look at.
"I assure you, I'd rather real with actual sharks in this regard," He explains honestly, a smile crossing beared features. "I know how to handle those."
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"I've no doubt. Not even years of experience has made me any better at dealing with these particular swarms."
Though by fortune, Benedict's never had to worry too much. The attention is on Anthony first and foremost, and only once he's well and married might they turn their gazes to him. It sounds horrifying.
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A huge part of Silver doesn't trust it. The other part just takes a sip of his drink from his far too fancy glass.
"Surely there must be some sort of gimmick in order to survive," he reasons, "if you've done this regularly for years.."
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Which earns a more proper laugh out of Benedict, as his gaze casts across the room to Anthony for a moment before returning to his company.
"But forgive me, my mother would be appalled at my horrible manners. Benedict Bridgerton. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr ...?"
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At least this guy seems to think the same. Everyone here has been both far too easy and incredibly difficult to read. It's what's keeping him here instead of heading home.
"Silver," he says simply, and instead of shaking the other's hand he firmly clasps the other's forearm just above the wrist. "John Silver. Benedict, I don't suppose you would do a man a slight favour?"
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"Yes, of course, Mr. Silver. What is it you need?"
He supposes his brother might chastise him for being too helpful in the moment, but it's polite, and were Silver one of the other Lords or men about the place, then there'd be no harm in Benedict agreeing to lend a hand.
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modern au;
So a personal chef it is, someone hired to stop by a couple of times a week and prep his meals up for him. His mother hopes that Benedict might even learn a little how to cook, but he thinks that's being rather optimistic.
The worst part of it all, as far as Benedict is concerned, is having someone he doesn't know just come into his home. Is he meant to talk to the man, or leave him alone? Should he be a good host or just carry on like the man isn't there at all? He supposes he'll find out soon enough. The chef's due to arrive any moment, and Benedict's trying to pass the time by sketching at an easel in his living room.
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He's been working for a fancy caterer as a side gig which is what landed him this in the first place: he talked to someone who talked to someone else who casually overheard one of the Bridgertons (fancy people, Silver's come to recognize) that they were looking for someone to help cook for their poor son. Silver, of course, slid himself right into that conversation. Even managed to get them to do it without a background check. You can be the best cook in London and still die poor courtesy of not knowing the right people.
So he's at a rather posh area of town, the place he caters but would never dream of living. The doorman lets him in without a single thought, seeing the groceries in both of his arms, and even helps him all the way up to the door. He knocks for Silver and opens it for him, too, so when the cook enters it's with both of his arms full and a quick polite muttered 'thank-you.'
There's no one there right away--Silver's used to someone immediately hovering with private gigs like this, and so he calls out a bright 'hello' as he takes in the place. Nice. Huge. The amount of things he could (and would) have stolen once upon a time just casually lying around here is unfathomable.
Instead, he spies the other across the extremely large room and offers another smile, bright, confident and friendly. First impressions are everything.
"You could only be Benedict," he says cheerily. "Your doorman went ahead and let me in."
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"Sorry, I wasn't sure if I'd heard the knock or not - I promise I'm not entirely mannerless."
Well, that's a great first impression. Sometimes Benedict just finds himself getting caught up when the inspiration strikes and he loses himself in the process a bit, but now he's back, looking at a rather handsome smile. So maybe this idea of his mother's isn't such a bad idea after all.
"I have to assume by the bags that you're Mr. Silver, otherwise you're either a very clever or very terrible burglar. The kitchen's just this way -" He doesn't necessarily have to show the man, it's open concept and the kitchen is very obvious but Benedict motions and walks to it anyway. "I'll leave it entirely in your hands."
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"I'll be out in a few hours," he promises. It seems like the other wants him to be left alone, which is fine for him--he's got work to do. "I've got a list of your preferences if you'd like to go over it? I often find a family's view of one's appetite is far different than one's own."
Not that he'd known anything about family. The other is cute, in a nice, safe way--a boy next door. Curious. He wonders if his girlfriend realizes how lucky she is.
"And, more importantly, if you've had dinner yet."
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Honestly, if any of the Bridgertons went on a game show and had to answer questions about one another, they'd probably win. Benedict doesn't really see many families these days as close as they are.
"But I suppose she has the advantage of me having eaten under her roof for two decades." And a weekly family meal. "And I've not had dinner, no," he adds, with an amused smile.
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Rich people.
At least this one's cute and has a soft voice.
"Forgive me," he doesn't want to misspeak. "Baked salmon?" he says instead, offering another easy smile.
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modern AU; drunk benny after first dates
They head out the kitchen exit, moving through the back, Silver breahtless and laughing and helping Benedict walk by putting a strong arm around his waist, and in a matter of minutes Silver is helping Benedict up two flights of stairs in a very small apartment complex, downtrodden and almost derelict but surprisingly cozy. He even lets Benedict lean on him while he fishes for his keys.
"I told you," Silver states, finding his keys finally. "Vane finishes any fight he's a part of."
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And most importantly, Benedict notes that Silver hasn't put him in a cab to send him home. Silver is taking him to his flat.
He smiles at Silver, just admiring him while the man gets them inside the apartment.
"So does my brother. But not nearly so spectacularly."
Benedict laughs again, this time at the mental image of Anthony slamming someone on to a table, and he stumbles a bit.
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Jesus. He's rumpled, he's laughing, his face is flushed... Benedict looks absolutely divine, and if he were any other man Silver would probably have pushed him against the wall right behind the Benbow.
But he's Benedict, and as much as silver finds him attractive, he'd rather they continue to talk than waste that. Plus, he's very, very drunk. There are boundaries, and ones he doesn't intend to cross.
Instead, he puts his keys on the kitchen counter and helps the other to the futon that serves as his couch. His place is small but clean, a crutch propped against the wall. Silver even manages to try to get Benedict onto the couch.
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As he settles on to the couch (with help), he keeps a hold of Silver's arm and tries to tug him down beside him.
"Come sit with me. Or I'll follow you around."
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"I was going to get drinks for us," he says softly, and he finds he can't pull away from him.
Benedict's hand feels nice.
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Benedict doesn't really need any more drinks, anyway. Maybe some water. It can wait, either way. He doesn't quite see the point in it. Silver's brought him home, why act on pretenses at this point?
He gives Silver another easy tug.
"Please."
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arranged marriage;
But when he wanted to find his match outside of the aristocracy, he hadn't really imagined this scenario.
He understands it. From a political stand point, if this is what London - and, subsequently - England and her colonies need to thrive, then it's an alarmingly important position to be given. And, really, what better family than the Bridgertons, who occupy a very unique position between nobility and royalty. Daphne, of course, is married, and Anthony is much too important, but Benedict has the second son status that makes him equal parts important and trivial. If things go sideways, it's not a Viscount they're losing.
Anthony, ever the protective sibling, had been furious. Benedict had been glad for it. He's not certain he's ready to carry the weight of something as vital as this, and knowing that, no matter what, Anthony would have his back had been something of a relief. But Benedict was prepared to act like he could take this in stride. He'd accepted his fate (not that he'd had much choice) and he wasn't about to bring any sort of shame on his family. Which is why he's in the salon at a hotel, sitting and absently sketching to keep himself from pacing nervously. There's a fresh tea service with biscuits, too, ready for when Benedict meets the man he's going to have to marry.
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Rackham has his crew. Billy Bones dead, last he heard--and Flint murdered by Long John Silver. And John, well, he's a Pirate King, one that all of England wants to hang. He's got one good leg, and while he's leagues above others at fighting, the fact remains that his short-lived vanguard days are over. But he is still very much a Pirate King.
So of course he's the one to marry some nonce of a nobleman. Madi proposes it to him, and that's the only reason he accepts it. They've been frayed--broken, and he'd thought it beyond repair, but Madi had reached out to him for the first time in what felt like forever.
Marriage it is.
He'd arrived naught but two days earlier, which gave him barely enough time to get his bearings and bathe. He hasn't even had time to purchase proper appropriate clothing even if he had any desire to. Mostly, returning to London gives him a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He at least ties his hair all the way up, however, and he'd brought a jacket and linens that were at least clean, even if they were from Nassau.
The steady tap of his crutch comes first, and when Silver rounds the corner his blue eyes immediately start raking over the place: exits, first. Windows, and the like. His gaze finally stops at Benedict, just as the servant ushers him towards the man. He's painfully aware of the guards outside, which is fine, seeing as he's also left his own.
He's a nice looking man, at the very least. Silver looks at him, face completely impassive, before limping over.
"Benedict Bridgerton?"
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He's not sure what he'd been expecting. The man in front of him looks like a pirate, but Benedict had been under the impression that pirates were more haggard. Yes, the man appears to have only one leg, but otherwise he's quite handsome. Even despite the distance, Benedict can notice how blue his eyes are.
Perhaps, he thinks (and the thought almost makes him blush), this won't be so terribly bad.
"Yes. John Silver, I presume."
He lets the smile relax into something more natural, despite how nervous he feels, and he holds out his hand. Do you shake the hand of the man you've been promised to? Benedict thinks it's probably the most acceptable greeting, in any case.
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"I am." It seems only a month ago that admitting it in London would mean a hanging. Silver takes the other's hand with his own roughed and calloused one, shaking it.
"You and I are to wed." His gaze is stern, serious. He thinks it could be worse, however. There's a softness to Benedict that's aesthetically pleasing.
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It had been exhausting dodging all the mothers and daughters that sought him out. And, while his own mother is a bit displeased about the arrangement, Benedict thinks that at least now she doesn't have to guilt him about being unwed anymore.
He moves to the tea service.
"Would you care for a cup?"
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High society.
"...Tea's fine," he says, and his smile behind his beard is rather forced as he makes his way to the seat opposite Benedict, grunting as he sits down and puts his crutch to the side. There's some suspiciously looking deliciousness on the tables, too. Delicate and sugary. He pauses, lips parted.
"You're aware of what you're getting into?" he says, because there's no point in formalities. Not in a situation like this. Politeness for the sake of politeness will only make them miserable, he thinks. At the very least, Silver would be doomed.
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