Truthfully, Benedict's a bit delighted by it all. He's starting to explore his own freedoms and what it means to not have obligations. Sure, his mother likely expects it of him, but what's the point? Anthony's the one with the title, and then Colin seems keen to play the proper son anyway. Surely Benedict can afford himself a few luxuries without losing his propriety entirely.
Maybe his eagerness to assist Silver and Rackham will get his name plastered in that horrible little gossip column. It will likely make the Bridgerton home the center of society once more, in any case.
"There are always people watching at these parties. He'd not get very far."
A knock on the study shows that there's no one inside, but the glasses that have yet to be cleaned up and the fresh smell of cigar smoke say that they've only just missed them. The bottle of whiskey is still out, so Benedict knows it won't go missed if another glass or two is poured.
He has half a mind to keep up his apparent "rugged" exterior by taking a swig from the bottle alone, but he stops himself. Instead, he happily sets his crutch down on the table, sliding into the seat on the desk to better rest and sigh heavily, glad to get weight off of it.
He pours them both glasses, uncaring that they haven't been cleaned, pouring heavy like it's a glass of water. He feels like he can breathe a little bit, and he waits calmly for the other to pick his glass up so they can cheers.
The corner of Benedict's mouth quirks up into one of his lopsided smiles and he toasts the healthy amount of drink in turn. He takes a sip, letting the burn of a good alcohol after the mild champagne trickle down his throat.
"A friend of mine once told me that we're the ones that get to have all the fun. I daresay he may be correct."
His face scrunches up, and so it's lopsided and genuine that Silver can't help but admit to himself that it's cute. That Benedict is cute, with his smooth skin and clean face and soft voice. At the very least, he's something different to look at.
"Can't be able to seek too much pleasure if you're still trapped in this Godforsaken place." Even if it's with him. Silver leans back, putting his one foot up onto the table and looking teasingly at the other. "Does the gilded cage ever seem a little too crowded?"
Benedict sits as well, leaning back in the highbacked chair.
"Though I'm used to crowded. I live in a home with six of my seven siblings, my mother, and our help. It's a miracle one can find peace when one desires it."
That's at least relatable to Silver. He can't relate to the family aspect but it's genuinely a treat to get a moment alone on a ship where you have men wedged in like cattle and nowhere to sleep than the hammocks.
"This will have to do for now," he teases, and takes his crutch with one hand. Ever the creative thinker, he leans over and uses the crutch to unlatch the window behind him, allowing it to open and giving them some air. It's stale in here, especially in comparison to Nassau.
"I can imagine a ball every other week in your humble abode would get anyone a little on edge," he laments, brows raising again. Sarcastic, but playful.
"Every other week would be rather few, Mr. Silver. During the proper season, there's practically one every evening. How the ladies do it, I haven't any idea."
Benedict can barely manage it and he doesn't have to get a new outfit for each one or present himself in such an open manner.
"How do you sleep at night," Silver laments broadly, already repouring his drink. He's not too sure if Rackham has some sort of odd scheme or if he really had to take a piss, it's about 50/50, but either way it means they'll eb alone and in away from others.
"I think we're mutually beneficial to each other, Benedict," he says after a while, nodding to himself. "I wager you and I are the only two people in this building who don't seem to much care for any of this."
He thinks that over as he takes another drink from his glass.
"It's not so much that I do not care for it, I should think," Benedict says after a moment. "It's more so that ... I suppose I feel as though I'd like something different from my life."
Which he thinks Silver can understand, what with being a pirate and all of that.
Benedict downs what's in his cup with a bit of a wince.
"Perhaps we'd both find it more to our liking if we were take our leave and source out a drink elsewhere."
"I was about to suggest the same thing," Silver says promptly, and there's a mischief in his eyes and a smirk on his face as he downs the rest of his drink. The only thing he's not looking forward to is getting up and walking down those fucking steps.
Christ, why do mansions like this have to be so fucking big.
"You can come up with a great story about how I kidnapped you for ransom if your family worries, I promise to back up every word. There's a tavern where we're staying that has cheap rum and the food is barely tolerable. It's perfect."
"I'm sorry that you'll likely be terribly disappointed, as my family rarely concerns themselves when I choose to leave."
Benedict is up off his chair, reaching to assist Silver in standing. He hopes after the matter that he hasn't overstepped his bounds, and keeps himself near enough should Silver require a little extra assistance going down the stairs.
"Shall we get a carriage? I imagine your lodgings aren't particularly nearby."
Silver doesn't miss a beat as the other puts himself down, a smirk on his face. "Those are the perfect prizes, the ones no one realizes are missing until it's too late."
Benedict rises, and Silver would normally stand up by himself to prove a point, but there's something about the other. He can't describe it--it's the look, or the half-lopsided smile, or the fact that Benedict doesn't seem to either pity him or look at him in fear.
He allows himself to be helped up, though he doesn't say a thing about it, and the stairs are done on his own time (and significantly slower, something he's used to by now.)
"A carriage," He says, as if this whole concept is amusing to him (it is), and once they're on the main floor once more, he stops and glances over at Benedict.
"Wait but a moment, will you?" His gaze flicks over to Max, who is how talking to Rackham.
Benedict gives a slight bow of his head, demure in his gentlemen's way. Of course Silver will want to tell his friends that he's taking his leave. Benedict has long since stopped announcing his own departures. He's a grown man, after all, and his family trusts him to take care of himself, and he doesn't have the spotlight on him at all moments.
Though while he does wait for Silver to return, Anthony comes across him, and Benedict takes a moment to tease him about having all the ladies flocking after him.
Silver smiles at the way he bows his head. It's demure, almost lacking confidence--it's surprisingly endearing. Benedict himself is, and it's been so long for Silver to not feel threatened or to have to worry about someone inevitably backstabbing him. Perhaps Benedict has an ulterior motive, but Silver highly doubts it. He's fantastic at reading people.
Max and Silver share a quick word, and she leans forward and kisses him on the cheek--more for politeness, Silver assumes, in a world he's unfamiliar with. He likes Max, and as his gaze flicks across the room, he catches Benedict's gaze lingering a little longer than necessary. At first he thinks it's Max, and who would blame Benedict--she's gorgeous, and Silver's been lucky enough to bein her bed all those years ago--before he glances at Max.
Max's brow raises.
"Go be happy for the night," she whispers, all honeyed words and beautiful voice, and Silver can't help but grin. If anyone can tell who's looking at who and why, it's Max as she all but confirms it: Benedict's gaze is lingering on Silver, not Max.
Go and be happy for the night indeed.
By the time he's made his way back to Benedict, Rackham has not only returned but he's got a small gaggle of women titterinig over some of his stories, and Silver rolls his eyes at Benedict.
"Let us depart before I have to hear another word out of Captain Rackham's mouth about his trials and tribulations on the high seas."
Benedict wonders if he ought to look away. Their gazes meet and hold for a few, lingering moments, before Benedict decides he ought to not stare. So he glances away, letting himself be distracted by what's going on with everyone else until Silver rejoins him.
"How much of it is true?"
There's an amused look about him as he holds open the door for Silver. He spots his family's carriage sitting along all the others, and figures that the rest of his family will be there for long enough yet that their driver will have plenty of time to return. He also trusts the discreetness of his own family's driver than that of anyone else.
Silver purposely doesn't answer that, both because leaving some air of mystery is a little fun for him and also because he's fairly certain Rackham is telling a Charles Vane story, and that's a man who's memory is one he figures he ought to respect. Instead, he lifts his brows and gives a half-shrug to the other, making his way to the rather fancy carriage. Silver does need assistance, though it's quick and he uses Benedict's shoulder, not the butler's offered hand, to help himself.
He breathes in heavily as he gets comfortable, both of them opposite from each other, Silver's crutch on his lap.
"It's occurred to me that I know an awful lot about your family but quite little about you. Not what you are--who you are."
Benedict is certainly more than happy to oblige when it comes to help. The step up into the carriage can be challenging for some with both legs, let alone one in Silver's condition. Once the driver knows their destination, Benedict sits back as well, hands folded in his lap.
"I can't imagine anything about me that a travelled man such as yourself would find interesting."
It's hardly self-deprecating. Benedict doesn't find himself particularly interesting even among his community. His story isn't any different than theirs, after all - a boy of means, raised in society, sent off to a good school, who learned all the things a gentleman ought to know.
Silver's chuckle is warm, leaning back in the carriage as they go, no proper regard for etiquette--and not much regard for posture, either.
"I highly doubt that. If you were the most uninteresting person in all of London, that would still be interesting," he quips, voice light as he looks at the other. Benedict hasn't asked a single thing about him, really, he seems to just still be going on polite conversation.
Silver's never liked polite conversation.
"Indulge me. What do you do when you're not at balls, regretting every choice that's lead you there?"
"You do me a disservice, Mr. Silver," Benedict replies, lightly joking. Not every ball or party is a cause for regret. He enjoys time spent with family and it gives them something to joke about at later times. But the social calendar is certainly a busy one.
He hums a bit, feeling thoughtful over the question.
"Well, I sketch, I suppose. It's hardly anything but perhaps one day I'll produce something worthy of hanging upon someone's wall. "
"Silver," he corrects lightly. "Or John. I'm hardly worthy of a 'Mr,' name, not when I'm currently near an intrepid young purveyor of art." It's hard to tell if he's joking or not as the carriage rocks them both, gently swaying to their destination. silver dislikes carriages, he decides. an awful lot. The sway of the sea is better.
...To think he actually prefers the ocean now. There's a thought he doesn't want to dwell too much on.
"Can't say there are any galleries in Nassau, but I did know a very talented whore who was gifted when it came to sketching."
"Talent, I should think, doesn't discriminate based on one's status."
Though Benedict can't tell if Silver means she was very talented with her sketches or with other things related to her profession.
"But I'm afraid beyond that, I sometimes go riding with my brothers, or accompany my sisters should they need it. When we vacation in the country, I'll do some shooting. You must think me terribly dull company in comparison to pirates and captains."
Silver shakes his head--it's a conversation, Benedict, and he thinks he really ought to stop being so harsh on himself--and he grins.
"I find this fascinating," he says simply--and he means it. "My favourite thing is a good story. I reckon someone of your stature has quite a few." And, selfishly, any information is good information. "Why would you have to accompany a sister? There's no eminent danger in a ballroom."
"Is there not? I believe that most men behave gentlemanly, but I'm not blind to the notion that there are some hiding ill intent. It's the duty of a brother to ensure his sister's honour isn't put into question, or far worse."
Though the Bridgerton women certainly seem capable of taking care of themselves, it doesn't change the way they're viewed and meant to behave. A shame, truly. He agrees with Eloise that women should be afforded more luxuries such as men.
"And, certainly, once night falls it's improper to have a lady see herself to and from a place without a proper chaperone."
"Oh, of course, we can't have that," his sarcasm is overwhelming, though it's directed at the situation and not at all at Benedict. It won't be too long before they head towards the harbour and to where Jack's crew--and Silver and Max--are holed up. Silver begins taking down his hair as he talks.
"And you're ready and prepared, then? To be improper?"
"And you assume I've not been improper previously?"
Maybe not to grand lengths, sure, but Benedict imagines people would talk if they knew he spent some nights at parties with artists or the general working class of London. Or if they knew that he'd been with a married woman and another women older than him at the same time, or that maintained a frivolous relationship with the older woman for several weeks following. Or the other inclinations that have been coming to mind.
In regards to Benedict's upbringing, that's all quite improper.
"Or that I'm not being improper even now, accompanying you to the docks when I scarcely know you."
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Maybe his eagerness to assist Silver and Rackham will get his name plastered in that horrible little gossip column. It will likely make the Bridgerton home the center of society once more, in any case.
"There are always people watching at these parties. He'd not get very far."
A knock on the study shows that there's no one inside, but the glasses that have yet to be cleaned up and the fresh smell of cigar smoke say that they've only just missed them. The bottle of whiskey is still out, so Benedict knows it won't go missed if another glass or two is poured.
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He pours them both glasses, uncaring that they haven't been cleaned, pouring heavy like it's a glass of water. He feels like he can breathe a little bit, and he waits calmly for the other to pick his glass up so they can cheers.
"To second sons."
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The corner of Benedict's mouth quirks up into one of his lopsided smiles and he toasts the healthy amount of drink in turn. He takes a sip, letting the burn of a good alcohol after the mild champagne trickle down his throat.
"A friend of mine once told me that we're the ones that get to have all the fun. I daresay he may be correct."
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"Can't be able to seek too much pleasure if you're still trapped in this Godforsaken place." Even if it's with him. Silver leans back, putting his one foot up onto the table and looking teasingly at the other. "Does the gilded cage ever seem a little too crowded?"
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Benedict sits as well, leaning back in the highbacked chair.
"Though I'm used to crowded. I live in a home with six of my seven siblings, my mother, and our help. It's a miracle one can find peace when one desires it."
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"This will have to do for now," he teases, and takes his crutch with one hand. Ever the creative thinker, he leans over and uses the crutch to unlatch the window behind him, allowing it to open and giving them some air. It's stale in here, especially in comparison to Nassau.
"I can imagine a ball every other week in your humble abode would get anyone a little on edge," he laments, brows raising again. Sarcastic, but playful.
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Benedict can barely manage it and he doesn't have to get a new outfit for each one or present himself in such an open manner.
"I've started not attending some altogether."
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"I think we're mutually beneficial to each other, Benedict," he says after a while, nodding to himself. "I wager you and I are the only two people in this building who don't seem to much care for any of this."
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"It's not so much that I do not care for it, I should think," Benedict says after a moment. "It's more so that ... I suppose I feel as though I'd like something different from my life."
Which he thinks Silver can understand, what with being a pirate and all of that.
Benedict downs what's in his cup with a bit of a wince.
"Perhaps we'd both find it more to our liking if we were take our leave and source out a drink elsewhere."
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Christ, why do mansions like this have to be so fucking big.
"You can come up with a great story about how I kidnapped you for ransom if your family worries, I promise to back up every word. There's a tavern where we're staying that has cheap rum and the food is barely tolerable. It's perfect."
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Benedict is up off his chair, reaching to assist Silver in standing. He hopes after the matter that he hasn't overstepped his bounds, and keeps himself near enough should Silver require a little extra assistance going down the stairs.
"Shall we get a carriage? I imagine your lodgings aren't particularly nearby."
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Benedict rises, and Silver would normally stand up by himself to prove a point, but there's something about the other. He can't describe it--it's the look, or the half-lopsided smile, or the fact that Benedict doesn't seem to either pity him or look at him in fear.
He allows himself to be helped up, though he doesn't say a thing about it, and the stairs are done on his own time (and significantly slower, something he's used to by now.)
"A carriage," He says, as if this whole concept is amusing to him (it is), and once they're on the main floor once more, he stops and glances over at Benedict.
"Wait but a moment, will you?" His gaze flicks over to Max, who is how talking to Rackham.
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Benedict gives a slight bow of his head, demure in his gentlemen's way. Of course Silver will want to tell his friends that he's taking his leave. Benedict has long since stopped announcing his own departures. He's a grown man, after all, and his family trusts him to take care of himself, and he doesn't have the spotlight on him at all moments.
Though while he does wait for Silver to return, Anthony comes across him, and Benedict takes a moment to tease him about having all the ladies flocking after him.
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Max and Silver share a quick word, and she leans forward and kisses him on the cheek--more for politeness, Silver assumes, in a world he's unfamiliar with. He likes Max, and as his gaze flicks across the room, he catches Benedict's gaze lingering a little longer than necessary. At first he thinks it's Max, and who would blame Benedict--she's gorgeous, and Silver's been lucky enough to bein her bed all those years ago--before he glances at Max.
Max's brow raises.
"Go be happy for the night," she whispers, all honeyed words and beautiful voice, and Silver can't help but grin. If anyone can tell who's looking at who and why, it's Max as she all but confirms it: Benedict's gaze is lingering on Silver, not Max.
Go and be happy for the night indeed.
By the time he's made his way back to Benedict, Rackham has not only returned but he's got a small gaggle of women titterinig over some of his stories, and Silver rolls his eyes at Benedict.
"Let us depart before I have to hear another word out of Captain Rackham's mouth about his trials and tribulations on the high seas."
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"How much of it is true?"
There's an amused look about him as he holds open the door for Silver. He spots his family's carriage sitting along all the others, and figures that the rest of his family will be there for long enough yet that their driver will have plenty of time to return. He also trusts the discreetness of his own family's driver than that of anyone else.
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He breathes in heavily as he gets comfortable, both of them opposite from each other, Silver's crutch on his lap.
"It's occurred to me that I know an awful lot about your family but quite little about you. Not what you are--who you are."
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"I can't imagine anything about me that a travelled man such as yourself would find interesting."
It's hardly self-deprecating. Benedict doesn't find himself particularly interesting even among his community. His story isn't any different than theirs, after all - a boy of means, raised in society, sent off to a good school, who learned all the things a gentleman ought to know.
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"I highly doubt that. If you were the most uninteresting person in all of London, that would still be interesting," he quips, voice light as he looks at the other. Benedict hasn't asked a single thing about him, really, he seems to just still be going on polite conversation.
Silver's never liked polite conversation.
"Indulge me. What do you do when you're not at balls, regretting every choice that's lead you there?"
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He hums a bit, feeling thoughtful over the question.
"Well, I sketch, I suppose. It's hardly anything but perhaps one day I'll produce something worthy of hanging upon someone's wall. "
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...To think he actually prefers the ocean now. There's a thought he doesn't want to dwell too much on.
"Can't say there are any galleries in Nassau, but I did know a very talented whore who was gifted when it came to sketching."
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Though Benedict can't tell if Silver means she was very talented with her sketches or with other things related to her profession.
"But I'm afraid beyond that, I sometimes go riding with my brothers, or accompany my sisters should they need it. When we vacation in the country, I'll do some shooting. You must think me terribly dull company in comparison to pirates and captains."
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"I find this fascinating," he says simply--and he means it. "My favourite thing is a good story. I reckon someone of your stature has quite a few." And, selfishly, any information is good information. "Why would you have to accompany a sister? There's no eminent danger in a ballroom."
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Though the Bridgerton women certainly seem capable of taking care of themselves, it doesn't change the way they're viewed and meant to behave. A shame, truly. He agrees with Eloise that women should be afforded more luxuries such as men.
"And, certainly, once night falls it's improper to have a lady see herself to and from a place without a proper chaperone."
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"And you're ready and prepared, then? To be improper?"
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Maybe not to grand lengths, sure, but Benedict imagines people would talk if they knew he spent some nights at parties with artists or the general working class of London. Or if they knew that he'd been with a married woman and another women older than him at the same time, or that maintained a frivolous relationship with the older woman for several weeks following. Or the other inclinations that have been coming to mind.
In regards to Benedict's upbringing, that's all quite improper.
"Or that I'm not being improper even now, accompanying you to the docks when I scarcely know you."
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