The Muse // Benedict Bridgerton

Wyndall House

An artist walks through life looking for their muse in everything. A flower, an animal, a statue. They often scour across sea and land alike until they are content. Until they find the one. Some artists, though - some walk through life blind to what has always been in front of them. They never see it until one day it hits them like a tidal wave, all at once, and leaves them gasping for air. And the breathlessness never leaves them, they never get over it. Which is alright, because they usually never want to go back to what they felt before their life changed forever.

A writer chases stories. They walk through life, looking for inspiration, hoping to make it strike, much like how artists chase the idea of a muse. They will delve into the darkest and most dangerous of storms to find that one spark of lightning that has the power to strike open the earth.

When an artist and a writer finally find what they spend their lives searching for, they find that it is ineffable. Neither words nor the strokes of a brush can capture its beauty, mystery, and how truly remarkable a being can be.

April, 1815

"You have one minute to get up and get ready before I drag you out of bed myself" Lucy heard through the silk blankets that draped cozily over her head, and groaned. She wasn't much of a morning person. Never was, and never would be.

"I'm exhausted, Eleanor- please, leave me be," Lucy replied to her younger sister.

"I certainly will not- we are going to London today, dear sister, and the sooner we can begin our eight-hour journey the better-" She began.

"-and before you say anything, Mother agrees with me. Please, make haste" she continued.

Lucy groaned again.

"Our debut is in two weeks' time and we have much to do, Lucy" the young and eager girl pestered. When she realized Lucy was not going to budge, and that she was much too comfortable in that bed of hers, she persisted with her ramblings.

"Our first engagement is today at the modiste!" she explained, far too enthusiastically.

Lucy groaned again. Her sister was restless at times and quite persistent. Those were things that she loved about her, of course, but only at certain times. Definitely not in the mornings, while the night's frost still sat peacefully along the windowsills of Wyndall house. Even though it was April, it would occasionally still get cold enough at night for frost to appear, since they were located in the peaceful and secluded countryside.

"Very well." Lucy responded bluntly as she finally peeled the duvet off of her and began her day.

While Lucy maintained a face of irritation at being awoken so early, she was secretly thrilled. This was because Lucy didn't care much for the peace and seclusion that the countryside offered. Instead, she yearned to live in an area filled to the brim with people and art and parties and culture- not to mention a more expansive variety of food to immerse herself in.

Their family home which her family resided in most of the year was located in the Suffolk countryside, just outside Ipswich. While Lucy loved their home, she couldn't help but feel like she didn't belong, especially since she knew that along with the Dukedom of Suffolk, the estate would be passed down to her older brother Henry after her father passed. Her great-grandfather was named Duke when the title was reinstated after centuries of being extinct, because of his loyalties and duties he had performed for the crown. As a result of the title, they were given a sizable piece of land and a grand house to run in the Suffolk countryside. While it was elegant, modern, and beautiful, Lucy much preferred spending time in the warmth of their London residence, surrounded by the hustle and bustle of city life. Being two houses down from their closest family friends, the Bridgertons, was definitely a bonus for her as well.