𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒘𝒐
rakes and Rakes

BENEDICT BRIDGERTON WAS NOT in the habit of being shocked. He took things in stride, and adapting to situations was one of his best qualities, in his personal opinion.

That was why his eldest brother's declaration made him fall over.

"I'm thinking about getting married."

Perhaps it was Benedict's own fault, for tipping the chair back to balance only on its two back legs, a habit his dear mother detested. But in his defense, he was quite adept at it, and had he not been caught off guard by Anthony, he would've maintained his position.

He did however manage to regain his right seated position just in time to save his other brother, Colin, from dying a horrible death by choking, also a result of their brother's statement. 

As he smacked Colin on the back, an olive — the offending object that caused him to choke — flew out and sailed across the table, just barely missing Anthony's head, and what a pity it had not made its target.

"What has brought this on?" Benedict maned to inquire, as Colin recuperated from his ordeal by drinking his whisky.

"It is time for marriage," Anthony explained, nonchalantly. It was perhaps good that he had simply ignored the reactions of his brothers, but Benedict imagined he was expecting such a thing. "I must have a son, I have a title to pass on, after all. Call it a dynastic responsibility to be fruitful and multiply."

"I rather think you don't need to live up to our parent's standards of multiplying," Colin muttered, having regained his breath and composure.

Anthony seemed rather stuck in his own head, not even replying to Colin's quip, a frown opinion his face that was making Benedict wish he had an olive of his own, just to chuck it in his direction and see if he would try to dodge it.

"Good God Anthony, what has you frowning so? Not that olive, I saw it clearly and it didn't even touch you," Benedict said, bringing his brother out of his reverie.

"Nothing, nothing at all," Anthony replied, not fooling anyone for a second.

Benedict shared a look with Colin, who even though had been away for a couple of months in what they all knew to be just the beginning of a series of travels across the continent, had not lost his almost telepathic bond with his siblings, Benedict and Daphne in particular. Benedict could also boast about being the best at reading dear Eloise, and he fancied himself able to see into Anthony's head more often than not, but sometimes he was keenly aware that his older brother lived in a world all of his own, separated by a wall made out of bricks of duty and responsibility, in a way none of them could relate to.

"Spit it out," Benedict demanded, once again making Anthony break his thoughts. "I won't offer you a penny for your thoughts, since I know they can't possibly be worth that much, but what are you thinking about?"

"I have made a list of requirements," Anthony responded, causing Benedict to snort.

"Requirements for what?"

"The position of a wife." Anthony sat up straighter, his face serious as it usually was when conducting business. "Firstly, she ought to be reasonably attractive."

By Jove, he was serious. Benedict could only stare, befuddlement clear on his face. Although, who else other than Anthony would take such an approach to matrimony?

"She needn't be a raving beauty, of course, but there ought to be a reasonable level of attraction."

"It would make the job more pleasant," Colin commented, seemingly less taken aback by Anthony's method of thinking, enough that he could make jokes.

Anthony nodded, completely missing the humor of his brother's words and simply focusing on his list. "Secondly, she cannot be stupid. I can avoid conversations well enough, but I do not want stupid children."

Benedict could concede to that point well enough, truly they were not outrageous demands to make, he could simply not come to terms with the way Anthony was going about it.

"But what about love?" Benedict asked. 

"Love is the last thing I desire." Was the response, and somehow that did not surprise Benedict at all.

It was the complete opposite of Benedict, and did that not fit who they were to the very core? One wrote poems and read novels, and the other wrote documents and read finance ledgers. But one did not need to be a romantic to want to find love, he could see it well enough when looking at his sister's husband. Simon Basset was the last person people would declare a romantic, and yet, Benedict had never seen a couple more in love.

"Well then, good luck with that."

"Who is considered the diamond of this season?" Anthony asked as if he'd suddenly had a thought.

Benedict mulled the question over in his head, only managing to come up with who wasn't the diamond of the season instead. It wasn't that Benedict didn't pay attention to the season, but rather that he avoided interacting with the young ladies of no relation to him, lest a marriage-minded mama — his own not excluded — got any ideas into her head. Unlike his dear brother, he did wish to marry for love, and he doubted that would occur by dancing in a soirée.

"Edwina Sharma," Colin responded after a bit of thought. "Surely you've seen her. Rather petite, pretty doe eyes. You can usually spot her by the sheeplike crowd of lovesick suitors following her about."

Ah, Benedict did think he knew her. Or at least of her.

"Has she a brain?"

Colin blinked as if the thought hadn't crossed his mind. "Yes, I rather think she does. I once heard her discussing mythology with Middlethorpe, and it sounded as if she had the right of it."

"Good," Anthony said, setting his glass of scotch on the table with a thunk. "Then I'll marry her."

Benedict could only wish his brother luck, but a small part of him wanted to see his words come back to bite him, perhaps by falling in love with his perfectly and methodically chosen bride.

IN ANOTHER PART of town, in the residence of one Marquess of Hallmere, a quite similar conversation was occurring.

"We're you a Rake, Josh?" Guinevere inquired, a copy of this week's Lady Whistledown in hand.

Joshua Moore, her brother-in-law — and the Marquess — choked on his scone, having his wife Freyja pat him on the back and offer him a glass of water while he coughed face red.

"He very much was one, sister." Freyja smiled devilishly at her husband.

"Well, I would not say that," Joshua remedied. "I did have a... reputation, let's put at that. But nothing that would classify me as a rake."

"I beg to differ," Freyja said, raising an eyebrow as she looked at Joshua. "I did punch you, twice, at the beginning of our acquaintance."

Guinevere's eyes widened. "Twice?" She turned to look at Freyja. "I knew about the one at the bridge in Bath, a very public affair that almost made Wulf faint when he heard it, but whenever did you punch him again, and whatever for?"

Joshua was getting very red in the face, so much so that Guinevere was beginning to worry he would faint. But Freyja was smiling in a way that she knew was because she was holding in her laughter.

"That one was the second punch, in fact. I do not wish to cause Josh to have an apoplexy, but let's just say if you ever found yourself in the same situation, do make sure to throw a punch as well."

"You're going to make her think I was a scoundrel!"

Freyja did laugh at that, an unbridled laugh that showed all of her teeth and even made her snort in the way Freyja truly hated to be heard but did not mind much when in the company of family. Guinevere smiled fondly at the scene, seeing her sister so happy and carefree, even if it was at the expense of her husband.

"I merely jest," Freyja said after calming down, placing a hand on Joshua's arm. "Well, only a little."

Guinevere gave her an inquiring look, a silent plea, and a promise, that she would learn of what happened. One did not leave her curious like that, to have her mind come up with so many scenarios.

"Let me tell it," Josh interrupts. "I was being accosted by some very unfriendly gentlemen at an inn, the same one Frey was staying at on her way to Bath. In my need of a place to hide, I happened to come across her room."

"Where he woke me, hid in my closet, and after I got rid of the rude men trailing him, he kissed me as thanks," Freyja interrupted, summarizing the narrative, with a smirk. "So I punched him and then pushed him out the window."

Guinevere felt her jaw go slack, and any words left her. Did she want to laugh at the absurdity of it? Rage at the impropriety? Worry for her sister's honor? She was not sure.

Yes, perhaps she did understand Freyja's penchant for throwing a punch.

"And you married him still?"

Freyja laughed and Joshua smiled, and as they looked at each other, Guinevere knew why they married after all.

"Indeed. He made it up to me." Joshua took her hand in his and brought it to his lips, placing a kiss on top of it. "But to answer your initial question, yes, he was a rake, but not the irredeemable kind."

Guinevere nodded, looking down at the forgotten pamphlet in her lap.

"Is that what brought up the question?" Joshua asked, pointing to the paper.

"Lady Whistledown. In this edition, she talked about rakes and the difference between a capital R rake and the others." Guinevere passed the pamphlet to Freyja, and she began to read it. "I was merely curious."

"Has one such man caught your eye, Gwen?"

It took all in her not to burst out laughing, but she couldn't help the chuckle that came out of her. "Good God, no. Why would you think such a thing?"

"I would rather think Gwen has better sense than that," Freyja interjected. "Rakes bring nothing but trouble, and you'd do better staying away from them."

"Why the double standard? Shouldn't you be of the opinion that reformed rakes make the best husbands?" Guinevere questioned, slightly vexed by her sister's protectiveness, even if she was not in the least surprised by it.

"I think a rake that wants to be reformed makes a good husband," Freyja said with a shrug, a habit that neither Wulfric of the multitude of governesses had ever managed to make her abandon. "To discern between those rakes and the ones that are worth nothing more than trouble, therein lies the problem."

"So, best to simply avoid all of them?"

Freyja nodded with a smile at the question. "Yes, precisely. I have never been so thankful for your aloofness during the season, for no one should ever see how sweet you are and be tempted to take a bite out of you."

Aloof was one way to put it, even though it had not been premeditated as Freyja implied. Guinevere was perfectly open to receiving callers, to being courted, the issue was no one of value attempted. She was no romantic hoping for a love match, far from it. In fact, perhaps love was a complication she did not need when it so often made fools out of people. As much as she admired her siblings and their spouses, Gwen was hard-pressed to desire it for herself, in part because she did not think herself capable of such emotion, of body and soul devotion, and partly because she could never dream of anyone feeling that for her.

Guinevere was not the type of woman that men wrote poems about, that was reserved for the ones full of fire like Freyja, or of otherworldly beauty like Edwina.

No matter how sweet anyone perceived her — even if Guinevere doubted that would even be a possibility, for only her family thought of her as sweet — there was no danger that Guinevere would tempt anyone beyond what her position and possessions were worth. In that regard, she was in full agreement with Freyja, it was better to stay away from any rakes, lest she is chased by a fortune hunter into a compromising position.

"There will be no rakes for me, sister, of that you have nothing to be worried about."

Guinevere did not voice that she sometimes wondered if there would ever be anyone at all.

𝖆𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗'𝖘 𝖓𝖔𝖙𝖊
I will never forgive that first scene not being in the show
hopefully my adaptation from the book is ok to read, I tried to change a lot so it wouldn't be boring to those who have read it before

anyway, benedict is a romantic and Gwen is very much not
and fun fact, gwen's mbti type is the same as mr. darcy's, so take that as you will