[Perhaps the stiffness in itself is what makes Benedict believe him; it's a moment of bareness, with no amusement, no trace of irony.
And Benedict has learned the hard way that, sometimes, when Byerly says things, he means them.]
I want that. ...for you.
[His response is halting and careful as it has been all the while-- honesty is difficult for Benedict too, in his way. Trust and vulnerability can be misinterpreted, warped, used, the consequences landing on his shoulders.]
I'll help, if I can. If... um. If you tell me how.
[His mouth is dry; this is no offer to write a strongly-worded letter. The foundation of trust have been laid, and he is placing a brick, to see what Byerly will do it.]
Because you shouldn't follow them unless you're already wed.
[ An easy smile, a shrug. ]
As soon as it's clear that you're willing to put your life to the side for their interests and ambitions, that will become the norm. - At least, that was the advice of a charming actress I knew once; I should clarify that no one has ever asked that of me. Or not in any way that I'd ever remotely consider.
[ He blinks — but an amused smile quickly filters in to replace any surprise. ]
Ahh, I see the confusion here. Athessa's not asked this of me, not even in that unspoken sort of way where the guilt of not accompanying her will eat at me. It's the other way around, really.
Right. Which leaves me with a need to find some semi-formal reason to be there, and not look as if I'm there to help her with her business. [ His smile goes wry. ] It's quite an ask, and certainly not your problem. But if you had any errands you needed running ...
The threat of high society isn’t a threat to me. Have I misunderstood something of this place? Are they using knives after all, and not merely sharpened words?
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