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i.
It was a brisk spring morning in the country when Cressida Cowper called upon the Bridgertons to announce her intention to court Eloise Bridgerton, or rather to announce her intention that Eloise should court her.
“...Sorry? What?”
Cressida had found Eloise alone when she called. The dowager was away visiting Daphne’s family, Anthony and Kate had returned to town early, Benedict had not yet risen, Colin was still on his travels, and Francesca was shut away in the music room. Hyacinth and Gregory were running wild somewhere, and at this particular moment Eloise rather envied them.
“...Pardon?”
“I spoke perfectly plainly. I believe you should propose to me.” Cressida paused, as though speaking to a particularly slow spaniel. “Propose marriage, that is.”
“Cressida, while I have much enjoyed our growing friendship over–” Eloise calculated “–the last four to six weeks, I do not believe myself in love with you.”
”What has love to do with it?”
“Rather a lot, I would expect,” said Eloise. “At least that is what my mother would say.”
“Eloise, are you looking forward to another season on the marriage mart?”
“Well, not especially, no.”
“Do you hope to find a husband?”
“God, no.”
“I wish my family indulged me as yours do you, but if I fail another year my father plans to marry me off to a business associate of his. The man nears eighty, disapproves of music, fashion, and society, and would like a parcel of babies before he departs this mortal coil.”
“That sounds…horrifying,” said Eloise. “Hold on, is that why you have thrown yourself at each one of my eligible brothers in turn?”
“I also set my sights on you during your first season out, but you rejected my suit.”
“Wait,” said Eloise, “is that what you were doing?”
“Yes. And since you have proved incredibly dense for a notoriously intelligent woman I have been obliged to state my intentions more boldly.”
To her horror, Eloise found herself momentarily considering it, and then she laughed– “You are joking, surely.”
Cressida looked as serious as the grave. “I do not dislike you, Eloise, nor do I find you unpleasant to look at–”
“Gosh,” said Eloise, “has the courtship started already or will you tell me when it does?”
“Your wish is to spare women from the terrible fates foisted upon them by society, is it not?” said Cressida. “I am facing a terrible fate, Eloise, and I am asking you to save me from it.”
“I was not planning to save them one at a time!”
“Thus far, you have not saved anyone.”
Eloise felt a headache coming on. ”Even if I were minded to agree, there are practicalities to consider. We would need the Queen’s permission to marry.” Ever since some royal scion years ago had very publicly fallen in love with one of his privy gentlemen the crown occasionally allowed two men or two women to marry if they could prove to the monarch’s satisfaction that they were in love. Or, more commonly, if they could prove their love and were both of families with a surplus of spare heirs lying about. “We would have to convince her that we are passionately in love.”
“I am willing to swoon in your presence,” Cressida conceded.
“I have seen your swoon, Cressida,” said Eloise, “it is not convincing.”
“I shall practice.”
Eloise pinched the bridge of her nose. “How are you imagining we will live?”
“I have a sum of money that will be settled on me upon my marriage. I have crept into my father’s study and checked, and nowhere does it stipulate that I have to marry a man; I assume because my father’s solicitor disliked him and sought to undermine him. Might I assume you will receive a similar settlement?”
“Yes. I have not read it personally–” Eloise preferred to keep her potential marriage as far in the realm of the hypothetical as possible “–but it would have been unlike my father to include such a clause.”
“Ah, yes,” said Cressida, “the famed Bridgerton love matches. Which reminds me, I do not believe you should begin courting me until we return to town for the season, it will seem too quick to be believable.”
Eloise realised then that she had objected on accountancy grounds, on the grounds of the mercurial Queen, what she had not said was no, she would not be courting Cressida Cowper with a view to marriage. “Wait, why am I to be the one doing the courting, why do you not court me?”
“Eloise, please, be serious. It makes far more sense for it to be you–” she waved an elegant hand at Eloise “–you are the more natural pursuer.”
“I am the pursued,” Eloise insisted. “I am being vigorously pursued at this exact moment!”
“Pursued by who, sister?” asked Benedict, wandering into the drawing room in his shirtsleeves, clearly not realising that they had a visitor.
“A bear,” Eloise grumbled.
“I believe that’s my exit line.” Cressida squeezed Eloise’s arm, standing just a little too close. “Miss Bridgerton, call on me tomorrow, I do so enjoy our time together.”
ii.
The Bridgertons were having breakfast on their first morning back in town, the servants had not even finished fully preparing the house, when Eloise announced: “I am thinking of marrying this season.” You could have heard a pin drop; there was a splat which turned out to be Anthony dropping his fork into his eggs. Into the stunned silence she added, “I am planning on courting Cressida Cowper.”
Eloise stood abruptly, her chair sliding back with an audible scrape, and had already departed the breakfast room when the noisy outbreak of chatter that was her entire family trying to speak over one another all at once began.
She was picking out which gloves to wear, mostly to disguise the fact that she had sliced her palm cutting flowers, when her mother found her, possibly having tied her other children to chairs to get them to stay behind.
“I can feel you loitering there, mama,” said Eloise. “Would you believe me if I told you that Cressida and I fell deeply in love in the country?”
“Is that what happened?” Violet asked gently.
“Well, no. I have enjoyed her company far more than I would have expected. She is amusing, in a forthright sort of way, and cleverer than people give her credit for. Her friendship has been a pleasing diversion these last few months.”
“Eloise! People do not marry because the other has been a ‘pleasing diversion.’”
“I think we both know that is not remotely true, mama.”
“Even when it is–” Violet wrung her hands “–it is only because occurrences may have, er, occurred which might have consequences, which would not apply to you and Miss Cowper even if you…” she trailed off helplessly.
“Mother,” said Eloise flatly, “if you are asking if I am being marched to the altar under the threat of a duel, the answer is no.”
“Oh. Good. But, then…”
“Why?” Eloise finished. “Cressida does not wish to marry the man her parents have picked for her, and he does sound truly dreadful, and I cannot marry any man. Besides I–” Eloise smiled to herself “–do not dislike her. In fact, I am beginning to think that we might suit each other rather well.”
“Suitability is not the best reason to get married, Eloise.”
“Nor is it the worst.” Eloise pulled on her gloves. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I promised that I would call on Cressida.”
Violet clutched Eloise’s forearm. “What of children?”
“I know that you have always believed that I would feel differently when it was a child of my own,” Eloise gently extracted her arm, pressing her mother’s hand between her own, “but would my not becoming a mother truly be the worst thing in the world? Is choice really so terrible?”
“I will not help you with the Queen,” Violet warned, “not as long as I believe that this is a farce.”
“We shall not need your help.” Eloise turned and strode from the room, then not twenty seconds later she peeked back around the door, waving to the cut blooms she had left on her dressing table. “I should take flowers, yes, if I’m courting her?”
Violet closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Yes, Eloise,” she said wearily, “you should give flowers to the woman you say you intend to marry…”
The family actually managed to get a decent amount of time into dinner before Benedict, of course, asked with a sort of glee, “How did it go with the Cowpers, sister?”
Eloise replied with equal cheer, “Immediately after declaring my intentions I was unceremoniously thrown out of their house and Cressida has been instructed to ‘never see that Bridgerton girl again.’”
“How dare–!” Anthony began, then unpuffed himself, seemingly unsure whether suffering the insult to the family name was a price worth paying for Eloise abandoning her Cressida Cowper scheme. Kate patted him affectionately on his arm.
“Perhaps it’s for the best–” said Violet, only for Eloise to merrily interrupt.
“I received a note inviting me to promenade with her tomorrow, she says she has won her parents over to our cause.”
“Ah,” Violet finished, as Benedict, looking ridiculously amused, toasted Eloise with his wine glass.
Benedict found Eloise despondent on the swings in the gardens. “I thought I might find you here, sister.”
“If you wish to talk about babies–” she began, and Benedict made a horrified face “–or finances…”
“Perish the thought,” said Benedict, taking a swig from his flask, he took the swing next to Eloise, and offered her the flask. She drank deep. “I do have questions, though.”
Eloise waved the flask in front of his face. “I may never give this back.”
“Do you love her?”
“No,” Eloise answered simply, because it was Benedict.
“Is it impossible?”
“I don’t– No.”
“Do you find her pretty?”
Eloise almost laughed, because obviously underneath the dresses with their ridiculous fripperies and the hairstyles that could be used to smash through locked windows Cressida Cowper was the most beautiful woman Eloise had ever seen. “Of course I do, but I fail to see what that has to do with whether I mean to marry the woman or not.”
“You are my very favourite of our siblings,” said Benedict, “never forget that.”
“That feels patronising,” said Eloise.
“It was, a little.” Benedict smiled ruefully, taking the flask back. “The Ton is not always kind to those of us who are not made in its image, and if you have found a way to bend it to your will, you shall have my utmost support.”
Benedict stood, saluted Eloise with his flask, and ambled back towards the house.
Eloise was aware of the eyes of the Ton upon Cressida and herself as they promenaded arm in arm; Cressida could feel it too, Eloise could tell on account of her preening.
“So,” Eloise began, “how did you convince your parents to let you see me again? Your father in particular seemed implacably opposed to the match.”
“He would not have had his valet hurl you bodily into the street” Cressida reassured Eloise, squeezing her arm, “he certainly would not have had the man throw you under a moving carriage, as he suggested.”
“That’s…comforting.”
“He shouted himself hoarse about what a disappointment I am, my repeated failures to secure a husband, and threatened to send me to live with my Aunt Jo in deepest darkest Wales. At which point my mother summoned her courage enough to point out that I am hardly likely to make a match while living with a spinster in the middle of nowhere, certainly not one that is superior to a Bridgerton - that’s why I needed you for my plan to work.”
“I am not entirely sure if I should be insulted or not.”
“Why, Eloise,” began Cressida, “are you hurt that I wish to marry you because you are the beautiful and wealthy sister of a viscount, and not on account of your enormous intellect?”
Eloise laughed. “Well, yes, a little.”
Cressida tipped her head towards Eloise. “It does not hurt that you are a wit, I should hate to spend the rest of my days with someone boring.”
“Then I shall endeavour not to bore you.”
“How did your family take our news?”
“Mostly with a constant low chorus of disapproval. Colin’s return and Francesca’s debut have provided a much needed distraction. Distressingly, my mother keeps talking about babies.”
Cressida choked and unconvincingly tried to turn it into a cough. “Oh?”
“I know my lack of interest in children has always worried her, but, honestly, those excruciating five minutes where she tried to ensure that I understood that you and I would not be having babies together were truly a cruel and unusual punishment.”
“Have you never wanted children, then?” Cressida asked curiously.
“One of my earliest memories is of Hyacinth’s birth.” Eloise tensed; Cressida must have felt it because she slowed their pace and awkwardly stroked Eloise’s arm in a manner she clearly meant to be comforting, which, because of the intent behind it, almost was. “It was…bad. Our mother nearly died. I had nightmares for a year. I could not stop seeing the blood or hearing her screams.”
“I’m sorry,” said Cressida, “that must have been horrible for you.”
Eloise shrugged diffidently. “My mother always thought that my reluctance to endure childbirth stemmed from fear and I would overcome it once I was married, but the older I get the more I think I would not want a child even if I could obtain one like a man: by returning from my club and being presented with a swaddled infant.”
“Well, first of all,” said Cressida, “you do not have a club.”
“Thank you, Cressida, you have discovered the single flaw in my otherwise brilliant plan.”
Cressida darted a careful look around, as though to ensure no one was close enough to overhear, and said, “I do not like children either. I find them offensively sticky.”
Eloise laughed; she imagined that most people would find Cressida too spikey to be comforting, but had effortlessly distracted Eloise. “Shall I get us something sweet?”
“I’ll go,” said Cressida, squeezing Eloise’s arm, “you stay here.”
Eloise watched Cressida walk away in the direction of a stall that sold sweets, actually smiling at the ridiculous oversized bow on the back of the woman’s frock. She turned around, her smile vanishing when she found herself face to face with Penelope Featherington.
“Eloise…” Pen’s tone was hopeful.
“Penelope,” Eloise replied flatly.
“You are the talk of the Ton.”
“You would know, I suppose.”
“Cressida Cowper, of all…Eloise, she was awful to us.”
“We were awful to her too–!” Eloise began, before taking a deep breath. “I do not need to explain myself to you,” she lowered her voice to an angry whisper, “Lady Whistledown.”
Penelope looked around in a panic lest anyone had been close enough to hear, though no one was.
“Eloise, there you are!” Cressida had bustled back up, and Eloise could not help feeling vindictively pleased at the pinched look on Pen’s face as Cressida draped herself possessively over Eloise.
iii.
“A caller for Miss Bridgerton.”
Eloise did not look up from her book, assuming like the rest of the family that it was a caller for Francesca, who had already entertained Lord Samadani and the Earl of Kilmartin.
There was a polite cough. “Miss Eloise Bridgerton.”
Eloise looked up just as Cressida swept into the room. She cast her book aside and rose, taking Cressida’s hands and kissing the cheek that was presented to her.
“We need to speak,” Cressida hissed as Eloise leaned in, “alone.”
“Mama, it occurs to me that Cressida has never seen the gardens here, may I show her around?”
“I will watch from the window,” said Violet.
“That will not be necessary–” Eloise began, and Cressida pinched her, because they were of course trying to convince the Ton that they were passionately in love and might indeed sneak off at a moment’s notice to be alone. “I mean, yes, good idea.”
Cressida bobbed respectfully to Eloise’s mother. “Lady Bridgerton.”
“Miss Cowper,” Violet replied, almost successfully disguising the strain in her voice as Eloise took Cressida’s hand and tugged her from the room.
“What on Earth is going on?” Eloise asked, as soon as they stepped out into the dappled sunshine.
“Have you read today’s Whistledown?” Cressida asked, shoving the crumpled pamphlet that she’d had balled up in her reticule at Eloise. “We have a full page to ourselves.”
“That’s hardly a surprise, is it?” Eloise asked. She smoothed out the paper as best she could and peered at it. “...Ah,” she said, “I see.”
“That witch Whistledown implies–” Cressida began. “No, it is not an implication, she outright accuses me of having entrapped you!”
“Well…” said Eloise. “You did, rather.”
“I do not recall you trying overly hard to escape,” Cressida sniffed haughtily.
“I did not,” Eloise agreed, “I do not want to.” Mindful of her mother, and probably the rest of the family, watching from the windows, she took Cressida’s hands in her own and promised, “I can fix this.”
Cressida’s gaze snapped up from where she had seemed mesmerised by Eloise’s thumbs stroking over her knuckles. “What do you mean?”
“I, er– It is only that the Queen is no fan of Whistledown, her doubts may end up aiding our cause.” Cressida did not look convinced, so Eloise tugged her further into the garden. “Come and sit on the swings, we can take turns to guess exactly how long it will take for someone from the house to come scurrying out to ensure that we are behaving respectably.”
Eloise was pleased to find that the Featherigtons had not changed their habits since her break with Penelope, and that Lady Featherington was not at home when she called. She declined to be shown into the sitting room and waited for Penelope in the hall.
“Eloise.”
Eloise was not so churlish that she could not admit that Penelope was well served by her new look. It was hardly surprising that Debling seemed poised to court her, even if Eloise suspected that Colin had been more of a hindrance than a help. She produced yesterday’s crumpled Whistledown. “You need to fix this. Cressida did not trick me into our arrangement, and I want you to ensure that the Ton knows that.”
“What of what else I wrote,” Penelope asked, “about there being a dearth of true feelings between you?”
“There is a surplus of feeling between you and Lord Debling, then?”
“He is a kind man,” Penelope said defensively, “it would be a practical match.”
“Why do people find it so difficult to believe that the same is true of Cressida and I?”
“Cressida,” Penelope scoffed, “kind?”
“She is to me!”
“You do not even like women,” despaired Penelope, “you would have told me.”
“Perhaps you were not the only one keeping secrets!” Eloise snapped, meaning to be hurtful. She took a deep breath. “Cressida has been a good and true friend to me. Does it not sound nice, a life lived with a friend?”
“I just– I wished for more for you. I am sure your family does too.”
“I have spent every day since my debut living in a state of disbelief that this nebulous more that I am supposed to want would ever occur, and dreading that it would and I would disappear wholly into some man.” Eloise shrugged helplessly. “Cressida offered me a way out of that purgatory, and that in itself is a kindness.”
“I think– I think that if you read Whistledown tomorrow you will find that she has had a change of heart.”
“Thank you.”
Eloise turned to leave and Penelope called after her, “I have some new books if you would like to–”
“I am meeting Cressida for tea,” Eloise cut her off. “I do wish you luck, though, with Debling, or with…more.”
Cressida stirred sugar into her tea as Eloise selected a cake. “I think we should arrange to be caught in a compromising position,” she said, and Eloise choked on her cream cake, frantically glancing around to double check that the tables nearest them were unoccupied.
“I, er–” she tried to say, but some cake crumbs had gone down the wrong way and she couldn’t say anything.
“Oh, don’t overreact. I am not suggesting you be caught with your hands under my skirts, or vice versa. I am not sure if you would have a preference?” Eloise coughed into a handkerchief, tears in her eyes, and shook her head that no, she did not have a preference on that issue. “I do think that we should at least be caught in an embrace, do you not agree?”
Eloise did, in fact. They had been the subject of a fair amount of gossip when their courtship was new, but since then proprietary had confined them to promenading together, taking tea, and attending the same events. Even their mamas were no longer watching them half as closely as they would have if either of them had been a gentleman.They needed to do something to regain the Ton’s attention, and by extension the Queen’s.
Eloise swallowed, and swallowed again. Cake, you know. “If the opportunity presents itself perhaps we could sneak away during tomorrow’s Mondrich Ball?”
Cressida selected her own cake and did not choke on it at all. “An excellent idea.”
Eloise thought of Cressida’s matter-of-fact tone when she had said there would be no need to be caught fumbling beneath one another’s skirts, she watched the other woman lick a smear of cream from her lip, and wondered what, exactly, she’d just agreed to.
The best thing about being publicly known to be courting Cressida Cowper was that gentlemen were no longer supposed to bother her, and the second best thing was that she was not expected to dance at balls. This young man, who Eloise thought might be the younger brother of a suitor she had dismissed out of hand last year, was infringing upon both those benefits.
“I am sorry to say I cannot dance with you, or anyone, really. My fiancée is the jealous type.”
“Your fiancé–?”
“Oh, yes. Angry words, hurled objects, clawing at eyes. Believe me, you want no part of it.”
“Eloise, darling, there you are, I have been looking for you everywhere.” Cressida wrapped an arm possessively around Eloise’s waist.
“Your…fiancée…ah, I see.” The unidentified young gentleman departed with alacrity.
Eloise leaned gratefully into Cressida. ”Thank you for saving me.”
“Always,” said Cressida. “Although you have just given me an idea–”
“Cressida, I am not sure I have wholly recovered from your previous ideas.”
Cressida pinched Eloise’s waist, and Eloise could tell that she was an only child because she was not well practiced at pinching. “There is nothing like a fit of jealousy to make a courtship seem convincing. I do not suppose you would like to confess to having held a years long torch for Penelope Featherington?”
Eloise’s teeth ground involuntarily. “I would not.”
She felt Cressida’s shrug. “A pity, she looks quite nice now–” Eloise looked across the ballroom to where Penelope was dancing with…was that Colin? “–it would only be mostly unbelievable.”
“Let’s call that Plan B, shall we.”
Cressida leaned close and whispered, “Our chaperones appear distracted.” It was true, Cressida’s mother was gossiping with a gaggle of the other mamas, and Eloise’s was across the ballroom fretting over Francesca and Lord Kilmartin. “Miss Bridgerton,” Cressida said, this time loud enough to be overheard by nearby evesdroppers, “would you care to join me for some fresh air?”
“Miss Cowper, I should like that very much.”
With Cressida’s hand at the small of her back Eloise allowed herself to be steered out into the balmy night air. They ducked along the side of the house until the sounds of the string quartet were muffled and the light spilling from the house gave way to shadows.
Eloise stopped with her back to some kind of flowering vine that was creeping up the brickwork. She swung her arms awkwardly. “So…”
“So,” said Cressida, and Eloise could hear her smirk.
“Have you done this before?”
“What,” said Cressida, “attempted to use my feminine wiles to ensnare someone into marrying me? Many times. And yourself?”
“Oh,” said Eloise, “I do not think I have any feminine wiles.”
“You do, I assure you.” Cressida stepped close, and rested her hands on Eloise’s hips. “Put your arms around my neck.”
Eloise attempted to carefully thread her arms around Cressida’s neck without disturbing either her elaborate gown or even more elaborate hairstyle.
When their friendship had begun Eloise had found the excessive amounts of floral perfume that Cressida wore an assault on the senses; she thought that she had grown accustomed to it but Cressida must have been wearing more than usual tonight because Eloise felt dizzy, she felt like she wanted to sneeze.
Eloise was aware of a strain in her calves and shoulders from holding this position. She was, of course, aware that it was hardly Cressida’s fault that she was taller, but suddenly she was absolutely furious about it.
Cressida was very close, but her smirk had been replaced with a frown. “Eloise, are you quite well?”
Of course Eloise wasn’t well. She was uncomfortable, and dizzy, and she wanted to sneeze, and she was supposed to convince whoever happened upon them that standing in the shrubbery inhaling vast amounts of perfume with an indecorous view of Cressida Cowper’s cleavage was somehow a desirous turn of events.
“I–” Eloise lurched forward and kissed Cressida, who had to take a half step back under Eloise’s weight, but rather than pushing her away, made a small, surprised noise in her throat and dug her fingernails into Eloise’s hips, holding her close.
Cressida’s mouth opened under Eloise’s, and her tongue swiped across Eloise’s lower lip, and the noise Eloise heard had surely been made by some small, distressed animal nearby because it was certainly not a noise that Eloise herself would ever make.
Cressida desperately fisted the fabric of Eloise’s skirt in one hand, to the point where Eloise’s gown started to ruck up on one side; her other hand slipped round to the small of Eloise’s back, and then…lower.
Eloise pressed herself into Cressida, but Cressida was ready for it this time and walked Eloise backwards until the flowers crumpled beneath her and her back hit the wall. Eloise left one arm looped loosely around Cressida’s neck, with her free hand she traced Cressida’s glass cut jawline, her elegant neck, was startled by the cold shock of the necklace she was wearing. Her palm lingered over the swell of Cressida’s cleavage, and she was just beginning to ponder if it might be acceptable to replace her hand with her mouth when–
“Oh! I…Pardon me…We did not mean…”
“Eloise Bridgerton, oh my–!”
Eloise and Cressida sprang apart, at least they tried to. Cressida’s heel sank into the dirt, and when Eloise tried to pull away the arm that had been around Cressida’s neck the bracelet she was wearing caught in Cressida’s hair.
They finally managed to disentangle themselves, and looking what she could only imagine was thoroughly disgraced, Eloise found herself facing her least favourite Featherington sister and her pretty husband.
Cressida had somehow managed to regain her composure. She walked over to Prudence and squeezed the sour faced woman’s arm. “These long engagements are simply torture, are they not?”
Prudence’s smile was a grimace that she must have copied from Lady Featherington; Cressida smiled airily and headed back towards the sounds of the ball.
The pretty husband - what was his name? Dank…something - smiled at Eloise. “Love is quite a wonderful thing.”
Eloise smiled tightly - her face felt numb, the rest of her burned - she picked a leaf out of her hair, and did the only thing she could, follow Cressida.
iv.
“Colin!” Eloise ranted, pacing up and down in front of a settee in the Cowper drawing room. “I mean, Colin! And Penelope! How could he? How could she?”
Cressida had been in a good mood ever since the Mondrich Ball. Their scandalous behaviour had ensured that they were the talk of the Ton, reportedly even the Queen had been outraged. Whisteldown too had been supportive, speculating in her last issue that perhaps love matches found even the unlikeliest of Bridgertons.
But Cressida’s uncharacteristic saintlike patience was being tried indeed as Eloise passed the thirty minute mark monologuing on her brother’s engagement.
“Eloise!” snapped Cressida, who had been thus far sitting patiently with her hands folded in her lap waiting for Eloise to tire herself out. “I know we agreed that my publicly pitching a jealous fit over Penelope Featherington would be unhelpful, but I am fully prepared to pitch a private one right now if you do not change the subject.”
Eloise slumped down on the settee next to Cressida. “I’m sorry. It is just…it is not fair.”
It was not fair that Colin and Penelope had developed feelings for one another behind Eloise’s back, it was not fair that Penelope had not told Colin that she was Whistledown, it was nor fair that the favourable reports on their courtship from Whistledown that had so delighted Cressida would almost certainly stop now that Eloise was blackmailing the scribe herself.
Eloise leaned into Cressida - something she had increasingly been finding opportunities to do - resting her head on Cressida’s shoulder. She was just getting comfortable when Cressida’s mother, who was pretending to embroider across the drawing room, audibly cleared her throat, and Eloise sat up straight with a huff.
“You are right, of course,” said Cressida. “It is not fair that your brother is able to merely announce his engagement and have it accepted, and we have to go through this rigmarole of getting the Queen’s attention and begging for her blessing.”
“Actually,” said Eloise, frowning, “you are right. That is not fair.”
Most society mamas with three children marrying in the same season would be basking in their victory, but Violet Bridgerton looked more pensive than anything else. Eloise did not suppose she could be blamed; Colin and Penelope did not appear to be on speaking terms, Francesca and John were sitting on the other side of the drawing room staring into the middle distance in companionable silence, and Eloise and Cressida had abandoned the card game they had been playing in favour of arithmetic.
Eloise had finagled the details of her marriage settlement out of Anthony by way of Kate, and Cressida had immediately vexed her by proving to have a much better head for figures. Cressida was busy adding up a long column of numbers when Violet set her embroidery aside. “What are you two up to?”
“Etchings,” said Eloise, but before her mother could respond a messenger arrived.
“For Miss Eloise Bridgerton and Miss Cowper,” the messenger intoned solemnly, “from the palace.”
Cressida jumped up and practically snatched the envelope from the man’s hands, then seemingly changed her mind and shoved it at Eloise. “I can’t bear it.”
Eloise opened the envelope and clutched Cressida’s arm. “We are being summoned to an audience with the Queen tomorrow.”
“What does that mean?” Cressida, uncharacteristically, sounded unsure of herself.
“I think–” said Eloise. “I think it means we’re getting married.”
Eloise had occasionally wondered if she would begin to have doubts when the prospect of marrying Cressida became real, instead she felt incredibly proud of Cressida’s cleverness in having concocted this whole scheme, and smug about her own cleverness in having carried it off successfully, and…happy.
“Oof,” said Eloise as Francesca hugged her.
“Congratulations to you both. You make a lovely couple.” Those might have been the first words John Stirling had spoken directly to Eloise, and he would have been hard pressed to find better ones.
“Yes, congratulations,” said Violet, and although Eloise knew her mother still had reservations you could not have told from her voice.
“Thank you, mama.”
Eloise stumped up the stairs, Cressida’s note crumpled in her hand, to change her lilac dress back into one of light blue for the second time.
She passed Anthony, who, while not wholly won over to the idea of Eloise’s marriage, was certainly enjoying watching his sister being bossed around.
“Tell me, sister, do you have a say in what she is going to wear?”
“Of course I do not.” Eloise always thought that Cressida looked faintly ridiculous, and also utterly lovely in a way that made Eloise’s palms itch from wanting to touch her.
“That does sound like married life.”
“I shall tell Kate that you said that!” Eloise shouted slamming her bedroom door behind her.
When the Cowper carriage arrived to collect Eloise, Cressida was wearing a gown of deep scarlet with elbow length gloves of the same colour.
“You look like you are marching to war,” said Eloise as she clambered inside.
“You look nice would suffice.”
“You look very nice,” said Eloise. “Are you nervous?”
“No,” snapped Cressida, who was a terrible liar, plucking nervously at her gloves.
Eloise took Cressida’s hands in her own, raising one of them and pressing her lips to the back of her gloved hand like she was a proper suitor, making Cressida laugh. “However our audience with the Queen goes today it can be no worse than my debut.”
It was worse.
The Queen kept them waiting in a draughty audience room for nigh on an hour, and when she did grace them with her presence, she looked them scathingly up and down. “This happens every season.”
“Pardon, Your Majesty?”
“Every year a pair of misses comes to me claiming to be desperately in love, in a transparent attempt to escape the marriage mart. Admittedly, most of them do not take the charade quite as far as the two of you did at the Mondrichs.”
The tale of Eloise and Cressida at the Mondrich Ball had grown substantially in the telling. For the only time in her life, thank goodness for Prudence Featherington, and presumably also her pretty husband who seemed like he might be something of a gossip.
“Your Majesty, we are–” began Eloise, but she was interrupted by the Queen.
“I do not care! I will grant you a special licence to marry on one condition - you tell me the identity of Lady Whistledown.”
“I–” said Cressida. “I do not know who Whistledown is…”
“Well,” said the Queen, “find out.”
It could not have been more clear that they were being dismissed, and Eloise and Cressida backed quickly out of the room.
“I am sorry,” Eloise said as they were waiting for their carriage to be brought round, “I really thought that this was going to work.” Cressida muttered something under her breath. “Pardon?”
“‘I can fix it.’”
“Again, pardon?”
“When Whistledown first wrote about us she was unkind, and you said that you could fix it, and afterwards she was much more flattering. You know who she is, you’ve always known.”
“Cressida…”
Cressida seized Eloise’s arm, smiling fiercely. “Let us go back inside. You can tell the Queen right now.”
“Cressida…”
Whether it was Eloise being rooted to the spot or something in her voice, Cressida looked up and her face closed off. She released Eloise and stepped back as though she’d been shoved. “But you won’t, of course. Why would you? I all but forced you into our arrangement.”
“No–! I mean, you did, but–”
“I don’t know why I thought…” The resignation in Cressida’s voice broke Eloise’s heart a little bit. “My father is right, I am an idiot.”
“He is not–” Eloise reached out for Cressida, who flinched “–you are not.”
The Cowper carriage pulled up. “I apologise for wasting your time, Miss Bridgerton. I wish you the best of luck on the marriage mart,” Cressida said coldly.
“Cressida, please…”
Cressida slammed the carriage door closed and it pulled away, leaving Eloise to wonder which would be worse, walking all the way back to Bridgerton House, or sending a message home and trying to pretend she hadn’t just been entirely humiliated in front of whichever brother was dispatched to collect her.
v.
Eloise had slammed into Bridgerton House, Benedict trailing helplessly behind her, and announced: “Family, my engagement to Cressida Cowper is off. I do not wish to discuss it.”
After which she had simply refused to answer any questions on the subject.
She told herself that she had always been opposed to the institution of marriage, and the fact that the idea of marrying Cressida Cowper had briefly seemed less than horrifying was no reason to abandon long held principles. She told herself that Cressida was a ridiculous human being and Eloise’s uncontrollable daydreams of kissing her again were a symptom of some sort of illness or knock to the head. She told herself that the ache in her chest was from an injury to her pride rather than her heart.
She was doing so well at convincing herself of these things that she made it through Colin and Penelope’s wedding ceremony and the breakfast afterwards before fleeing home and bursting into tears.
“Eloise,” said Violet, knocking at her ajar bedroom door.
Eloise dashed the tears from her cheeks. “I’m not crying.”
Violet sat on the edge of her daughter’s bed, stroking her back while Eloise sniffled. “You know, I did not disapprove of your engagement because Cressida is a girl.” Eloise scoffed. “Although I will not lie, that took me some time to get used to. But the core of my objection has always been that I did not believe that you loved her.”
“I didn’t–” Eloise wailed, sounding self-pitying even to her own ears. “This whole thing, it was all a scheme to save Cressida from a terrible match, and spare me from another season. I don’t know why I feel this way!”
“Ah, Eloise, there’s only one reason any of us ever feel this way: lo–”
“Do not say it. Don’t you dare.”
Violet stood up. ”It may take a few days, but I will arrange another audience with the Queen.”
“There is no point,” Eloise plucked pitifully at the bedclothes, “she wants nothing more to do with me.”
“Well,” said Violet soothingly, “one thing at a time.”
Queen Charlotte looked disapprovingly at Eloise, which was at least reassuring in its familiarity.
Eloise took a deep breath. “Your Majesty, I cannot reveal Whistledown’s identity. It is a confidence that I am not prepared to break. But the consequences of my insolence should fall on me alone. Miss Cowper does not know, and would surely tell you if she did. She does not deserve to be married off to a man thrice her age, or to be banished from society. Your Majesty, if there is anything you can do for her–?”
“I do not like her father,” said the Queen, apropos of nothing.
“Pardon, Your Majesty?”
“I do not like her father. Fine, you can marry the ridiculous Cowper girl if she’ll still have you.”
“I– thank you, Your Majesty.”
“You can thank Penelope Featherington - Bridgerton, now - her letter of confession has obviously put me in an obliging mood.”
Eloise had many questions, but for possibly the first time in her life she managed to summon the sense not to ask them. She curtsied to the queen and hastened from the room as quickly as she could without breaking into a run.
Penelope publicly confessed at the Finch-Dankworth Ball, and after the dramatics, Eloise leaned against the wall watching her dance with Colin and sinking into melancholy.
Benedict sidled up next to her. “I do not know how much attention you have been paying to our various sibling’s romances, but this is traditionally the moment for a dramatic declaration of your feelings.”
Eloise, all of a sudden, was struck with confusion as to why she was even at this ball. “You’re right.” She shoved her glass of lemonade at Benedict so forcefully that some of it sloshed onto his waistcoat. “I need a carriage.”
“I believe the speech usually begins with a prolonged monologue about how you’re an idiot, if that helps,” Benedict called after her.
Eloise had refused to allow the footman at the Cowper house to turn her away, and eventually Cressida’s mother came down and allowed her into the hall for which Eloise was grateful, the evening was turning chilly and she had been unwilling to stop even long enough to collect her wrap.
“I love my daughter,” said Lady Cowper. “It has pained me deeply these last years to watch her try so hard to become what society requires of her and fail so utterly.”
“They are all fools,” Eloise said with feeling, speaking of anyone who had ever overlooked Cressida.
“I had come to the conclusion that you were perhaps the best possible match for her, more because of your Bridgerton name than any qualities of your character–”
“...Thank you?”
“–But for all of Cressida’s disappointments on the marriage mart, you are the only one who has ever made her weep. So tell me, Miss Bridgerton, why should I permit you to see my daughter now?”
“Because you do not wish to see her married off to a man old enough to be her father or banished to Wales any more than I do, and because–” Eloise shrugged helplessly “–I have been crying too. Crying my heart out, if I am to be embarrassingly honest.”
“I am sure I will regret this,” said Lady Cowper. “Wait in the drawing room, I will send Cressida in to you.”
The Cowper drawing room, severe and gloomy as it was, seemed an unpromising venue for romance.
“El–” Cressida began, upon entering, before correcting herself. “Miss Bridgerton. This is not a good time. I leave for Wales in the morning and I must finish packing.”
Well, thought Eloise, there’s no time like the present. “You might consider sending your apologies and explaining that you have to stay in London to get married.” Cressida said nothing, staring blankly at Eloise. “To me,” added Eloise, for the avoidance of ambiguity.
“You told the Queen about Whistledown, then?”
“I did not have to. Penelope confessed–”
“Penelope.” Cressida half smiled. “I had it down to her or your mother. I did not think that you cared for me so little that you would let me down for someone who was not important to you.”
“I do care for you–” Eloise began. “Wait, why my mother?”
“She is welcome everywhere, invited to every event, yet no one truly pays attention to widows.”
“That is quite clever,” said Eloise.
"Do you know what I liked most about you, Eloise? That you were not surprised that I had thoughts of my own.”
Eloise felt a little sick at the past tense of liked. “Marry me,” she said desperately.
“I do not need your pity, Eloise,” said Cressida. "Now, please, leave me what little pride remains to me."
"It is not–” Eloise huffed. “I have spent all season telling people, myself mostly, that I wished to be a white knight and save you from an undesirable match, that I was somehow above love and marriage and this was my way of proving it, that we were friends who had come to a practical and mutually beneficial understanding.” Eloise breathed in deeply, and exhaled slowly. “The truth is, and I think this has been true for some time, that I love you. I do not want you to marry someone else not just because it is an unfair burden placed on women by society, but because I think I might die of jealousy. I do not want you to go to Wales because I am not there.” Eloise gestured expansively, helplessly. “So…marry me.”
“You do not mean that,” said Cressida, sounding unbearably sad and resigned. “No one has ever–”
“I do,” Eloise swore. “If you want to live as friends, as we agreed, then that will be enough for me. But if you wanted to repeat what we did at the Mondrichs, ideally indoors, without interruption, and near some soft furnishings–”
Cressida smiled at that. "Are you propositioning me, Eloise?"
"If I have understood my brothers correctly so long as it comes after the marriage proposal it is quite proper. Though I do apologise if I have overstepped and you do not desire–"
Cressida closed the distance between them in two steps and took Eloise in her arms, kissing her so forcefully that their teeth clacked together. She pulled Eloise close until their bodies were flush, and Eloise twined her arms around Cressida’s neck with no care as to whether she dislodged Cressida’s ridiculous hairdo.
Cressida nipped at Eloise’s lower lip, drawing a whimper from her, and pressed kisses across her cheek, to the soft patch of skin under her ear, and down the slope of her neck.
Eloise tipped her head back, groaned, and said, “Shall I arrange for a priest and the appropriate number of witnesses, then?”
Cressida's laugh was throaty and promising before she closed her lips over Eloise’s pulse point, her teeth nipping at the tender skin there. "How quickly can it be arranged?"
Eloise swore that she would have them married before dawn if it was the last thing she did.