Archive of Our Own ^beta

Eloise ate the apple.

In her defence, she hadn't had breakfast as she'd been up all night reading and the promise of a sweet red apple was too much to resist.

So, despite the suspicious sight of the cloaked, mysterious old woman with a wicker basket of bright red apples on her doorstep, and all the hubbub circulating about Lady White awakening the day before, Eloise ate the damn apple. As her teeth sank into the apple, golden sparks danced in front of her eyes.

She proceeded to collapse on the doorstep of Bridgerton House at nine in the morning.

Paralysed, eyes wide open, she watched the old woman cackle to herself.

"Soon, all the fair maidens of the land shall be out of my way," the old woman said. "And I will be the fairest of the land."

Eloise longed to inform her that beauty was a social construct and being jealous of younger women was nothing more a trap made to keep women of all ages down, but her tongue would not move.

It was highly vexing.

The old woman swished her dark cloak around herself like a demented bat and disappeared.

Eloise seethed in her paralysed state for roughly five minutes until Benedict strolled down the stairs. At the sight of her crumpled body, he rushed forward and shouted her name. No matter how much he cried, or how tightly her mother held her, or how hard the doctor they called tried, Eloise would not wake.

It was Kate, clever and wonderful Kate, who suggested they contact Lady White and see if the rumours around her awakening were true.

Eloise was moved to her bedroom, carried by Benedict, who gently placed her in bed and kissed her forehead.

"All will be well, sister. We'll find a way to fix this," he said.

She felt a tingle on her forehead where his lips had pressed, feeling the warm and protective nature of her family, until it faded just as quick as the witch had disappeared.

While her mother fretted, and Colin wrote a letter to Daphne using her desk to the side, and Kate sent a servant to ask for Lady White, Benedict and Anthony had a hushed and quick conversation—one even she could not hear.

Benedict grabbed his coat and walked out of the house. The only one that noticed was her and she couldn't say a bloody thing.

Anthony, then, once his conversation with Benedict was done, was a constant at her side. He was clearly angry from the furrow in his brow, no doubt about it, but he sat still at her bedside with the morning paper open in his hands.

"Right, then," he said, flicking to the second page. "In the meantime, let's gather what we know, yes?"

Colin grunted in agreement.

"So, some mad woman is going around leaving apples on the doorsteps of houses with daughters of age. A month ago, she upped her antics and delivered, personally, an apple to the door of Lady Snow White, who ate it and collapsed—found a little while later by her butler—who summoned the doctor, who summoned every doctor in the neighbourhood. No medical solution was found."

"Oh, God," her mother said. "Whatever will we do?"

Colin was quiet for a long moment. "I will ask Penelope if she knows anything more tonight. If we work together, we should be able to find an answer."

"The good news is that Lady White woke up yesterday morning, although on the very edge of death, after her husband returned from his travels in Europe… So. We shall hope, if no other solution is found, that Eloise will wake in a month."

Colin finished up the letter and sealed it in an envelope. "And if she—"

Anthony tutted. "Of course she will wake. Eloise is more stubborn than any of us. There is no need to worry."

Her oldest brother looked down at her, his face hidden from the rest of their family, and let his mask fall.

She never wanted Anthony to look scared like that ever again.

Lady White arrived the next day, on rather shaky and unpractised legs, but she arrived nonetheless surrounded by the Bridgerton family and practically marched into Eloise's bedroom.

Eloise had not been able to sleep a wink.

Lady White had very pale skin, likely due to her ordeal of being trapped in her room for a month, and very dark hair. Anthony helped her into a chair at Eloise's bedside and the lady sighed deeply.

"Yes, from what you describe and seeing her now it's clear the poor thing did encounter that woman," Lady White said. "I'm so very sorry."

"What do we do?" her mother asked, clutching Kate's hand for strength. "You broke out of it, did you not?"

"Well, it was my husband that broke me out of it," Lady White said, thoughtfully. "But I have heard Miss Eloise has given her heart to no man. Or are the gossips telling lies?"

"What does our sister's heart have to do with anything?" Anthony questioned.

"The cure is true love's kiss," Lady White answered. "If she does not receive her true love's kiss within a month's time, I'm afraid the curse will… It will take effect. Her… youth—her life force—will be siphoned to the witch."

Her mother released a heart broken sound and, unsteadily, sat on the bed and brushed Eloise's hair out of her forehead. "I will not allow it. Anthony—Anthony—do you hear me? We cannot allow it."

"Of course not, Mother. All this talk of curses and whatnot. It's nonsense. Benedict and I have already deployed a solution that I'm even more certain now will be effective," Anthony said.

"What did you do?" Kate asked.

"He took my guns," Anthony answered.

Lady White gasped. "She is a witch! She will turn him into a toad—that's if he finds her. She can disappear in a moment."

"A moment is all it takes," Anthony told her. "Unlike me, Benedict is a decent shot. Thank you very much for your help, Lady White, I shall see you out now."

Hearing the abrupt and forced polite dismissal, Lady White nodded her head. "Very well, but you should know this too. For the first few days, I could hear and see everything—and I could feel it too. She knows what we are saying. After the first week, it was muffled. As time went by, it was nothing but darkness—until I saw my husband again."

At the news her daughter could hear her, Violet Bridgerton grabbed Eloise's hands and whispered soft, empty promises that all would be well.

While Anthony remained confident in Benedict's ability to find a witch and shoot her dead, the rest of the Bridgerton family turned to alternatives. Just in case.

Daphne, having rushed to the house from her estate, arrived in a flourish with a basket of brews and concoctions from the local hedge witch. While none of the potions broke her state, Eloise felt her growing hunger pains and tiredness disappear.

After all the potions had been emptied, Daphne slumped beside their mother. "The hedge witch did warn me it might not work. The curse is more powerful. But this should keep her preserved and in good health in the mean time. She won't be as weak as Lady White when she wakes."

"That is something," their mother said, patting Daphne's hand. "I have been reading to Eloise this morning. I've been thinking of getting John to fetch her some news books—it may be more entertaining for her…"

"That is a lovely idea," Daphne said. "I'll go and sort it right away."

There was one problem with that.

Daphne called over the maid, who was cleaning outside of Eloise's bedroom.

"I'm terribly sorry, ma'am," the maid said. "I thought you'd heard. We found a note on John's bed this morning. Said he had urgent family business in Bloosmbury, but he'd be back as soon as possible. I'm sure he wouldn't have left if it wasn't urgent—"

"Oh, I know. John has been good to us," Daphne said. "None of you are in trouble."

"Thank you, ma'am. He really was in such a state after he heard what Lady White said and all that had happened to the young miss. We all feel terrible about it. If only it had been one of us that opened the door!"

"Don't day that," Daphne told her. "No one should have to encounter that awful witch. Please, do me a favour and fetch Eloise some new books. Here, take this, and get yourself and all of the servants a basket as well. I won't have you blaming yourselves."

The maid thanked Daphne again and hurried to Bloosmbury, returning within two hours with a modest basket of baked goods (no apple-filled goods included) and a few books Eloise had not read before.

As her mother opened the first page and read, in a shaking voice, Eloise prayed that Benedict didn't just succeed in shooting the witch—she hoped he shot both of her kneecaps for all the worry the witch had caused.

Colin returned to Bridgerton house with Penelope in tow. Left alone in Eloise's room to give her mother a break, the two examined the situation in private. Lady Whistledown reported on the gossip she had heard:

• The witch had so far only targeted houses in London.

• Benedict was spotted yesterday evening near the Evans' family house.

• Lady White and her husband were a well-known love match.

• A young maid of Lord Anderson had eaten an apple just over a month ago. The servants found her in her bed, after the curse deadline, as nothing but a withered pile of bones beneath her sheets.

"It's all true, then," Colin said, reluctantly. "What can we do?"

"I have a plan, but you're going to call me mad. I think I'm a little mad. But, for Eloise, I think we need to do it."

"Do what?"

"I'm going to write a letter to Cressida Cowper and insist she stay with us. I'll tell her everything. And, when she arrives, I'll use Lady Whistledown to write about how beautiful she has become from the refreshing Welsh air. We'll lure the witch in and have Benedict shoot her dead."

"…That's awfully cunning. Well, I'll see a room is prepared for Miss Cowper, if you are certain."

Penelope rolled back her shoulders. "We may disagree on things and we will never be friends, but Eloise is dear to both Cressida and I. She will agree."

Cressida did indeed agree, not only for the benefit of returning to Mayfair, but for the sake of her one friend she had left. However, the journey from Wales would take time.

In the meantime, by the end of the first week, tragedy struck.

Somehow, the witch had snuck into the palace and swapped an apple on the royal breakfast table. Princess Elizabeth¹, the beloved third daughter of the King and Queen, bit into the red skin and collapsed in her chair.

Upon learning the state of things from Lady White, the Queen insisted all of the Princess' noble suitors and previous acquaintances and all men who had ever danced with her or spoken to her at least once, be summoned to the palace. Immediately.

"I don't suppose we can get a line of suitors going out the door for Eloise?" Colin asked, half joking.

Penelope brushed Eloise's hair, then tied it into a plait and gently placed her back into a resting position. Lady Whistledown said, "The Princess won't wake from any of them."

"What do you mean?"

"It is rumoured that the Princess has a lover—George Ramus—who is far below her station."

"…The Queen will summon him, surely?" Colin muttered.

"She may, if she is able to accept it." Penelope sighed. "If she does not, in the next two weeks, I will take action and write about him."

Eloise wondered when Penelope would be desperate enough to summon a man below her station.

Two weeks passed.

Cressida arrived from Wales, looking windswept and worn-down. She rushed into Eloise's room, accompanied by her family and Penelope, still wearing her coat and hat.

"I'm so sorry. I would have been here sooner, I swear, but my aunt—she is dreadful—delayed and delayed and the carriage broke! God, it's been a nightmare. But now—the plan—yes. Tell me what I need to do and I'll do it," Cressida said. "Eloise has been the only one to even try writing to me."

"We can try the plan," Anthony said. "But the witch has switched tactics. She is no longer knocking on doors. She is sneaking into homes and swapping all apples."

"Apples have been banned," Colin told Cressida. "In London, anyway. People were throwing them into the Thames."

"Then we shall be the last household with apples," Penelope said. "She will have no choice but to target us."

Cressida nodded, a little uncertain but determined to do her part. "Alright. We'll need to catch her attention. I'll attend a ball or two. Put on a show. Maybe… Maybe it will work."

Cressida's efforts were commendable. Daphne, who was staying with Mother for the time being, told Eloise all about Cressida's antics while she sipped a cup of tea.

"I thought Miss Cowper's efforts in the marriage mart were always quite cunning, if ruthless and obvious, but it seems Wales has given her a different touch. Kate and I helped of course, to give her advice, and I think we managed well. She danced twice with the Prince, even."

Still, the witch did not visit the Featherington household that night, or the night after, or the night after that.

When the third week began, and Mother's eyes were bloodshot red, Penelope called a family meeting in Eloise's room.

"I have something to tell you all and I must ask that whatever anger you have towards me, I understand it, but I do hope we can keep things civil for the sake of Eloise and to see this sorted. Afterwards, you may shout at me all you like," Penelope said. "It is about Eloise and… a matter of the heart."

Anthony stood from his chair to the left of her bed and stalked to the window. "Do not tell me she had a lover. She never said a thing."

"I do not know that it went that far," Penelope said. "It was—well—it was the year you and Kate met. Eloise was searching for me—Lady Whistledown, that is—"

"I remember," her mother said, faintly. "She would read every issue of Whistledown and kept it in her room."

"Yes, well. She came very close to finding me. She found the printer's shop I was using and she snuck out at night to go there. She spoke to one of the workers—"

Anthony let out a rattled breath. "What is his name?"

"I do not know," Penelope answered, in all honesty. "She never told me. But I knew their friendship—she claimed it was only friendship, but she met with him in the day and night and I saw her with him and the way they looked at each other—and I knew it would ruin her if the truth was known. And then the Queen suspected she was me, so I—"

"So you lied," Kate said, softly.

"Yes," Penelope said, squeezing her hands together. "I'm terribly sorry."

"What are the odds this man is her true love?" Anthony asked, pacing near the window. "They were broken apart. They are of different stations. She has never mentioned him. She claimed they were friends. Even if we do find him, you are suggesting I call a stranger into our household and order him to take liberties with her person while she is paralysed. You cannot ask this of me."

"There may be little choice," Penelope said.

"What is the name of the printers?" Kate asked.

"Kate—" Anthony said.

Kate interrupted, "The alternative is not possible. We need to try it. She will not thank us for doing nothing."

"She has not given her permission—"

"If it works, she can shoot him afterwards for all I care! If it doesn't work, I don't know what will," Kate shouted, then walked out of the room with all the force of a storm.

Kate, however, did not need to summon a servant to fetch the printer's boy.

For John had already been looking.

It took John under a day to discover Mr Theo Sharpe was no longer employed by Chancery Lane Printers, having finished his apprenticeship. Mr Thomas, the master of Chancery Lane, was reluctant to tell John anything more. It took another day of pestering, a little bribe, and a drink and the nearest pub, for Mr Thomas to confess Mr Sharpe had sullenly left the country when his apprenticeship was over. Apparently, the young man had proclaimed his plans to further his education in France.

France.

The things he did for the Bridgerton family.

John used the last of his earnings to purchase travel across the channel, catching a ship to Le Havre the next morning after speaking to Mr Thomas. In his hurry, he did not write a letter to the Bridgerton household.

But he did not expect the journey to take that long. Crossing the channel was not like crossing the Atlantic—he would be in France the next day.

Of course, John's chosen ship just so happened to run into a storm.

The storm sank the ship.

John washed up in Saint-Malo, feeling like a wrung out wet towel. He came down with a battle cold from the ordeal, but continued onwards in his search—armed only with broken French and a near manic determination.

No one in Saint-Malo had heard of a Mr Sharpe, but most advised him that if the man had come for an education, then it was likely Paris he had chosen. His search and story had caught the sympathy of the locals, who offered him free passage in a trade wagon to the capital.

John agreed and spent the next two weeks in a pile of hay, stinking of horse, and wishing he had served one of the Miss Bridgerton's that didn't have a penchant for getting into trouble. On the brightside, he was able to improve his French on the journey.

The moment he arrived in Paris, John took to every coffee house and pub his legs could take him. With this better French, he was better understood, and word of the evil witch's doing from an eye witness was a compelling tale. A few gave him coin for his troubles. Students of the Sorbonne² offered to keep an ear out for a Mr Sharpe. A printer's apprentice in a coffee shop said they'd put out word.

When the news of Princess Elizabeth's collapse arrived in France, John accidentally became more than a pitiful, tragic storyteller.

This is how John, a humble footman, came to have an urgent audience with Thomas-Alexandre Dumas—one of France's highest Generals and son of a Marquis—and told his tale in-between stuttering and near credulous disbelief that his journey had taken him so far.

When he finished, he licked his dry lips and accepted the glass of water the Minister's servant handed to him.

"It seems, monsieur, you do your country a great service. For, as you know, France has narrowly avoided war within our nation in recent years," he stated, giving time for John to nod agreeably, though he knew not the precise details and no one he had spoken to thus far would discuss what had happened to Napoleon, "But our revolutionary ideals hold strong. I know a Mr Sharpe, because I have been working with him to complete my works in the defence of revolutionary ideals, and he matches your description—"

"Will he come to England?"

"Monsieur, once you have told him what you have told me, I have no doubt he will come with you. He has been miserable in Paris—why, I thought, I did not know and he would not say—but now I see. Why else would a young man be miserable in Paris, if not his love being in England?"

An hour later, Mr Sharpe arrived after being summoned. He took one look at John, asked for an explanation, listened to half of it, then walked out of the building, and commissioning travel to England with the wages he had earned in Paris.

"I'm sure the Bridgertons will pay you back for your troubles," John told him, as they watched France disappear and the sea grow.

Mr Sharpe ignored him until the sight of England reached them.

"Will we get there in time?" he asked.

John wasn't sure.

Benedict was decent with a gun. He wasn't anywhere near as good as Kate, who was a well-practised hunts-woman, but he could hit a target and had won enough bets while hunting to feel confident that, this time, he would meet his mark.

It was all about waiting for the right moment.

As the days went by, and Miss Cowper's arrival did nothing to bring forth the witch, Benedict turned to other sights.

He rented a lodging in Southwark and a map of London. With a few coin, an easy smile, and the help of Lady Whistledown, Benedict soon learned every household that the witch been sighted at—and when. With dots of paint on the map, Benedict marked her path.

Once it was marked, it was an easy pattern to predict.

Her movements were mirrored.

If she visited one house, she was likely to visit its opposite the next day, then the one in the street behind it, until the row was complete, and a new row would begin.

He did not inform his family nor Miss Cowper of the pattern. Best to let the witch think they hadn't caught on.

It worked in his favour.

Armed with the knowledge and Anthony's guns, Benedict waited patiently for the opportune moment.

Benedict caught first sight of the witch. She was an old crone in a long, good-quality cloak. Her basket of apples was old and well-worn. Her apples looked fresh. On the first house, it wasn't easy for him to get a good shot of her from where he stood—as the house had many plants and hedges.

Instead, he waited.

He observed how she took a split second to gather her cloak and spin it around herself, leaving gold dust in her wake.

He then heard Princess Elizabeth was cursed. The pattern was broken.

He had missed his opportunity, but he understood his mark better than ever. The witch wanted to make a statement. If he was the witch, he knew who he would target next.

Siena Rosso was known to be the most beautiful and talented opera singer in England. Benedict arrived at her latest concert, armed with a bouquet of red roses and a charming smile, to her dressing room.

She took one look at him, heard him say his name "Brigderton" and slammed the door in his face.

He knocked again.

"My dear lady, it is for your own safety. Or have you not had apples yet delivered to your door?"

Siena Rosso opened her dressing room door. "What do you mean?"

He explained, shortly, that he had not come to woo her. But that she was likely the witch's next target.

"I see," Siena said. She nodded once, then continued, "I shall give you my address, but I won't allow you to come in. If she doesn't appear in two days, you are to leave and not speak to me again. Understood?"

"You have my word. But I think it possible the witch will come to your dressing room instead."

"…Then you shall simply have to pay to see each of my performances. I cannot stop you from doing that, however long it takes."

"Very well," he said. For his sister, it was no great cost.

The witch did not appear within two days.

She did not come to Siena Rosso's home.

She appeared minutes before Siena Rosso's final performance of the week, on the very last day of Eloise's curse, dressed in her long black cloak. The moment she appeared, clutching a red apple in her hands, she looked into Benedict's eyes.

She grabbed onto her cloak.

Benedict pulled the trigger.

Theo had never walked by Bridgerton House before. He had never walked into a grand house before. He didn't think he'd have the courage to return to London again, let alone at the doorstep of her home. But the rain was pouring down behind him, each drop louder than the last, and he knocked on the door with John beside him.

He had never seen a mother cry and look so desperate but so conflicted when John introuced him.

"France? Oh, John, you went all that way for us," the lady said, clutching her hands together. "I don't know how to thank you."

"It was nothing, my lady. I only hope it works," John said, pushing Theo forward into the house.

No, he had never seen such a grand home before even with the grey atmosphere that permeated throughout. A group of people he had never met, who were even more tense than he was, stood around the entrance hall and staircase eyeing him like a particularly interesting zoo display.

But he had seen the red haired lady before.

"You're Whistledown, then?" he stated, mostly to himself. "John told me what happened."

"We've tried everything else," Lady Whistledown said, in a softer tone than he had expected and an entirely different accent than one she had used before. "Do you think it will work?"

"I haven't agreed to do it," Theo said, crossing his arms. "I came all this way to say this—so forgive me for any offence—but I'm sorry. Miss Bridgerton, she and I were friends, and yes we understood each other and had similar interests, but clearly the differences between us were too great. I—"

"I'm sorry I pulled you apart. If I had known this was going to happen, I never would have…" Whistledown said, rubbing her temples.

"Miss, I'm sorry, but I—… It wasn't all your doing. It was my fault. I pushed too far—"

"What. What did you do?" one of the men asked, sternly.

"I took no liberties. I attempted to kiss her and she backed off. We… agreed to go back to our own lives before we destroyed them. So, you see, I'm sorry for what you're going through and I'm sorry John you went to France for this, but there is no way it would ever work," Theo said. "I can only apologise for wasting your time."

At his declaration, Miss Bridgerton's mother let out a sob and hurried up the stairs presumably to her daughter's room.

"Is there no one else? No one else or anything else we can try?" John asked.

Lady Whistledown bit her lip. "I don't know."

One of the women, who he realised now from John's descriptions was the Viscountess, buried her sadness in a mask of polite hostess mannerisms. She ordered tea and ferried the family upstairs to Miss Bridgerton's room, summoning Theo alongside them with a wave of her hand.

"It wouldn't be proper," Theo said, lingering at the base of the staircase.

"Mr Sharpe," the Viscountess said, "I do believe we are beyond what is proper."

Still, he lingered at the edges and waited outside of Miss Bridgerton's room, giving the family a private moment to come to terms with things, blearily eyeing a painting on the wall worth more than his year's wages.

He must have been there for an hour at least, shuffling about on his feet, hearing only mutterings and the distant nervous chatter of the servants down the hall, when they all heard the gun shot.

And then a gasp.

And the sound of a mother desperately calling her daughter's name.

A hush and a few footsteps.

He quietly moved closer to the door and peered his heard into the room. He saw the Bridgerton family gathered around her bed, blocking his view of her, but their reaction wasn't one of her being fully recovered—it wasn't total joy, it was surprise and confusion.

For once the gasps of surprise and hurried whispering and frantic words had fallen, he too could hear Miss Bridgerton muttering.

"I can't… M-move. Get. T-Theo—"

He ran into the room and pushed past those on the right side of her bed. In that moment, as he lowered his head to meet hers, a thousand thoughts crossed his mind. He was about to have his first kiss in front of the girl's family. If it didn't work, she would die. If it did work, odds are her brothers would give him hell for taking liberties. He should never have gone to France. He should have held her hand before. She was as beautiful as he remembered.

She had asked for him.

Her lips were warm, soft, and as he pulled away and tasted his own the trace of sweet apples lingered.

"Miss Bridgerton?" he asked. "Are you alright? Did it work?"

Eloise raised a hand and placed it on his cheek. She smiled. "We ought to do it again. Make sure it really worked."

No one could ever claim Mr Theo Sharpe was a stupid man as he gave no word of argument for or against it, instead kissing her again immediately before anyone could drag him away. Then he stepped back and let her family swarm her, each hugging her in turn, until Miss Bridgerton looked at her bedroom door.

"But where is Benedict? God, he's not cursed too, is he? Always said he was too handsome for his own good," Eloise said, holding onto her mother's hand.

"Oh, he went to shoot the witch," Anthony told her.

"He what?!"

Benedict returned to Bridgerton House shortly after Eloise had awoken, holding a scrap of the witch's black cloak and a basket of apples, humming a tune to himself.

He walked into Eloise's room, handed her the scrap of cloth and said, "She is able to move quite quickly, but I did get a decent shot in her belly, I think that'll be enough to scare her off for now. I'm glad it seemed to break the whole curse—I wasn't sure it'd be enough for that. Who is this young fellow, by the way?"

"Her true love," their mother said.

Eloise and the young man in question blushed redder than the apples that had caused the whole mess and stuttered out an explanation. Benedict listened, wide eyed, then said, "Oh, god, before I forget. Anthony, I'm terribly, but I do believe I've spent a near fortune on opera performances. And they've billed me for the trouble of the cancelled performance. Honestly, one little gun shot and everyone goes running—"

"I'll deal with it," Anthony said, shrugging off his worry. "It's worth it to see Eloise well."

"This has all been terribly embarrassing," Eloise huffed. "And to think all I wanted to eat was a bloody apple. And you dragged Cressida from Wales—" 'She didn't seem to mind' "And Theo from France" 'I was hardly dragged' "And the Princess is cursed too. What a mess."

"Ah, right. I ought to deal with that," Lady Whistledown said, picking up a quill and parchment. "I hope you two don't mind editing this issue, since it concerns you both… Let's see… How do I tell the Queen to summon a working man, whom the Princess has been having an affair with, to the palace under public scrutiny, to awaken her beloved daughter from a curse?"

"You don't," Violet Bridgerton said. "You get Lady Danbury to do it. She's the only one that won't be executed for treason."

"Quite right," Penelope said, writing a letter to said Lady and sealing it quickly. "I best get this delivered. Eloise, I'm terribly sorry for not thinking of getting him sooner to you. But I'm glad it all worked out alright."

In unspoken agreement, Penelope's farewell led to the rest of the family taking their leave of Eloise's room, leaving only her and Theo. Anthony kept the door open and gave one final glare of warning to them both before walking off.

Eloise sighed and sank into her pillows. "I'm never eating an apple again."

He huffed out a laugh. "Right. Is this the part where we live happily ever after, then? Apple free, of course?"

"All those fairy tales have such dreadful endings. I can think of nothing worse than being shuffled off into a carriage into some castle too big for my ego with a brainless husband, forced to pop out children, until I become as mad as an old witch and start juggling apples. I'll be dreadfully bored. You'll get bored of me."

"Miss Bridgerton, you're many things. But I've never thought of you as boring," he said, with that half smile thing he did. She had remembered correctly the shape of it and that look in his eye.

"Oh. Well, then."

"Mm. I was thinking of returning to France."

"Oh."

"You're welcome to come with me."

"Oh!"

"…If you'd like, Miss Bridgerton," he muttered, turning his head away. Did he think she was rejecting him?

"I think I'd like it if you called me Eloise."

"Eloise, then."

"Yes," she said, licking her lips.

"What else are you thinking, Eloise?"

"I'm sorry. I'm finding it awfully hard to think at the moment."

"I've thought of little else but you, ever since…"

She jolted up from her bed, leaned across to him, and grabbed the front of his shirt in her hands. Her nails dug into the fabric, her nose clumsily brushed by his, and her breath was shaky and nervous and she didn't know how they'd kissed in front of multiple people without hesitation but alone she was too nervous to meet his eyes up close.

"Are you going to kiss me, Eloise? Or are you going to stare at me and curse me in your head 'til I'm paralysed by you?"

"I can't paralyse you. I'm not a witch."

"No, but you are the most amazing girl I've ever met. It has a similar effect."

Eloise would never really enjoy reading fairy tales afterwards, but she did agree with one thing. That feeling. That kiss. That was something magical.