Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The morning of the funeral shone bright and hot, with a breeze that carried the sweet smell of honeysuckle — it was a day that belonged to the sun and felt wholly incongruous with death.

Eloise could not be sure if her letter had reached Cressida in time — she suspected not — and was hesitant about showing herself uninvited. It was not as if one received gold-leaf invitations to a funeral, but Eloise would have liked to at least be expected. Her stomach fluttered at the thought of seeing Cressida, nerves running zig-zag through her veins despite every effort to squash them.

Eloise wished she was a better person. A better person would not be thinking of themselves — their own fears and hesitations. A better person would be thinking of how best to comfort their lover, who may or may not still want to be their lover. She did not know where they stood and the uncertainty of it all gnawed a hole in her stomach. Eloise hated not knowing.

They would not go to the gravesite, Violet had explained the previous night, but to the house for the viewing. Eloise never understood why people felt inclined to stare at a body after its inhabitant had fled, and all light had left them, but she did not protest. The last funeral Eloise had attended had been the Earl of Kilmartin’s and she did not relish the memory.

She wore a dress of the darkest blue and had Mary put her hair up in a simple knot. Eloise was not sure how one should dress to their one time friend-turned-lover’s mother’s funeral, so she decided on understated.

“Well. You look lovely,” Violet said as they met in the drawing room for breakfast.

“Do I?” Eloise looked down at herself, slightly horrified. “I certainly did not mean to.”

Violet smiled and brushed a tendril of dark hair, so much like her own, from Eloise’s face. “I suppose I mean you look grown-up.”

Eloise scoffed and moved out of Violet’s grasp to seat herself in front of the pastries. She had no appetite, but reaching for a slice of quiche gave her something to do with her hands. “I have been grown for a long time, Mama.”

“You have,” Violet sat opposite her. “But something has changed since you have returned from your trip to Wales. There is a…maturity about you.”

“Eloise Bridgerton. Mature?” Benedict walked into the room with William on his hip. “What a strange concept.”

As if to prove his point, Eloise stuck her tongue out at him. “You are a strange concept.”

“Grandmama Violet,” William squirmed to get out of his father’s arms. “Would you like to see my wooden train? Papa says they will build a train in London one day and we will be able to ride it!”

“Later, dear heart.” Violet pulled the boy onto her lap and peppered his cheek with kisses. “Your Auntie Eloise and I have business this morning.”

Eloise’s gaze slid to Benedict, who offered her a kind smile before shoving a scone into his mouth. By the time Sophie came in with Charles and Alexander, Eloise’s nervousness had launched into full-blown panic. What if Cressida did not want to see her? What if she was angry at the way Eloise had fled? What if the time apart had bloomed into regret, or worse, resentment?

She sipped her tea and hoped it would calm her roiling gut. Their time spent apart had done nothing to provide a solution to their problem and all Eloise wanted was to see Cressida and offer up their shining, bright future on a silver platter. She longed to say, “See, I have fixed it! This is how we might be together!” But she had still not come up with a plan, and she did not know how to face Cressida with uncertainty still the only sure thing between them. She felt sick with helplessness.

“Auntie Eloise?” Alexander came to stand at her side, his hands clasped behind his back as he swayed to and fro. “Are you sad?”

“No,” she cleared her throat and tried for a smile. “I am merely contemplative.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means,” Eloise glanced at Benedict, “That I have spent too much time in my head.”

“Mama says I do that too.”

“Hmm, yes.” She reached out and wiped a smudge of chocolate off Alexander’s chin. As she had come to discover, children were far less disgusting when they belonged to the people you loved. “It can be lonely in there, can it not?”

“Yes,” the boy answered solemnly. “But it is also quiet. I do like the quiet.”

“You sound like your Auntie Fran,” Eloise replied. “Now,” she narrowed her eyes on him. “I happen to know that your father has a hidden secret cache of macarons behind the china teapot in the pink parlour. If you can find it and bring me a custard one, I shall let you and your brothers have the rest.”

Alexander lit up and raced out of the room, trailed by his siblings.

“They are going to be silly on sugar all afternoon,” Violet tutted but Eloise shrugged and bit a piece of buttered toast.

“And we will be away this afternoon.” She smiled at Sophie and Benedict. “He will be theirs to contend with.”

“You will see things differently when you have children,” Violet replied and Eloise choked on her toast, while Benedict, who had been eavesdropping, laughed so loudly that Sophie had to elbow him.

______

Eloise had never been to the Cowper country manor before.

The summer that she and Cressida had first struck up their friendship, they had spent most of their time walking through wooded trails or taking tea on the veranda of Aubrey Hall. Eloise had imagined a house similar to the one she had visited in Mayfair, but the estate was grander, more expansive, and shockingly more austere. In place of the dark walls, wood, and shadow, that Eloise remembered from her brief time with Cressida in Mayfair, she and Violet walked into an entrance hall decorated in the neoclassical style of white minimalism, grecian-inspired art, and cold, smooth lines. Eloise felt underdressed, as if she should have paid a fee to enter. It was spartan and magnificent, and entirely soulless.

She ran her fingers along the stark white walls, hoping to leave a mark in a small act of rebellion. Eloise had spent most of her young life at Aubrey Hall, and then at seven, was shuttled off to London. Even after the move, their summers in Kent were times of wild freedom, where bedtimes ceased to exist and hot days meant cold lemonade in the garden while watching her brothers play at fencing and begging for a chance to try. Eloise could not imagine spending her summers in this cathedral of a house, where it felt as though one had to whisper, where even the idea of running was discouraged by the many vases and glass baubles on display.

She and Violet wove their way through a crowd of women in the hallway — more than she had expected, and many of whom she recognised from Mayfair. Amarinta Cowper may have been something of a recluse by the end, but she was remembered well, and if not well, she was at least remembered. Eloise hoped this brought Cressida some modicum of comfort. The sitting room had been transformed for the viewing, with closed curtains and a dais set up in the middle, upon which the casket was placed. Eloise averted her eyes from the body and searched the dim room for Cressida. Her restless gaze settled on a portrait above the mantle. It depicted Lord Cowper in all his stern countenance, a younger Lady Cowper, and little Cressida at what might have been seven or eight years of age. She was a tiny child, all petite limbs and wisps of white-blonde hair. She stood between her mother and father, a haughty look on her baby face — one that Eloise recognised well. The artist had even captured the little frown line that formed between her pale brows.

In a strange, almost surreal moment, Eloise’s eyes were pulled from the portrait to the tall veiled figure in the corner of the room. All at once, that little girl was transformed into a woman, dressed head to toe in a heavy black gown. The lacy veil that covered her face was thin enough to make out the shape of her features, but not her expression. Eloise’s heart raced, her palms suddenly damp. She pressed herself against the wall to prevent herself from doing something insane, like sprinting across the room or calling out Cressida’s name.

She watched as mourner after mourner walked by Cressida to share their condolences. She watched the tight set of Cressida’s shoulders, the way her fingers curled into fists at her sides. She watched as Cressida’s eyes lifted and that intense gaze, even through the layer of the veil, settled on Eloise. It was as if someone had struck a match between them, a sudden burst of bright hot energy that compelled Eloise forward. She was more certain than ever that for the past weeks, she had been free-falling — aimless and erratic — until this moment. Cressida pulled her in like gravity, an unbreakable tether. Eloise strode across the room until she was right up beside the woman who had thrown her life entirely off its axis.

“Cressida.” Her name was suddenly the only word in Eloise's extensive vocabulary.

Cressida exhaled heavily, as if she had been holding her breath until that moment. “Miss Bridgerton.”

Eloise bit down hard on the inside of her cheek, using the pain as a touchstone to keep herself from reaching out, from pulling Cressida into her embrace.

“I am sorry,” Eloise breathed out, hoping it encapsulated both her sympathy and her many sins. “I am so sorry.”

Eloise studied the rise and fall of Cressida’s chest as she took deep, steadying breaths. “Thank you.”

“Are you…” Eloise shook her head. Despite all of the many words Eloise knew, none of them felt adequate. “How are you?”

Cressida shrugged, now looking past Eloise, nodding at strangers who offered their sympathies. “I am occupied with all of this,” she motioned to the crowd.

Eloise swallowed. She wished Cressida would look at her again. “May I see you? After.”

“I—” a look of panic took over her face, “I must keep vigil for a few hours still. Then I am to the gravesite. After which I must speak to the lawyer. There is so little time—”

“After that,” Eloise pressed, suddenly fearful that Cressida would leave England before they got a chance to speak.

“Eloise…” she sounded so broken. “What is there left to speak about?”

Eloise’s heart plummeted to her stomach. “I can think of a few things.” She looked behind her, aware of just how many people were in earshot. “Cress.” She whispered, so only Cressida would hear the desperation in her voice, “Please.”

“I will find you,” Cressida finally said, and then she did look at Eloise, who thought that she might drown in the sorrow reflected in those blue eyes. “Later, once this is all over.”

“I am at Aubrey Hall for as long as you are here,” Eloise replied. Cressida raised her gloved hand as though she might touch Eloise, but only held it in the air, suspended.

She parted her lips to say more but was interrupted by the Duchess of Weymouth, who was once just Miss Aurelia Davenport, a young, buxom debutante with a zeal for chocolate biscuits and gossip before she married a duke.

Eloise walked backwards, unable to take her eyes off Cressida. She felt as though her body was made of lead, heavy and unresponsive. This was not how it was meant to go. She was supposed to comfort Cressida. She was supposed to save her from this sadness. Eloise looked back to the portrait, to the little girl standing between two parents who would never love her as she was meant to be loved. With a parting glance, Eloise turned and walked away.

What is there to speak about? Cressida’s question haunted her as she sat in the carriage that would take her home. Did Cressida not want to find a way out of their predicament? Did she not even want to try? Eloise had not left Penlow under the assumption that they were over, but perhaps that was what Cressida had wanted. The spark of hope that Eloise had been carrying inside of her began to sputter like the last flame on a dying candle.

“How is she?” Violet’s question yanked Eloise from her tumultuous thoughts. “This cannot be easy, being an only child.”

“She is as expected,” Eloise replied hollowly. “Though we did not speak much.”

“You have been a good friend to her,” Violet continued. “More, I think, than she deserved, given her history with our family. Though I suppose, if anything, she is a product of her parents’ cruelty. The apple and all that.”

“That is a callous and unfair statement to make.” Eloise was surprised by the heat in her voice. “I am sorry, but it is true, Mama. If anything, Cressida has risen above the cruelty shown to her by her parents and  has since become someone I am proud to call a—a friend.” Eloise prayed that her voice did not crack. “I cannot…she is…dear to me.” Eloise’s voice did quake then and she turned to face the window, blinking back tears of frustration.

Violet’s expression moved from surprise to dismay. “My dear, I apologise. I did not mean…” she brought her hand to her face, seemingly embarrassed. “You are right. Of course, you are right.” She reached out and placed a hand on Eloise’s knee. “Forgive me. My words were thoughtless.”

Eloise said nothing, but closed her hand over her mother’s and squeezed.

They arrived back at Aubrey Hall a mere hour after they had left. Disappointment curdled in her stomach like sour milk. The clear picture she had had in her mind of waltzing in and saving Cressida from her sadness was a stupid, ridiculous, selfish fancy. Eloise felt foolish for expecting anything other than their reserved interaction. What else was she expecting at Cressida’s mother’s funeral?

Eloise had taken barely two steps into the main hall when William called from the staircase, “Auntie Eloise, there is a man here to see you!”

Clara rushed up behind him to scoop him up. “Apologies, Miss Bridgerton. Mr. Bridgerton and Mrs. Bridgerton are in the parlour with a guest.”

“A guest?” Eloise frowned.

Harding, the butler, whom Eloise could never stop thinking of as Footman John, stepped out of the hallway. “The Earl of Lysvane, Miss Eloise. He is seated in the parlour.”

“Thank you,” Eloise answered, still perplexed. What on earth was Julian doing there?

“We have a guest?” Violet asked, coming up behind Eloise.

“The Lord Lysvane is here,” Eloise turned to her mother with urgency. “Mama, I should like to speak to him alone if that is all right.”

“I suppose that will be fine.” Violet studied Eloise for a long time, as if trying to find the answers to all of her questions written in the grooves of her daughter’s face.

They walked to the parlour to find Sophie and Benedict engaged in lively conversation with Julian, who, despite being dressed in sombre black, seemed remarkably cheery.

“Ah, sister!” Benedict turned to the doorway. “The Earl was just relaying us with tales of your excursion in Venice. I believe he saved you from falling into a canal?”

Eloise looked to Julian with confusion. He did not seem upset with her, in fact, he was smiling. “Did the Earl also tell you that the reason I almost fell in was because he had accidentally pushed me?”

“Push is such a harsh word,” Julian said, a laugh in his voice. He stood then, as Violet came into view, and bowed low, his smile as sweet as it had ever been. “Lady Bridgerton. It is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance. Apologies for my audacity in calling without an invitation.” Eloise rolled her eyes. He really was ridiculously charming when he wanted to be.

Violet’s answering smile was bemused as she surveyed the room. She gave a quick curtsey. “It is no trouble, my Lord. It is I who must apologise. It seems you have not been offered any refreshments.”

“I do not intend to stay long. In fact, I am on my way to Lady Cowper’s burial. If I may have a word with Miss Eloise, I would be most grateful.”

“Of course, of course.” Violet ushered the rest out with hushed tones, departing with a meaningful look at Eloise, who could practically hear the wedding bells clanging in her mother’s head. 

Once they were alone, Julian’s smile faded, replaced by a kaleidoscope of emotions that seemed to reflect Eloise’s feelings. 

Eloise sat first, on the sofa across from him. She leaned forward, her hands clasped together as if in prayer. “I do not know where—” she began as he started,

“I should apologise…”

They exhaled awkward breaths of laughter. “You first,” Eloise urged. 

“How have you been?”

“Wretched,” she answered. She had never been able to lie to him convincingly, so Eloise gave up. “You?”

“The same.”

Silence stretched between them and Eloise could not help but utter, “How has she been?”

Julian worried his lip between his teeth as he considered. His answer broke Eloise all over again. “She does not speak to me, barely comes down to eat. Even before news of Lady Cowper…” he sighed and ran a hand through his auburn hair. It was getting too long. “We have made a mess of things, have we not?”

Eloise shook her head. “You have no part in this mess.”

“That is not entirely true,” he admitted and cleared his throat nervously. “I feel as if I must explain. I have not been…honest with you. I have not been a good friend.”

Eloise said nothing, waiting for him to continue.

“I was not upset by your feelings for my aunt.” He rolled his eyes at himself. “I suppose I will call her Cressida, since aunt seems too strange now. I was not upset by what I saw on the basis of you being of the same sex. I feel this is important to note. I have no prejudice against, well, anything really. I have travelled far too many places and seen far too many things to be shocked by two women in love. That is…” he looked at her searchingly. “I assume you are in love. She did not tell me much, but from the way she spoke about you, it certainly seemed to be the case.”

“We—were, are,” Eloise stammered awkwardly. “I do not know where we stand right now, to be honest.”

“I hope your falling out was not because of me. I did not mean to come across as angry. That is to say, I was angry, but at myself. I had convinced myself, quite thoroughly, that you were like me.” He looked down at the carpet and softly clarified, “Different like me.”

Eloise tried to decipher the meaning behind his words and came up short. The only thing she could think to ask was, “Julian…do you fancy men?

His laugh was bitter and humourless.”I do not fancy anyone. That is the point. I have never wanted romance or…sex for that matter.” He lowered his voice at the word. “My university chums would corral me into joining them for nights out at brothels, and before every sordid expedition, I would feel sick to my stomach. They would recount their liaisons in vivid detail and their tales only made me despair of my own sex and their treatment of women. I knew, from an early age, that I was different…broken.” His voice cracked and Eloise moved to sit beside him, propriety be damned. “I knew that unlike every one of my lascivious companions, I did not want to share my bed with anyone…man or woman. The idea of children, of producing an heir…” He trailed off, his warm brown eyes shiny with unshed tears. “And yet, if I am to be respected among the ton, among my tenants, I know I must marry.”

Eloise covered his hand with hers. “Why did you not tell me?”

He shrugged. “When we spoke in Venice, I thought you understood, that we were speaking in some shared code. You said you had no interest in marriage or romance and I believed you. So when I saw you and Cressida I realised that I was once again alone in this feeling. I regret my actions. I should have been more understanding, more transparent with my acceptance, but I…I was heartbroken to have lost you.”

Eloise scooted closer to him, tightening her hold on his hands. “You have not lost me. I—I thought you were angry with me and the idea of it has given me so many sleepless nights. I still think we are the same, you know. I may enjoy…sex,” she wrinkled her nose a bit at having to say it out loud to him, “but I know what it is like to be on the periphery of society, how it feels when everyone seems to be in on some joke that you cannot comprehend. That is why…” Eloise shrugged almost shyly. “I do love you. As a friend, yes, but can that not be something wondrous as well?”

Julian’s smile was soft, but clear and beautiful. He brought their joined hands up to his cheek.“Yes. It can.”

“Does this mean,” that waning spark of hope ignited, “would I be welcome to stay? At Penlow? We would be discreet, of course. Well, as discreet as we could be in a house full of servants and…is your mother still around?” Eloise scrunched up her face. “But I am getting ahead of myself. I suppose I am just excited by the prospect that I might see Penlow again.”

“Nothing would delight me more,” Julian answered. “But I am off to London in a few days to meet with an acquaintance of my father’s or, rather, my father’s acquaintance’s daughter.” He pushed back the hair that threatened to fall into his eyes. “My mother has arranged it in the hope that I will be married by the end of the summer.”

Eloise deflated, her head falling against the back of the settee. “I am sorry. That is…depressing.” She sighed as her plans fell apart. “Perhaps your new bride will be understanding? She might not even want children.” Eloise knew that she did not sound the least bit convincing. “It might work out all right.”

“Ah, yes,” Julian smiled sadly. “We shall be a house consisting of the Earl, his wife, his aunt, and her female lover.” He shook his head. “As much as I may will it, I do not know how much longer I can realistically keep Cressida as lady of the house, or you as my guest. It is a strange thing to have so much power and so little.”

Eloise did not think that this was the time to point out that Julian, for all his powerlessness, was still a titled man of means. “Will you be able to travel at least?”

“I do not know,” Julian sighed. “I suppose it will depend on my future wife, whomever she may be.”

It hit Eloise like an arrow, the idea fresh and bloody, as it swirled around in her head like some tangible thing. Julian’s words hovered in the air, a jumble of possibilities that gave her an unlikely answer.

“Julian,” Eloise spoke slowly, as though she were afraid the idea would crumble if she moved too quickly. “I have a…proposition.” She sat up and looked at him with all the intensity of a woman with a plan. “It is a mad, and somewhat audacious, proposition, but are we not a bit mad and somewhat audacious?”

Julian laughed, her sudden zeal contagious. “We are. Tell me.”

And so Eloise did.

______

Eloise spent the rest of the afternoon following Julian’s departure obsessively planning what the next few weeks might look like. It felt good, felt right. Both she and Julian were on board. The only other factor was Cressida. Cressida, who as of sunset, had not called upon her, had not even sent a letter. Eloise forced herself to remember that it was Cressida’s mother’s funeral and that she was not top of the other woman’s mind. She wanted to be, though. She desperately wanted to be the person with whom Cressida sought comfort, the person that Cressida looked for at the end of a terrible day. Eloise was not accustomed to the lack of control that came with having to consider another person. If it was up to her, they would already be going ahead with it; they would be barrelling forward, consequences be damned. But Cressida knew too much about consequences, and Eloise would not be the person to take the choice away from her. 

Anthony, Kate, and their gaggle of children arrived late that afternoon, and dinner was a raucous affair. It was easy for Eloise to lose herself in the noise and conversation, her melancholy dimmed by her family’s simple enjoyment of being together.

“Our mother tells me you had a caller today, Eloise,” Anthony raised an eyebrow at her. The room went conspicuously quiet. He winced suddenly and Eloise guessed Kate had almost definitely kicked her husband under the table. She was reminded of just how much she loved her sisters-in-law.

“I had a friend come by, yes,” Eloise answered, not giving him the satisfaction of looking up from her mashed potatoes.

“An unattached, male friend?” Anthony asked. “Ow.” This time, Kate definitely kicked him.

“Tell me, brother,” Eloise shoved a carrot into her mouth, chewing carelessly. “How many unattached female friends did you have before your goddess of a wife deigned to marry you?”

Benedict barked out a laugh. “She has you there.”

“Lord Bridgerton,” Violet aimed a meaningful look at her eldest child. “Do not vex your sister.”

Eloise smirked at him. “Yes, Lord Bridgerton. Do not vex me.”

“Tell me, have you heard from Daphne?” Violet turned to Kate. “She implied in her last letter that she and the children might come down for a week.”

“She told me she would come for the entire summer. I believe it is just the Duke who will come for a week.” Kate replied. “And she mentioned a ball?”

“I have heard nothing of this ball,” Anthony replied. “I hope she does not intend to host it here.”

“Oh, but a ball would be lovely,” Sophie said, as Kate and Violet agreed with her.

Eloise focused on eating the rest of her dinner as her family continued their bickering. She wondered how long she would have to stay before she could slip away without being interrogated. She got her answer sometime after dessert, when Anthony and Benedict started a conversation about the latest in parliament and Kate took Sophie off to show her the new artwork they had acquired in France.

Eloise wished them all a good night as soon as it seemed she’d been forgotten. Instead of going to her room, she pulled on her cloak and snuck out through the back doors. She had planned on having a quick smoke under the veranda, while mulling over her new situation, but instead found herself walking towards the orangery where she and Cressida had spent so much of the summer that now felt like a lifetime ago.

Eloise walked aimlessly among the fruit trees, with only stars guiding her. The moon was a perfect circle — a silver coin flipped up into the sky, winking down at all who looked up. She had needed this, she quickly realised — the quiet and the dark — a place where she could allow herself to acknowledge how much she wanted this to work. She knew that her plan with Julian would come to naught if Cressida no longer wanted her. Everything would come to naught if Cressida no longer wanted her.

It was the uncertainty of it all that ate at her. Patience had never been her strength. What would Cressida do, Eloise wondered, if she simply showed up at the Cowper manor? It was nearly ten o'clock and far too late for any polite call. But Eloise had never cared to be polite. Would she let Eloise come inside? Would she send her back home to her empty bed? When was Eloise allowed to be impatient? When was she allowed to stomp her feet and demand the world give her exactly what she wanted exactly the way she wanted it?

At the root of it all was a simple fact — Eloise missed Cressida, and missing Cressida was an ache that she felt deep in her bones — a dull, yet constant reminder of her aloneness.

Eloise leaned against a particularly gnarled tree, enjoying the scent of sweet citrus in the air. The lights in the main house had dimmed. Eloise could, hypothetically, take one of the carriages to go to Cressida. She knew she’d be able to sweet talk Harding into getting her a coachman, even at this hour. As Eloise went through the technical details of what stealing a coach and making her way to the Cowper estate might entail, the possibility became more plausible. Why couldn’t she, shouldn’t she, just show up at Cressida’s door? Would Cressida not want to know that Eloise had potentially saved them? Would she not, in fact, wish for Eloise to see her as soon as she could?

As Eloise did cartwheels in her mind, trying to convince herself of this plan, she reached into her dress pocket for her box of thinly rolled cigars that Colin had brought her from Spain. She brought the pinched tip to her lips and flared up a match just as she heard —

“Eloise.”

“Fucking hell!” Eloise dropped the match, which burned out before even touching the ground. She brought her hand to her chest, her heart thudding under her palm as she scanned the darkness. She did not have to squint for very long. A figure in a dark cloak stepped forward, and if not for the hood that was pushed back far enough to reveal a flash of golden hair, Eloise might have thought her some spectral wraith.

“Cressida? What are you…” Eloise came towards her, wondering for a moment if perhaps this was a spectre. Surely she could not be real. For that would mean that Eloise must have conjured her up. “What are you doing here?”

Cressida pushed back her hood fully, her hair and face still made up as they were for the funeral and Eloise knew at once that she was very, very real. Even through the heavy tang of citrus on the night breeze, she could smell the sharp, fragrant notes of Cressida’s preferred perfume. Eloise breathed in.

“I came in a carriage. I was not thinking and then I realised how late it was.” She brought her hands to her forehead, in a helpless gesture. “Time has lost all meaning for me, it seems. I would have turned back, but I saw you walk from the house to…well, here.” She shrugged and somehow managed to look so very small, despite her stature. “I should not have come.”

“Wait.” Eloise took another step towards her, terrified suddenly that she would evaporate into the night. “I am glad you came.”

“Truly?”

The question in Cressida’s voice made Eloise feel as though someone had taken an icepick to the softest parts of her. “Truly,” she answered honestly. “Are you…well?” It was a foolish question, Eloise knew it as soon as it left her mouth. But Cressida did not rebuke her for it. Instead, she shrugged again and then, shook her head, and all at once, seemed to crumple in on herself.

Eloise quickly closed the distance between them, pulling Cressida to her as if she were always meant to be there. Cressida’s arms came around to clutch at the fabric at the back of Eloise’s cloak, holding her impossibly close as she released long, shuddering sobs.

“Hush, hush,” Eloise murmured in what she hoped was a soothing manner. She rubbed her flat palm against Cressida’s back, holding her tight. “It will be all right,” she whispered. “It will all be all right.”

She wanted to press kisses against Cressida’s blotchy cheeks, against her wet eyelashes, and her salt-stung lips, but Eloise did not move, did not dare breathe. She threaded her fingers through Cressida’s hair as Cressida buried her wet face in the crook of Eloise’s neck. Finally, when her sobs turned to whimpers, and her whimpers turned to sniffling, Eloise eased back, just enough to give Cressida space to breathe.

 “I am sorry,” Cressida croaked, her voice still thick with tears. “I should not have —”

“I am the one who should be sorry.” Eloise cut in. “I should have written sooner. I did not know—”

“Neither did I,” Cressida sniffed again. She wiped the heel of her palm against her eyes, smudging the kohl. “She did not tell me until it was too late. She said I should not come see her. The staff say she had been sickly for months and let no one near. Why would she…why did she not want me with her?”

“Your mama was a proud woman. Perhaps she did not want you to see her like that. Perhaps she was, in her own way, trying to protect you.”

“I could have helped.” Cressida’s voice was small and Eloise thought of that little girl in the painting. “I could have brought her to Penlow, or, or….” She trailed off miserably, silent tears running down her cheeks and dripping from her chin.

Eloise blinked against the hot sting behind her eyes, as if Cressida’s pain were catching. “Do not blame yourself.”

“Who else can I blame?” Cressida asked beseechingly. “My papa is long gone.”

“Perhaps there is no one at fault,” Eloise suggested. She ran her thumb over Cressida’s jaw, capturing a tear. “Sometimes terrible things just happen.” Her thoughts shifted unwillingly to her father’s easy smile, but then Cressida turned into Eloise’s hand and pressed a kiss to her palm. The sensation shot through Eloise — a jolt of surprise.

“Cressida.” Her voice was rough and filled with caution as Cressida nuzzled against her, a kitten desperate for touch.

When Cressida reached up to place a kiss on her wrist, Eloise exhaled shakily. “It has been a long day,” Eloise started, “An awful day.”

“Yes.” Cressida’s eyelids fluttered closed. “It has.” She dipped her head to catch Eloise’s mouth with her own. Cressida kissed Eloise like she was dying and Eloise her last chance at life. Cressida kissed her hungrily, desperately. She bit Eloise’s lip and licked it better. She sucked on Eloise’s tongue, moaning hotly into her mouth.

The angry squawk of some nocturnal bird broke through Eloise’s stupor and she remembered where they were, who they were. The night was suddenly too warm, the citrus mixed with the heady scent of Cressida’s perfume too cloying. It took every ounce of inner strength for Eloise to bring her hand up and gently push away. Cressida looked dazed, startled by the rejection.

“You are grieving and exhausted. We should not—”

“I need you,” Cressida replied in a broken voice, closing the distance between them until she could brush her cheek against Eloise’s. “Please, Eloise. I need to feel something. It has been so long. I have not been able to sleep, to rest, to breathe since you left, I—I just want to feel like myself again.”

This time, Eloise allowed Cressida to curl her fingers around Eloise’s waist and pull her closer. “What can I do?”

“Just touch me,” Cressida begged. “Please.”

Eloise could not refuse her. Like something in a dream from long ago, Eloise put her hands on Cressida’s hips and guided her backwards until Cressida’s back hit the sturdy trunk of an orange tree. Eloise kissed her soundly, until Cressida was trembling and begging for more than Eloise knew how to give.

She wanted to show restraint. She wanted to reason with Cressida, to ask her to talk, to wait until things did not seem as dire. But Eloise had missed her — the feel of her, the taste. She lost all that was left of her self-control to the sound of Cressida’s breathy little moans.

Eloise reached down to ruck up Cressida’s heavy skirts, just high enough to get her hand underneath. Cressida gasped against Eloise’s neck when Eloise found her warm and so very wet. Using two fingers to spread her apart, Eloise circled Cressida’s firm, swollen bud with her thumb in quick, rapid movements. Cressida bucked against her once, twice, and then sank her teeth into Eloise’s shoulder, biting down through the layers of fabric to muffle her cry. It was over as quickly as it began and if Eloise’s fingers were not still wet and sticky under Cressida’s skirt, she might have wondered if it had happened at all.

It took Eloise a moment to realise that Cressida’s gasp was the prelude to a wracking sob. Horrified, Eloise removed herself from Cressida and stepped back. “I am sorry. I should not have.”

Cressida reached for her forearm, keeping her from moving away further. “I wanted you to,” she countered. “I do not regret it.” She sucked in another breath as more tears filled her eyes. “I do not know what is wrong with me.” Cressida looked behind her, into the darkness. “I cannot go back to my parents’ house. It is haunted with the memory of them both.”

Eloise swallowed, her heart racing faster than her thoughts. “Come back with me.”

“It is too late,” Cressida protested weakly. “I should not even —”

Eloise reached for her hand and tugged it forward. “Do not go back to a house filled with ghosts. Come home. With me.”

______

They had made it into the house with relative ease. All was quiet but for the winding down of the house staff. Harding nodded as they entered, but knew Eloise long enough to ask no questions. They also encountered Mary on the steps, with an armful of laundry.

She looked at Cressida with surprise and then recognition. “Shall I call on Mrs.Wilson to have a room made up, Miss?”

“No, thank you, Mary.” Eloise gave the young woman a tight smile. “The Countess will be staying in my quarters tonight.”

Mary looked between them, eyes narrowing and then widening. To her credit, she only nodded. “Of course. Have a good night, Miss Eloise, Lady Lysvane.”

“You too, Mary.”

Eloise had had a great many people in her bedroom over the years — besides her maids, there were her sisters and sisters-in-law, her mother, and even her nieces on occasion. It was not the addition of another that was strange. It was more the notion that Cressida, at eight-and-twenty, was standing in the same room where sixteen, seventeen, eighteen-year-old Eloise had written page after page of scathing commentary in her journal about Cressida — of her  and then later of her kindness in between angry words about Penelope. It was strange to reconcile this moment with all of the others that Eloise had experienced in the room.

Once they entered her room, Cressida seemed to deflate.

She looked like a mournful black bird — a raven, or a starling, perhaps — standing at the foot of Eloise’s bed, her head turning this way and that as she took in its contents.

“You have a writing desk,” was the first thing Cressida said, and Eloise replied,

“Yes. It has seen much use over the years.”

Cressida made a hollow sound of amusement that Eloise could not quite decipher.

The nerves that she had coming into the house had intensified, a knot of anxiety tightening in her belly. Eloise was suddenly self-conscious. She had brought Cressida here and now had no idea what to do with her, or even where they stood after their last harrowing discussion at Penlow. She had made the assumption that Cressida would want to be close to her, in her bedroom, but now Eloise questioned herself. Perhaps she would prefer space. Perhaps she only came here to appease Eloise.

“You must be hungry.” Eloise wrung her hands together. “I cannot imagine you have eaten much. Shall I go down and fetch you something from the kitchen?”

Cressida shook her head. “I have no appetite.” Eloise did not push, despite the shadows against the hollows of Cressida’s cheeks. “I…” she sighed. “I want to get out of this wretched black gown. I am sick of wearing it.” At once, Cressida was pulling at the fabric of her collar, as if trying to rip the dress off in one go.

Eloise walked up to her, and clasped her shoulders, stilling her. “Let me,” she implored.

Cressida’s eyes were huge and panicked, but she nodded in silent consent. Eloise gently turned Cressida around and began unbuttoning her gown. Her fingers remained surprisingly steady now that she had a task to accomplish. She unloosed twelve buttons from their loop ties, leaving Cressida’s neck and upper back exposed. Eloise walked around to undo the buttons at her cuffs before tugging the sleeves off. She fell to her knees and helped Cressida step out of the thick, heavy material and resisted the urge to place a kiss against Cressida’s knee as she unclipped her garters and pulled each calf free of silk stockings. Once Cressida stood in bare feet, her toes curling into the carpet, Eloise stood.

She pulled the petticoat off Cressida’s head and made quick work of undoing the laces of her stays. When it finally fell to the ground, Cressida was left in only her chemise, through which the obvious outline of her figure was visible, her nipples pushing through the thin fabric.

She leaned up on her toes to reach the top of Cressida’s head and rid her of the many pins in her hair. Soft blonde hair fell in waves over her shoulders. Eloise loved her hair.

It took Eloise a moment to realise that Cressida was trembling. “Are you cold?”

Cressida shook her head, even as she wrapped her arms around herself. Eloise walked by her to pull back the sheets on her bed. She guided Cressida to lie down, fluffing the pillow beneath her head and tucking the sheets around her shoulders. When Eloise stepped back, Cressida flung out a hand, surprising her. “Stay. Please.”

Eloise looked to the door and then nodded. She hastily removed her own layers of clothing until, like Cressida, she was only in her chemise. Gingerly, Eloise climbed in beside her, lying on her back, arm held up for Cressida to cuddle in. Eloise felt a surge of relief when the other woman did — her tall body fitted perfectly against Eloise’s. Cressida reached an arm over, pulling Eloise even closer as she buried her face in her shoulder.

“Is this alright?” Eloise asked, almost afraid to speak.

Cressida nodded against her. “Yes.”

Eloise could not tell how long they lay there, only that by the time Cressida’s breath grew laboured and her body went slack with sleep, the moon had moved behind cloud cover and Eloise could no longer see it from her window. She idly threaded her fingers through Cressida’s hair and counted each breath until finally, sleep took her too.

______

Barely an hour passed before Eloise next woke with her neck at a strange angle and her arm trapped under Cressida who was still sprawled across her chest, her little snores familiar and comforting. She gently untangled herself from Cressida’s arms, taking care to be quiet as she dressed. She left Cressida sleeping in the warm glow of candlelight.

Eloise discovered Benedict in the upstairs drawing room, feet up on a hassock as he read. There was a bowl of pistachios in his lap and he cracked them open with one hand before bringing them to his mouth and crunching loudly.

“You are up late,” Eloise commented, stepping further into the room.

“I am quite invested in my book,” Benedict replied in a hushed voice, as though the house’s sleeping inhabitants might rouse. He studied her and Eloise realised that she had put her dress back on instead of changing into her nightgown. “Why are you awake?”

Eloise came to sit beside him, forcing him to rearrange himself to make room. “Cressida is here.”

“Here?” Benedict threw his feet off and turned to her. “In the house?”

“In my room,” Eloise replied with a sheepish grimace. “She was…not well. I could not send her home in the state she was in. She has had a terrible time of it, Ben. You could not imagine how—”

Benedict held up a hand to stop her. “It is good she is here,” he said. “Most likely she needs you more than ever now.”

Eloise thought of Cressida’s moans in the orangery. “You have no idea.”

“Have you decided on what you are going to do?”

Eloise’s gaze darted to the hallway. “Ask me again tomorrow. We have much to discuss.”

He considered her. “It will work out, El. You are a Bridgerton. It has to.”

“Perhaps I am the unlucky Bridgerton among the lot.”

“No, that would be Gregory,” Benedict answered swiftly. “He makes puppy-dog eyes at every ball with Miss Hermione Watson and I do not think she even knows he exists.”

Eloise chuckled. “Give him time.” Then she tilted her head and appraised him. “Do you and Anthony have any port squirrelled away?”

“Since when do you drink port?”

“Since recently. Have you any?”

Benedict’s smile turned mischievous. “There are bottles in the cellar, but the good stuff is in Anthony’s study. Third drawer under his desk. It sticks, so give it a hard pull.”

Eloise smiled at him gratefully. “Have I told you recently that you are my favourite sibling?”

“You have not.”

Eloise jumped up and reached for a handful of nuts. “Good, because I would not want to deceive you. Colin is my favourite.”

He launched a pistachio shell at her, but she dodged and it landed on the carpet.

______

Eloise managed to make her way back to her bedroom, balancing a tray stacked with pilfered cakes and sweets, two glasses, and a bottle of port. When she finally pushed through the door, she found Cressida sitting up in bed, adorably heavy-eyed and ruffled.

“How long was I asleep?” Cressida asked, her voice croaky with sleep.

“Two or so hours.” Eloise made her way past the bed to the dressing room that held her wardrobe and vanity and a small sofa. “I have brought you something to eat. I know you said you were not hungry, but I think you should at least —”

Eloise was cut off by the sudden whoosh of air escaping her body as Cressida engulfed her in a hug. It took her but a moment to recover, and then she was turning in Cressida’s arms, pulling her down and closer, so close, until she could feel the other woman’s breasts pressed against her dress. The coil of tension that Eloise had not even known she was holding onto, slowly unravelled. “I missed you,” Cressida breathed against the shell of Eloise’s ear.

“I missed you,” Eloise answered with a sigh, breathing in Cressida’s scent — faded perfume and the milk-sweet smell of sleep.

When they finally pulled apart, Cressida’s cheeks were flushed, but her eyes were dry. Eloise was grateful for it. Rather than move to the sofa, they laid out a blanket in the middle of the room and sat cross-legged in front of the tray. Eloise shed her dress so they were once again in their chemises, their bare knees exposed as they ate pastries with their fingers. Eloise had two bites of treacle tart and pushed the rest aside. It was not the kind of sweetness she craved. 

Eloise watched Cressida finish off a jam square and reach for her napkin. She was hyper-aware of Cressida’s every movement. She poured them both port and waited for Cressida to take a sip, before saying,

“I have something to tell you. Well, something to share, to…propose. It is perhaps more of a question than a statement, though it is important to understand that nothing is set in stone. It is all predicated on the notion that you agree. If you do not, well then I do not know where we go, but we shall find a solution, so…”

“Eloise,” Cressida interrupted gently. “You are rambling.”

“Yes. I suppose I am.” She chugged back the port in her glass. “What I meant to tell you is…I am engaged.”

Cressida blinked, as though she could not comprehend the words Eloise had just spoken. Eventually, she said, “Engaged? To be married?”

“To Julian,” Eloise clarified. “It has not been finalised, which is to say, no one knows. Except us. And now you. And it will remain unfinalised until you approve.”

“I…approve? You want me to approve of the woman I love marrying my nephew?” Cressida’s astonishment bordered on disbelief. “You have truly chosen the perfect day to spring this upon me. How long were you plotting —”

“There was no plotting!” Eloise all but yelled, panic rising. “This is not going as it should. I have not explained myself well.” She took a deep breath and took Cressida by the shoulders, waiting until the other woman had no choice but to look at her. “Julian has no interest in marriage, despite his mother’s desperate attempts to get him wed. In fact — and he has granted me permission to share this with you — he has no interest in anyone, man or woman. He is completely indifferent to romance and has no desire for children. What he seeks is a friend. By marrying him, I would be mistress of the house.” Her gaze was piercing, filled with meaning. “I would make the rules.”

“You would make the rules,” Cressida repeated as if just beginning to understand.

“My first decree would be that you would never move out. In fact, I would be happy for you to continue running Penlow exactly as you have been. Julian and I would be a marriage of convenience, but you and I…” Eloise trailed off, unexpectedly vulnerable. “We could be together. Properly. Living our lives at each other's side.”

Cressida sat back, her expression thoughtful. “To the world, you would be Lord and Lady Lysvane.”

“Yes. For this to work, that is how we must be perceived.” Eloise confirmed. “But at Penlow, it would be us. Eloise and Cressida, and on occasion, if you are looking for someone to destroy at cards, Julian.”

“It is an elaborate ruse,” Cressida pointed out, but Eloise could tell that she was considering it. “People will talk, even if we are successful at hiding it. And we would have to always keep it up.”

“Not to everyone,” Eloise replied. “I hope to tell my family the truth. Eventually. And the servants would know. I do not want to hide in our home. We would share a bedchamber. If that is something you want.”

“Eloise…”

“With Julian’s title and my money, we will be safe. We could all travel together. We could build a life.”

“And you are certain,” Cressida asked tentatively, “that he has no…romantic interest in you?”

“More certain than anything,” Eloise answered solemnly. “I assure you this would not work if he did.”

Cressida was quiet for what felt like an eternity then stood and began to pace as she spoke.

“The wedding should be in Mayfair, not Penlow. That way, fewer of his family members will attend. You should announce the engagement as soon as possible, but plan for a wedding during the Season. The more of the ton you invite, the better your chances of securing their favour, and we shall need it if we are to come to London every second Season. I am tired of spending all year in the country. I would like to attend more balls. In addition to the staff at Penlow, you must bring some of the servants you know, who might speak well of your character. If I have learnt anything the hard way, it is that servants talk. Around two years into the marriage, we will spread the rumour that Julian may be infertile, which will lead to sympathy, rather than constant questions about an heir.” She whirled around, fixing her focused gaze on Eloise, “And we will travel to Italy first. You and Julian speak of it constantly and I am envious. You will take me to the Trevi Fountain and you will kiss me there, onlookers be damned.”

Eloise watched Cressida, in her thin shift, hair down, feet bare as she rattled off her list of demands like a general in an army. Eloise’s grin slowly widened. “I take it this means you are amenable?”

“Amenable?” Cressida stared at her as if it were obvious. She reached down and pulled Eloise to her, kissing her thoroughly. “It is a perfect plan. You are brilliant.”

Eloise smiled against her lips, joy bubbling out. “I was hoping you would think so.”

Their next was a soft, exploratory kiss that tasted of treacle tart and port. Here was the sweetness that Eloise would die for. She let Cressida take the lead, deciding when to deepen the kiss, when to open and taste. A small, high-pitched whine filled her ears and it took Eloise a moment to realise that it was coming from her throat.

They stumbled to the bed, crashing into furniture as they kissed blindly, unable to keep their hands from roaming, their mouths from taking.

“How far are we from the other rooms?” Cressida asked as Eloise planted wet, open kisses against her neck.

“Not far,” Eloise sucked in a breath as Cressida pinched her nipple. “We shall have to be quiet.”

“That will not be a problem for me,” Cressida tugged at Eloise’s earlobe with her teeth. “You on the other hand…”

“Perhaps you will have to gag me,” Eloise joked, but as she said it, felt a new flood of wetness between her legs.

Cressida pulled back to look at her, her eyes bright for the first time that day. “Have you any scarves?”

Eloise’s heart raced as she thought about it, but replied, “Another time. I promised to look after you and that is what I intend to do. Lie back,” Eloise urged softly and Cressida did. She exhaled a breath of anticipation when Eloise followed, holding herself above Cressida. Her hair fell like a dark curtain, separating them from the rest of the world.

Cressida raised her head just enough to brush the tip of her nose against Eloise’s. “Have I told you that I missed you?”

“Not enough.” Eloise angled her head to capture Cressida’s mouth in a hot, breathless kiss. She pulled Cressida’s bottom lip between her teeth, sucking on the plump flesh. Cressida’s hands skated along Eloise’s body, causing her to break out in goose pimples. She placed sloppy kisses against Cressida’s neck, trailing a wet path down her soft skin. Eloise gasped when Cressida’s fingers dug into her hips, her nails leaving deep crescents, even through the thin material of the chemise.

Eloise kissed her way down, sucking Cressida’s taut nipples into her mouth and leaving wet stains through the fabric. “Take this off.” She tugged lightly on the chemise and watched as Cressida removed her single item of clothing, leaving her pale, and smooth and completely naked. It was not the first time Eloise had seen her naked body, but that knowledge did nothing to diminish the flush of desire that throbbed inside her. Once Cressida was bare, Eloise continued her exploration, kissing a line down between Cressida’s small breasts, over the softness of her stomach. She dragged her teeth against the pull of skin over hip bones, leaving Cressida panting.

“Please,” Cressida whispered desperately when Eloise ghosted her lips along the satiny skin of Cressida’s inner thigh. “Please, Eloise. I have waited long enough.”

Eloise sighed against her, breathing in the sharp scent of arousal. Her own cunt throbbed in response. She leaned up on her forearm, giving herself leverage as she used her other hand to spread Cressida’s pretty pink lips apart. Eloise dipped her head, using her tongue to lap up the pool of wetness at Cressida’s centre.

Her gaze darted up just in time to see Cressida throw an arm over her face, muffling her moans inside the crook of her elbow. Eloise licked a slow path up to Cressida’s swollen bud before taking it between her lips, causing Cressida to buck up, her movements jerky and erratic. Eloise licked and sucked the slick flesh of Cressida’s cunt until she was silently sobbing, begging Eloise to fuck her with filthy, whispered language that made feel Eloise dizzy. When she finally inserted two fingers inside, Cressida exhaled a ragged moan that was definitely loud enough to be heard in the corridor. Eloise could not care less. She continued to slide her fingers in, gathering the wetness around Cressida’s centre to make it easier for her to add a third. Eloise curled her fingers up just as she flicked her tongue hard against Cressida’s firm nub. She felt the slow, unspooling of the woman below her — small, subtle tremors, the tautness of her muscles, the high, keening sound that accompanied her climax of pleasure. Still, Eloise did not stop her ministrations until Cressida was coming for a second time, her fingers buried her fingers in Eloise’s hair, gripping tightly before finally tugging her away.

“Enough,” she breathed brokenly. “Enough, please. I am spent.”

Eloise crawled up her body, kissing her thoroughly, her mouth and chin still sticky with Cressida’s arousal. Without preamble, Cressida slipped her hand under Eloise’s chemise and slid two fingers against either side of Eloise’s swollen bud. She spread Eloise’s wetness up and around, never touching quite where Eloise needed her to.

“My clever girl,” Cressida sucked on Eloise’s pulse point as she skilfully moved her fingers. “I should not have doubted you, doubted us.”

Eloise keened when Cressida bit down on her flesh. “I need...”

“What do you need?”

“Put your mouth on me,” Eloise begged as she writhed against Cressida’s hand.

Instead of moving down, Cressida rolled Eloise on top of her, urging her to straddle Cressida’s waist.

“What are you —”

“Move up to me,” Cressida instructed. “And let me taste you.”

Cressida’s suggestion had Eloise almost faint with arousal — they had not done this before. She slid up Cressida’s chest, leaving a trail of slick as she went. When she eventually hovered over Cressida’s face, she glanced down. Cressida looked back at her with a rakish smile. Eloise had never been more in love with her.

She lowered herself down as Cressida took hold of her hips and then…everything went blindingly bright. Eloise opened her mouth, a whine escaping from somewhere deep inside her as intense bursts of pleasure sparked through her.

Cressida licked up into her like she wanted to become one with her, wanted to crawl inside Eloise's body and live there — Eloise would let her. She ground down, lowering herself as far as she could without suffocating Cressida, who dragged her fingernails down Eloise’s thighs, while she made a meal of Eloise. When she closed her fingers over Eloise’s hips and guided her to rock forward, Eloise could do nothing but obey.

But it was only when Cressida sharpened her tongue and swirled it against Eloise’s hot flesh with skilled determination that Eloise started trembling violently. Wave after wave of sensation rippled through her until her muscles ached from the strain of keeping herself upright. She finally came with a stuttered sob and the garbled mantra of Cressida’s name mixed in with a few curse words. 

Cressida continued to work her mouth against Eloise, sucking on her until Eloise squirmed. “I can't,” she gasped, even as she ground down.

Cressida’s fingers dug bruises into Eloise's hips. “You can,” she mumbled into Eloise's cunt, her words vibrating against her flesh. Cressida slid one hand up Eloise's stomach to pinch nipple, hard enough to make her yelp as she rolled between her fingers. She was merciless with her tongue and did not relent until Eloise was bucking into her mouth, head thrown back as she rode out her second orgasm.

By the time she slid down limply, Eloise's throat hurt from trying not to scream out her pleasure for all of Kent to hear.

They remained boneless and sated, face-to-face for longer than Eloise knew — time and space had no meaning in the aftermath of their coupling. Cressida remained naked and glorious, her cheeks still glistening with Eloise’s arousal. Cool air tingled against the overheated flesh between Eloise’s legs and she reached down to pull up the sheets.

The lazy post-coital haze settled heavy over them. “I missed this sweat-drenched smell of you, of us…after.” Eloise licked her lips and leaned in to kiss Cressida one more time, tasting herself on Cressida’s mouth.

Despite just fucking Eloise within an inch of her life, Cressida blushed prettily. “I am glad. I had the terrible notion that you might have…regretted what had occurred between us. Physically.”

Eloise pushed herself up and away just enough that she was fully looking down at Cressida. “The memory of it is all that has sustained me these past weeks,” Eloise replied honestly. 

Cressida looked past Eloise's shoulder, her expression suddenly far away. After a beat, she whispered, “I said such awful things to you. I have let my fear guide me for so long, it remains the catalyst for all of my decisions. I should not have let you go so easily, but I could not bear asking you to stay only to have you leave me anyway. I was wrong to push you away.”

“But you were right,” Eloise looked contrite. “I can be selfish. And it is sometimes difficult for me to remember that not everyone is as lucky as I am, does not have the unwavering support I have always had. I am sorry, Cress. I should not have expected you to give up the safety of your home, or assumed it was a choice between me and everything you have built.”

Cressida pressed a kiss to Eloise’s shoulder. “Thank you for saying that. As it so happens, losing one’s love makes even a perfect home feel cold and empty. I did not know how to exist there without you.” She exhaled a sad laugh. “It seems I do not know how to exist anywhere without you.”

“Now you will not have to.”

“You are so sure of yourself.” Cressida tucked stray hairs behind Eloise’s ear. “Always barrelling headfirst into what you know or at least think is right. You are fearless.”

Eloise snorted. “Hardly. I am terrified so much of the time. Terrified of wanting more than I will ever have, of seeing my family grow and expand while I remain static, of never witnessing the change I want to see in the world.”

“You know I once described you as a radical ruffian?” Cressida’s expression was fond as she looked up at Eloise. “I think I might have been a bit jealous of you. You have always been brave, Eloise.”

“That is not true,” Eloise replied softly. “I could have been braver at Penlow. I could have turned the carriage around that night and begged you to let me stay. I could have donned a fake moustache and pretended to be your gardener, tending to your roses, while stealing kisses.”

“I would never have allowed it,” Cressida sounded mock-scandalised. “You would have killed them all.”

“Most likely,” Eloise conceded. She paused then, taking a moment to organise her thoughts. “If you must know, I have always taken comfort in certainty, immovability. For all my desire to change the world, I do not find change easy. In all of my uncertainty and fear, there is a single constant — the way I feel about you.” She trailed her index finger between Cressida’s brows, down over the tip of her nose. “It has never changed, never wavered. In fact, I would argue that it has only brightened. It is the only thing that has made this tenuous situation halfway bearable. You are the one fixed point in my universe.”

Cressida’s face transformed into a frown. “You cannot just say things like that.”

“I have upset you.” Eloise blinked in alarm when she realised that Cressida’s eyes were glossy. “Good Lord. Why are you crying?”

“Because,” she all but huffed. “You have no idea how long I have been waiting for you. It feels like years, decades, perhaps my entire life without even knowing it.” She took Eloise’s face in her hands. “I love you.”

Eloise smiled, her cheeks pushing against Cressida’s palms, her entire body suffused with a glow of happiness. “And I love you.”

______

The Daily Morsel

Monday, October 20, 1823

A Spinster Saved!

It seems there is hope for even the most stubborn of spinsters if Miss Eloise Bridgerton’s recent nuptials are anything to go by. The second eldest Bridgerton daughter has given up singlehood in favour of a most promising marriage to the young Earl of Lysvane (younger than she by a scandalous two years). The lavish affair was held in the Bridgerton’s Mayfair residence and guests included everyone from the Duchess of Dobrich to Her Majesty, the Queen! Of course, Her Majesty has always had a particular fondness for the most radical of the Bridgerton clan. The new Countess of Lysvane cut a beautiful, if understated, figure in a simple gown and a circlet of flowers. Her bouquet of blue hydrangeas is rumoured to have been delivered all the way from the Earl’s estate in Penlow. A romantic gesture if we have ever seen one! We wish the happy couple a joyous honeymoon — though if the Countess’s rebellious history is anything to go by, it will be nothing if not eventful!

______________________

“Rebellious history?” Penelope tossed the scandal sheet across the sofa and scowled. “One would think that they could at least come up with decent alliteration. “Pugnacious past, history of hijinks, seditious start, I could go on!”

“Oh, yes,” Eloise turned to Penelope, a smile pulling on her lips. “Please go on about how the latest scandal sheet has not lived up to your exacting standards and not about how it has written nonsense about your best and dearest friend.” She stood to walk to the window of Penelope and Colin’s home, through which the busy street could be observed.

“Oh, your wedding was always going to be in the gossip rags. It was the social event of the Season.” Penelope waved her hand, dismissing Eloise. “The least they could do is try and use more creative language. The others are no better. Do you know that the Tattler cannot even be bothered to fact-check? I believe they referred to you as the eldest Bridgerton sister in their latest issue.” Penelope shook her head, clearly vexed. “Have you recovered from the festivities by the way? I know that it was a lot.”

Eloise wrinkled her nose. “Yes and no? I am grateful that it is over and done with. It is like these last few months have been all leading up to us finally running off to Wales, and now that the time has come it is…”

“Surreal?”

“In a manner of speaking. I am very much looking forward to going back and finally being alone. Or, not entirely alone, but without everyone fluttering about me trying to get me to taste this piece of cake or fit into that wedding gown. I am grateful we decided to stay a little while after while Julian tended to business in London, but I am ready for peace.”

Penelope came to stand beside Eloise, both of them watching the carriage that had just stopped outside the opposite house. A gentleman emerged with a bouquet of roses, no doubt a caller to the house. As if sparking the train of thought, Penelope asked, “When have you last spoken with her?”

“Not for a fortnight.” Eloise sighed and turned to leave her back against the glass. “She had to leave so soon after the wedding and I think…well, I suspect it was more taxing on her than she anticipated.”

“That is unsurprising. Even if she was absolutely convinced that it was a farce, it still could not be easy to watch the one you love marry another.”

Eloise shook her head. “No, I can’t imagine so. At least when I return, Julian will already be at Hebog Hall. He has engineered it so that Cressida and I have a few days on our own before we all depart for Rome.”

“What a thoughtful husband you have,” Penelope teased. “To give you time with your lady love.”

“He is certainly unlike any man I have known before,” Eloise admitted, feeling the familiar pang of fondness at the thought of Julian.

“Have you told anyone else?” Penelope asked, “Besides myself and Benedict?”

“And Colin,” Eloise said pointedly.

“I could not keep it from Colin,” Penelope’s tone was full of chagrin. “He pried it out of me. You know, he is very —”

Eloise held up a palm. “I do not want to know how my brother pried secrets out of a former keeper of them, thank you very much.”

Penelope chuckled. “Fair enough. You have still not told your mother?”

“It is not the time,” Eloise replied. “Francesca has only just thrown Mama’s world off its axis with the revelation about Michaela. Though she is trying to understand, I do not wish to inform her that another one of her daughters has been lured into the sordid world of sapphic dalliances.”

“El, you make light of it, but you know your mama will inevitably support you. As will everyone else you choose to bring into your confidence. You and Cressida are not just some dalliance, and once they see how happy she makes you…”

“We shall cross that bridge when we get there.” Eloise reached out for Penelope’s hand and squeezed. “But thank you, Pen. For saying that. For being so…supportive of this entire affair. I know you and Cressida have not the most harmonious of histories.”

Penelope grinned at Eloise’s alliteration. “She did go out of her way to avoid me at the wedding,” Penelope commented. 

“I think she is perhaps a bit afraid of you,” Eloise whispered theatrically. 

Penelope laughed then. “Cressida Cowper, afraid of me. What a fascinating thought.”

“She is a lot more…delicate than one might think. She cares much more than she lets on, and would probably flay me for saying so.”

“Well, we can’t have that. Unless…” Penelope shot Eloise a wicked smirk, “Unless you would welcome a bit of flaying.”

Eloise could feel the blood rush to her cheeks. “That is the last time I share anything even remotely salacious with you.”

Penelope laughed again, this time with delight. “Forgive me. I have to tease just a little. You have never been like this. It is a joy to see you so…taken with someone.” Eloise rolled her eyes, but felt a smile tug at her lips. “I truly do wish you the most happiness, El.”

Eloise’s expression softened. “I do not deserve you.”

“Nonsense.” Penelope leaned up and pressed a quick, warm kiss to Eloise’s cheek. “We deserve each other. We are a kindred couple, matching mates, fated fri —”

Eloise groaned. “You cannot help yourself can you, Lady Whistledown?”

“It is just so easy!” Penelope exclaimed, reaching for the discarded gossip rag. “How have they not written one clever phrase in this entire sheet?”

Eloise moved to the couch and settled in, content to listen to her best friend rant on about the inferiority of recent gossip sheets for the next half hour.

______

Eloise decided to leave a day early. She said her goodbyes to her family, most of whom were still in Mayfair for the Season, and set off to Penlow, excitement fluttering through her like a room full of butterflies. She was exhausted from weeks of planning that had culminated in a day she barely remembered for all of its fanfare. All Eloise truly recalled was walking down the aisle and seeing the faces of everyone who loved her. She remembered looking into her mama’s tearful eyes, shining with pride and thinking, I have done a good thing. She tried her best not to cast her gaze over to the pew where Cressida sat, beside Julian’s parents, but Eloise was ever the moth to Cressida’s flame. She could not help but fix her steady gaze on Cressida. Their eyes locked as Eloise took step after step towards the man she would marry. Eloise remembered how difficult it was to tear her eyes away and focus on Julian once she reached the altar, but then Cressida had given her a small smile, enough to fill her with the bravery she would need to get through it.

It had been only two weeks since she had seen Cressida, held her, kissed her, but it felt like years. And so Eloise had decided to leave a day before she was expected, hoping to surprise the Dowager Countess. It was strange, driving away from the house in Mayfair to what would be her new home in Wales. It was a strangeness that Eloise embraced. She was ready.

By the time the carriage pulled up to Penlow, it was already mid-afternoon on the third day of travel. Eloise was itching for a good meal and a bath. The coachman helped her and Mary out of the postchaise, and two footmen, immediately flanked each side of the doors. When they addressed her as Lady Lysvane, Eloise almost looked past them for Cressida, before realising they were speaking to her. Brooks came out then, smiling and bowing low.

“It is such a pleasure to have your Ladyship home. Though we were not expecting you for another day. Both the Earl and the Dowager Countess are absent.”

“Cr—the Countess is not here?” Eloise felt disappointment bloom inside her belly. So much for her surprise.

“Lady Lysvane…er, the Dowager Countess, has gone to Cardiff for the day. I believe she is due back tomorrow.”

Eloise nodded. “Thank you, Brooks. Oh. My.” She startled when the household staff exited to form a line out of the house.

“Forgive the state of us, Your Ladyship. We were not quite ready for you.” Mrs. Craddock, the housekeeper, led the line, her face kind if flustered. They all stood to attention, eyes on Eloise. “Lord Lysvane has instructed us to forgo most of the formalities, but we could not resist a formal introduction.”

“Of course,” Eloise tried her best to smile. She straightened her back and channelled her mother. “I would be delighted to meet everyone, though I fear many already know me as last summer’s troublesome houseguest.” 

Mrs. Craddock walked her down the line, introducing everyone in turn. “This is Lucille. She is an upper housemaid and will tend to Your Ladyship's personal rooms. This is Gertrude. She is…”

And so it went on until Eloise’s brain was filled with names and faces, vaguely familiar from her previous visit, but now destined to be the faces she saw every day. She was suddenly filled with a new sense of respect for both her mother and Kate, and every other lady who seemed to do this all so effortlessly.

Eloise had initially expected to be led to the guest room before realising that Mrs. Craddock was leading her past it. Of course, she would not be in the guest room. The notion was ridiculous. Still, she was surprised when they stopped outside of the room she had shared with Cressida.

“Your things are already unpacked, Your Ladyship,” Mrs. Craddock motioned to the door. “We are giving your maid a change of clothes, but Lucille will be up to attend to your bath shortly.”

Eloise pushed open the door to look inside. The room looked exactly as it had been, but for a new, much larger wardrobe and an additional mirror beside the vanity.

“And, um,” she cleared her throat. “Which room does Lady Cressida occupy?”

Mrs. Craddock looked confused. “Why, this one, of course.” She looked suddenly panicked. “Forgive me, Your Ladyship, but when His Lordship, the Earl discussed the living arrangements with the staff, we were told that you and the Dowager Countess would be sharing a room.”

Eloise blanched, heat unexpectedly rising to her cheeks. “What exactly did the Earl tell you?”

“If you would excuse my candour, Lady Lysvane, the Earl explained your…unique situation.”

“You are telling me that the entire staff knows?” Eloise asked cautiously.

“Not all, of course, but to those of us who might need to arrange the household accordingly.” Mrs. Craddock’s eyes were kind when she said. “The previous Earl was a stern master. And miserly, if I may be so bold. After his passing, Lady Cressida raised our wages, and made sure we were well taken care of. His Lordship has been equally kind. You do not have to worry about our discretion, my Lady.”

Eloise almost laughed. “Well,” she threw up her hands. “That was remarkably easier than I anticipated.”

Mrs. Craddock did laugh then, a loud, boisterous laugh that reminded Eloise a little of Lady Danbury. “Let us get you settled, hmm?”

By the time Eloise ate, bathed, and managed to dodge all of the new attention being paid to her, she was utterly exhausted. Before bed, she walked the halls of the castle — her home — as if seeing it anew. Every corridor, every tapestry hung on the wall, it was all hers to learn and know, and hopefully, eventually, love. She would make changes, of course. The animal heads had to go, along with the hideous rug in the upstairs parlour. For the most part, however, she was happy to defer to Julian and Cressida — this was their home more than it was hers. She did not see a need for that to change any time soon.

It was peculiar to be at Penlow without either of them — part of her still felt like a stranger, like someone who might be caught and have to explain her reasons for being there. She wondered how long it would take for her to rid herself of the feeling.

She climbed into Cressida’s empty bed (henceforth known as Eloise and Cressida’s bed) and fell into a heavy slumber, comforted in the knowledge that this was where she would sleep evermore.

______

Eloise woke to the sensation of being shaken, rather violently. She opened her eyes with a groan, disoriented for a moment, as to where she was. It took her half a second to remember that she was at Penlow and another half to focus on the figure shaking her awake.

“Finally!” Cressida exclaimed when Eloise squinted up at her. “I was beginning to wonder if you had been drugged.”

“No,” Eloise croaked, trying to clear the sleep from her voice. “Just tired is all.” And then it dawned on her that Cressida was right there, in their bedroom, staring down at her. Eloise sat up on her elbows. “Are you just going to stand there, scowling in the dark, or are you going to kiss me?”

Cressida leaned down to place a very unsatisfactory kiss on Eloise’s forehead. “Hurry,” she said before Eloise could reach for her or even complain. “Throw on your cloak.”

“Where are we going?” Eloise grumbled as Cressida pulled her from the bed. “It is at least midnight.”

“A few minutes after,” Cressida replied as she handed Eloise a thick cloak. “Tie it well. There is a chill in the air.”

“Are you going to tell me where we are going?” Eloise asked as she shoved her feet into boots.

“No.” Cressida pulled up her hood and took her hand. Together, they descended the stairs and made their way through the parlour and out of the doors to the side garden. The October air was indeed nippy. Not so cold that it was uncomfortable, but Eloise was grateful for her thicker cloak.

Penlow, she discovered, was markedly different in the autumn. Instead of the bright, sweet smell of summer, this night smelled of damp earth and the sultry fragrance of jasmine.

Under the half moon, the darkness was rich but for the splatter of stars in the sky.

“You were not here this afternoon for me to surprise you,” Eloise said with a bit of a pout. 

“You have always been impatient,” Cressida tutted, her hand still firm in Eloise’s. “You know, if you had come tomorrow…or I suppose later today as planned, I would not have had to wake you up in the middle of the night. We could have done this at a reasonable hour once everyone had gone to bed.”

“Done what?” Eloise stopped walking and pulled her hand from Cressida’s to cross her arms over her chest. “I will not take another step until you tell me where we are going,” Eloise groused. “We have not seen each other for a fortnight and you have not even properly kissed me.” She knew she sounded petulant, but she was grumpy from being woken up and forced outside without so much as a kind word or a soft kiss.

“Must you make everything so difficult?” Cressida shot back. “I am trying to surprise you!”

“Oh.” Eloise’s mood lifted. “How lovely.” She swanned up to Cressida, hands behind her back. “What is it?”

Cressida rolled her eyes, still mildly vexed if her expression was anything to go by. “That is what I am trying to show you. Come.”

She walked a while further until they rounded the house. Eloise gasped at the sight ahead of her, bringing her hands to her mouth. “It’s beautiful,” she murmured.

The small path leading up to the arch that opened to the flower garden had been lined with candles, their flickering flames illuminating the walkway. Light danced over the flower bushes like dozens of fireflies, all hovering off the ground. “How…” Eloise looked to Cressida, the tiny flames reflected in her eyes. “Did you do all of this?”

Cressida nodded. “I had planned on doing it the evening after you settled in from your journey, but I came home to find you already here. So…” she shrugged and Eloise realised suddenly that she was nervous. “Honestly, tomorrow night looks to be rather windy, so perhaps this timing will prevent a small forest fire.”

“How long did this take you?” Eloise asked, imagining Cressida stooping to light each candle one after the other.

“It does not matter,” she exhaled. “You are here and I am here and…” she bit down on her lip.

“And…?” Eloise prompted.

“And I would like to marry you,” Cressida said quickly. “I know you are already married and I have already been married, but we are not married to each other. If we are to be sharing a bed, if we are to be…together forever, I think we should be wed.”

“Now?” Eloise smiled, despite her confusion. “You wish to marry me here?”

“Yes.” Cressida looked at her shyly. “That is, of course, if you meant what you said before. About wanting to marry me if you could.”

“I have never meant anything more,” Eloise replied earnestly.

“Good.” Cressida’s smile was one of relief. “Good. Then I would like to be in a place that has brought me much happiness and comfort, as I commit myself to the person who has done the same.”

Together they walked in reverent silence down the candlelit path towards the flowering bough. The little flowers that covered it were closed, their buds curled in like tiny pearls. Under the arch, they faced each other and in her plain travelling cloak, without adornment or jewels, Eloise thought that Cressida had never been more beautiful. They took each others’ hands and Eloise asked, “What now?”

Cressida’s laugh was light and tinkling with nerves. “I confess I did not think beyond this moment. Perhaps we might say a few words?”

“Finally, something I am good at,” Eloise joked. Cressida’s hands were warm and soft in hers and she laced their fingers together. “Well, I have not prepared for this,” she started, strangely nervous herself. Certainly more nervous than she had been in the church. “And yet, in a way, it feels as though my entire life has led up to this moment. You are the most unexpected thing to ever happen to me and as you know, I do not particularly enjoy the unexpected.” She gave Cressida a crooked smile. “I had a very clear path for myself, you know. And then you kissed me one night in a garden far away from this one, and the course of my life changed in ways I could not anticipate.”

“I think it was you who kissed me,” Cressida interrupted.

“No, I distinctly remember—” Eloise shook her head. “No matter. What I am ineloquently trying to say is that you have changed me, Cressida. In ways I did not know I could be changed. You have…opened me up. Unlocked feelings and thoughts and…desires I thought myself immune to. I did not know that love could be like this — soft and sweet and biting and painful and all-encompassing — and I liked to think I knew everything. I did not know what it was to belong to someone and have someone belong to me. Until you. I commit myself to you here, this night and every night to come for as long as you will have me.”

Cressida pulled one hand out of Eloise’s grasp to wipe the tears on her cheeks. “I did not reapply my rouge for this very reason,” she said in a shaky voice. “You have me at a disadvantage. I am no good with words, and so all I can tell you is how I feel. How you make me feel.” Cressida extricated her other hand and brought them both in front of her, wringing them slightly as she spoke. “I did not come from love. That much you know. I do not know if my parents ever even liked each other. And thus I did not expect it. I was taught that if I presented myself to be exactly the person someone else wanted, I might find my way to something respectable. And so, I became a hundred different versions of myself for a hundred different men and none of those versions were ever good enough.” Cressida laughed hollowly. “I suppose somewhere along this path, I lost who I was when I was not pretending. And then you befriended me.”

“I believe it was you who sought me out,” Eloise cut in. “That summer, I mean. You were the one who—”

“Eloise,” Cressida huffed.

“Apologies,” she said quickly. “You were saying?”

Cressida pursed her lips before continuing. “I was saying that the summer you befriended me, I…found myself again.” Cressida’s voice dropped. “You would think me ridiculous if you knew how much your friendship meant to me that year. I honestly do not think I have ever had anyone talk to me like you did, ask me questions and challenge me. And then you broke my heart.” Cressida’s smile was tremulous. “You broke my heart completely, and through it, reminded me that I had one. I have loved you for years and if we had never again met, I would have continued loving you.” She took one of Eloise’s hands in hers again. “But I am very glad that we did meet again. You have stripped me bare, down to the truest version of myself, and I marvel at the fact that you see me, know me, and still choose me.” Cressida swallowed back tears. “Because of you, I will never again have to live in a house without love.” She took a breath and repeated Eloise’s promise. “I commit myself to you here, this night and every night to come for as long as you will have me.

Eloise blinked furiously, trying to keep Cressida’s image from blurring through the tears. There were no wedding gowns, no church, no minister, and no prayers. But here, in the flower garden that Cressida had grown from seed, here, under ancient stars, and with words that had never been spoken in that particular order, by these particular people, Eloise knew their union was holier than any that had come before.

“Shall we seal it with a kiss?” Cressida whispered.

Eloise nodded and smiled, happiness spilling over and catching in the candlelight. “I think we must.”  

Their kiss was a pledge for the future and an apology for their past sins all in one. Underneath the shy half-moon, they kissed like lovers, like friends, like everything they had ever been to one another and everything they ever would be.

Eloise threw her arms around Cressida’s neck, pulling her close. “Does this mean we are officially on honeymoon? Because I would like to get you out of the cold and into our bed as soon as humanly possible.” 

“Eloise Bridgerton,” Cressida laughed against Eloise’s mouth, “I always knew you were a romantic.”

If Eloise was not so busy kissing Cressida, she might have agreed.