Chapter Text
Under the pretext of bidding farewell to the Rivers family, Eloise accompanied Phillip Crane to the East Garden with a deep feeling of apprehension. She and George had not agreed on a shared story, for they had never imagined Phillip Crane would question their relationship, nor take an interest in Eloise’s family and past. They had assumed he would just let them be while he withdrew to his greenhouse. And he had done so initially, but Eloise had not allowed him to remain estranged – her fault, she realized.
She had sought him out for reasons that… she was not completely ready to face. This realization made her heart constrict painfully, and she could not help but steal a glance at his profile. She was self-aware enough to know that she was attracted to him, and that the inconvenient reasons that made her crave his presence were the same ones that had made her dislike Miss Rivers at first sight, maybe even unfairly.
“You are uncommonly quiet, Miss Bridgerton.” Phillip said, walking at her side.
“I do not have anything to say.”
“I find that difficult to believe.”
“Yes. I am aware that I talk too much. I have been told so far too many times. You should bask in your current luck – my silence is a gift.” Eloise said with self-deprecating humour.
“You are being too unkind to yourself. I rather enjoy hearing you talk.”
Eloise was so shocked by these words that she stopped walking without realizing it. “You do?” She asked.
“Some people talk too much without saying anything, but in your case – there is always meaning or truth beneath your eloquence.”
“Well, I like to think so.” Eloise said, resuming her walk, feeling her cheeks flush warmer than they had a mere moment ago. Mr. Crane continued walking at her side.
“That is why you and George suit each other so well – you both possess the gift of eloquence.”
That comment had the precise opposite effect the previous one had, but Eloise tried her utmost not to show her discomfort. “Are you trying to convince me to marry your brother, again?” She asked, accentuating the final word.
“I did not know you required further convincing – you said earlier that you had no intention to marry anyone until you met George.”
Eloise was certain she had not said that, but she was not surprised either that Mr. Crane had heard exactly that. He was looking fixedly at her, as if waiting for an answer to a question he had not actually asked. Eloise nodded, but that did not seem to appease his anxiousness.
“Did you know the very moment you met him that he was going to be your husband?”
Eloise decided to be honest. “No.”
“Then, that certainty must have arrived later.” Phillip added, to which Eloise offered no reply. She noticed his posture stiffen after several seconds of silence, “Because you are certain, are you not?”
Eloise allowed herself a fleeting moment to hope that what he truly wished to hear was that she harboured doubts - that after meeting him, she had realized that she did not suit George nearly as much as she suited… well, someone else. But no, of course. Phillip Crane only sought to ensure that she was not going to break the betrothal. Alas! He was bound to be disappointed in the future, for that was exactly what Eloise intended to do.
“A lady may surely change her mind. Do you not agree?”
This time, it was Mr. Crane who stopped in his tracks, turning his entire body to face her.
“That is not particularly romantic.”
“I am practical.” Eloise retorted.
“And this arrangement… is it not practical enough for you?”
“It is not a matter of the household, or even the men who reside within it…” Eloise exclaimed. “It is just a monumental decision that cannot be made hastily.”
“I would say you made that decision months ago.” He said, his tone remarkably stern.
Eloise failed to comprehend the implication at first, and then she understood it all at once: he meant Marina’s pregnancy and the previous act that was required for the ‘mistake’ to take root.
“You do judge me.”
“No. I merely fail to comprehend you. George tells me this incredible tale of eternal love, one in which your souls were so aligned that you could not fight temptation. But when I ask you, you mention practicality and the right a lady has to change her mind. He almost died, you almost died – but you do not seem to appreciate the second chance Providence has given you.”
“Of course I appreciate it. I am here, am I not?”
“Love endures – it outlasts time, and illnesses, and the cruellest blows that life dealt, and it is not… it is not practical, nor is it fickle, it is absolute and—”
“You’re a romantic! I would have never guessed it.” Eloise interrupted him. “Pray, have you ever been in love?”
Phillip looked taken aback by her question, and even embarrassed to answer. “No.”
“Then, everything you have just said… is a fantasy.” She said, coldly, her temper rising. “If you need certainty, then… I am here, trying, precisely as you asked. That is the only thing I can offer you at present.”
Then, to flee from his blue eyes, and the deeply unsettling feelings this conversation was inspiring, she quickened her pace – leaving him to stride several steps behind, even as they walked toward the very same place.
+++
From a distance, Miss Rivers’ posture was perfect. She wielded her pencil with an elegance that, in Eloise’s eyes, looked entirely practiced. She seemed more intent on showing off her figure than on the colours she was applying to the paper. In contrast with her father, who was already starting to hunch with age, she looked like the Queen herself.
While Eloise walked toward her - Phillip Crane still trailing some steps behind - she had the realization that they were two women as opposite as could be: Miss Rivers was a provincial girl who had cultivated all the arts that were considered eminently feminine, from painting to smiling demurely to dressing exclusively in bright colours, as if to ensure every stare in the room were fixed upon her; and Eloise was… well, Eloise. She was merely a privileged girl who had done nothing of importance, save for reading. She was like ‘all the other ladies’, or so she had been told once. If Mr. Crane ended up admiring Miss Rivers, by virtue of her accomplishments, then his admiration would be better placed than if he directed it at Eloise – that thought hit her ferociously, leaving her feeling a little dizzy.
Upon hearing their approaching steps, Dr. Rivers saluted them with a nod of his head, and Miss Rivers with a bright smile. Eloise observed how Miss Rivers’ eyes sharpened as she noticed the distance between the two newcomers, no doubt trying to discern what it meant. This change in Miss Rivers’ expression made Eloise all the more piqued. She was still brimming with anger after her recent argument with Mr. Crane.
“Mr. Crane, Miss Bridgerton! Come and tell me what you think. I know you both will be fair in your critique.” Miss Rivers asked, back to her seemingly cheery mood.
Still maintaining a marked distance, Eloise and Phillip stood before the easel. The drawing placed upon it illustrated one of the red flowers from the garden.
“It’s a camellia japonica.” Miss Rivers explained in flawless Latin pronunciation, or at least how it sounded to Eloise’s ears. “A very romantic flower, as red camellias signify ‘romantic passion’ in the language of flowers. Are you a secret romantic, Mr. Crane?”
The coincidence - the fact that Eloise had asked him the very same with a decidedly less flirty tone only minutes ago - made her tense. She noticed how Mr. Crane glanced at her sideways before clearing his throat.
“Only when it comes to flowers, I suppose. Although, I also plant French Marigolds, which, to my understanding, mean ‘jealousy’, so I know not what that says about me.”
“It only means you do not discriminate amongst your blooms!” Miss Rivers exclaimed.
Dr. Rivers gestured at the easel. “What do you think of her talent? Is it not a perfect representation of your flowers, Mr. Crane?”
It looked as though even the good doctor was determined to aid his daughter in leaving a lasting impression upon Mr. Crane. The gentleman in question took a step forward to better appreciate the drawing. “You even took the time to draw the filaments, impressive.” Phillip said.
All eyes turned to Eloise, and it was then she realized that her opinion was also required. “I like how you drew… the camellias in general, and the shade of red. Oh, yes. Very intense.” She answered, somewhat awkwardly.
Miss Rivers forced a smile. “Thank you.” She muttered, turning her head towards Mr. Crane. “I have always liked the name ‘Camellia’. If I ever have a daughter, I think I shall name her so. I have always thought flower names are timeless. After all, flowers will always be with us, will they not?”
Eloise harboured no doubt that Miss Rivers already had a father in mind for this hypothetical, flower-named daughter. “I concur, as my youngest sister is named Hyacinth.”
Mr. Crane looked at her with a frown. “How many siblings do you have? You keep mentioning them, and I believe I have lost count.”
Eloise was surprised that he had addressed her, she thought his anger or his discomfort from their recent argument would last much longer. “Were you really counting them?” Eloise asked, smiling.
“And failing, it seems.”
“I am the middle daughter of eight siblings.”
“Eight!” Miss Rivers exclaimed. The lady surveyed Eloise from head to toe, as if trying to discern something from her apparel. “You must have had a small army of governesses, or else your mother must have been a slave to your upbringing.”
Eloise realized at once that Miss Rivers was trying to ascertain her class station. Although it would have been a pleasure to see her reaction upon learning she was the sister of a viscount, it was even more satisfying to give her an ambiguous answer and leave her to wonder.
“As many governesses as were necessary, although my mother has always preferred a very hands-on role.” Eloise explained. It wasn’t a lie, but it did seem to insinuate that Dowager Lady Bridgerton was involved in their education because she had no other recourse.
“That’s more siblings than I imagined.” Mr. Crane answered. “Are they all married?” He asked, and Eloise would not be surprised if he was already tallying the numbers in his head for the invites he planned to send on the occasion of her wedding with George.
“No, only Anthony and Daphne, at present. Love matches, both of them – which is a point of pride in my family.”
“Is that what you want for yourself too?” Miss Rivers asked, looking pointedly at Eloise.
“It is starting to look like an unavoidable curse in my family.” Eloise said, avoiding answering with any true sincerity.
“Love, a curse! You’re quite humorous, Miss Bridgerton. I think we would all be exceedingly lucky to have your family’s curse.” Miss Rivers exclaimed.
“And you are Sir George’s guest at Romney Hall, is that not what you said?” Dr. Rivers asked, suddenly quite intrigued by the topic of conversation.
“Well, he’s the baronet and the master of the house, but I like to think I am a family guest – a friend to Mr. Crane and to Mrs. Lanham as well.”
Miss Rivers did not seem particularly pleased with the answer. “I see. It is the first time we have seen you at Romney Hall, so it must be a very recent friendship.”
“Recent, yet not less affecting. The best friends are those who stay throughout times of hardships, are they not?”
“Indeed.” She replied.
“Dear, we ought to depart. I must assist another patient, not very far from here.” The physician said.
“I shall escort you to your carriage.” Mr. Crane offered.
They all returned to the front gates of Romney Hall. Miss Rivers made a very obvious effort to walk beside Eloise, and Eloise permitted it because she suspected that the fashionable lady wished to speak.
“Miss Bridgerton, you look like someone who appreciates plain speech.”
“I am.”
“Then, I hope you do not mind if I ask outright if you have an understanding with either of the Crane brothers.”
Eloise took several seconds to consider her answer. She knew she had no desire to be completely honest with Miss Rivers; and, in any case, she had no intention of sharing with a stranger the truth about the mock betrothal. However, the desire to inconvenience Miss Rivers triumphed over any other consideration, and Eloise finally said:
“I do.”
“With which Crane brother in particular?”
“Oh. It is rather complicated.” Eloise answered. And she wasn’t lying, Phillip Crane had proposed to her on behalf of his brother and, at the same time, he was entirely in the dark about the agreement she had with George.
It was evident Miss Rivers had not liked that non-committal answer. “Mr. Crane insinuated that you have a preference for Sir George, why else would you accompany my father while he tends to him?”
“Christian empathy? I was also told you had a preference for Sir George, but that is not what I witnessed today.”
Miss Rivers opened her mouth only to close it again, clearly hesitant as to how much she wanted to share with a stranger. “Those are my father’s wishes. What father doesn’t want his daughter to become a baronet’s wife?”
“But they are not your own wishes.”
“I think Mr. Crane will suit me far better.” Miss Rivers said.
Eloise’s whole body tensed at this confirmation. “Why?”
Miss Rivers paused for several seconds, “We both enjoy nature.”
“A very flimsy foundation for a marriage.” Eloise opined.
“Most marriages are built on less.”
“Most marriages are built on financial ambition, but I doubt you covet the stipend of a botanical professor, setting aside whatever portion he receives from the estate.”
“A botanical professor?”
“Does that surprise you? He adores nature, after all.” Eloise waited for those words to seep into her companion. “Were you expecting he would choose one of those occupations second sons usually favour, like law or politics?”
“I know of your intentions, Miss Bridgerton. You are not as cunning as you think you are.” Miss Rivers said, abandoning completely her veneer of sweetness. “You have just realized that there is a chance that Sir George Crane may never walk again, and now you do not know how to tretract the promises you made him without causing offense.”
“How did you ever arrive at that conclusion?” Eloise asked, more amused than offended.
“And now, you wish to drop Sir George Crane upon me, so you may try your luck with the younger brother. But I assure you, Miss Bridgerton, I shall not spend the rest of my life taking care of an invalid. I have had quite enough of those. I would rather live on the stipend of a botany professor.” She muttered, and seemed to regret her words immediately, realizing she had said far too much.
“Then, he wins in comparison to his brother only by the privilege of having two functioning legs. I would say that is a trait many men share – so why Mr. Crane, in particular?” Eloise inquired.
“There are few gentlemen in this area, and a second son of a baronet is still the second son of a baronet. Respectable. Besides, Mr. Crane is good-looking, and polite, and honorable, and… Yes, he will do.”
That description could have characterized at least one-third of the gentlemen in England, and Eloise felt immediately offended on behalf of Mr. Crane, who was much more than a handsome and polite gentleman.
However, Eloise simply said. “In that case, I wish you luck.” She was lying, for she had no intention of letting that match come to a happy conclusion.
Mr. Crane was a good man, one of the best Eloise had ever known, he deserved an intelligent companion who was able to see him and appreciate him for who he truly was. Not as a two-legged, second-rate alternative, but as the only possible option for happiness. He also needed someone who would challenge him, someone who would not let him retreat into himself or into his greenhouse – a woman who would simply love him, both his light and his shadow. Eloise was certain Miss Rivers could never be that woman.
+++
Eloise sat down next to George Crane with a heavy sigh. “Was this day as tiring for you as it was for me?” She asked George.
He huffed. “I shall deny it if you tell anyone, but I despise physicians. They relish prodding and jabbing.” He rolled his eyes quite dramatically. “And sometimes, they dare to give you hope.”
“Hope?” Eloise asked, wondering if she was understanding him correctly.
“Hope that I shall walk again.” George smiled. “He pricked me with a needle, and I felt a faint sensation. Nothing to boast of, yet it is promising.”
“Of course it is something to boast of! Superb news!” Eloise shouted, wasting no moment to hug him. It was a trifle uncomfortable, as George could not move from his bed. Still, he seemed to appreciate her display of happiness, for he laughed and hugged her tighter. He shook her in his excitement so much that she fell directly on top of him.
Eloise was trying to disentangle herself from George’s arms when a cough behind her froze her. She turned around sharply, half-sitting on the edge of George’s bed. As she had imagined, Phillip Crane stood in the doorframe, looking at them with a paler countenance than usual.
“We were merely hugging. He has just told me there is a possibility he shall walk again.” She said, not entirely understanding why she felt such an urgent need to make him understand.
“Right. Well, it is good to see that you both… have recovered the spark you lost.”
“I was not aware we had lost it.” George said in an amused tone.
“I merely meant—”
“Phillip, I have just shared very good news with my beautiful future wife. We’re celebrating… Would you be so kind as to grant us some privacy?”
Phillip tightened his lips and, for a moment, Eloise thought he was going to deny George’s request, but then, he simply inclined his head and left. Eloise stood up as if she were borne on springs.
“You should not have said that to him. Now he is going to think we are going to—“.
“To do what? You cannot even bring yourself to say the word?”
“Do not mock me.”
“Phillip will not care, Eloise. He probably already assumes we are being terribly improper, while the truth is that we spend our days reading Don Quixote. Or, I suppose, you’re reading Don Quixote and I am merely listening.”
“We should tell him the truth.” Eloise said suddenly.
“Even if we tell him Don Quixote occupies all our time, he may not believe us.”
“No, we should tell him that I am not Marina Thompson, that we are not lovers and that we have no intention of marrying.”
George blinked, gazing at her as if she had lost her senses. “Why on earth would we do that?”
“He is starting to suspect. You told him you had met my father, and I told him my father is deceased.”
“I will tell him I was mistaken.”
“I already did. I told him you had actually met my eldest brother.”
“Well, there you go. Problem solved.”
Eloise shook her head, far less confident in their deception than he was.
George huffed. “I assure you he does not care. It is not the first time such a slip has occurred. I made the mistake of saying you liked seed cakes, which apparently you hate.”
“He is asking questions to catch us.” Eloise insisted.
“No. I told him I misspoke, that I meant carrot cakes. You do like carrot cakes, do you not?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Then, everything is perfectly fine. He believed me.”
“He is asking questions!”
“Then we shall make our story better, tighter.” George proposed. “If we tell him the truth, that we are not really betrothed, then there is no reason for you to remain here. You will have to depart. Is that what you want?”
No. The answer came so swiftly to her mind that she felt completely unmoored. She did not want to leave Romney Hall, not now…
“Perhaps he will let me stay.”
“No. Why ever would he do that?”
“I do not know!”
George sighed. “If this is because you feel uncomfortable lying, then… perhaps we might make it true.”
Eloise turned sharply towards him. She must have misunderstood him. He could not possibly have said what she had just heard… “What? You do not want that.”
“It might not be that bad. I quite enjoy having you here.”
“What of Marina?” She shouted, suddenly angry.
George looked away, as if she had just slapped him. “She is dead!” He shouted back. “And she was the love of my life. No one will ever compare… I am not… This need not be a matter of love. You said yourself that you always thought you would make a splendid spinster, so why not a wife? It is merely a different type of companion.”
“I simply cannot.” She said, succinctly.
“Why not? You like it here. You said so yourself.”
“Why do you want this? That was not what we agreed.”
“If you stay, then you will be on my side. At least one person in this damn cage!” George confessed.
“What are you talking about?”
“Do you think I have not noticed how everyone in this house favours Phillip? From the servants to our aunt… Why? It defies all reason! He is awkward. He prefers to keep to himself. He only wishes to talk about plants. He only cares about himself!”
“That is not true.” Eloise said, defensive.
Her words seemed to have a paralyzing effect on George, who studied her intently. The silence between the two stretched into what felt like an eternity, and then:
“You are on his side too.” George declared.
Eloise sighed. “I was unaware there were sides.”