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Chapter Text

Eloise frowned, slumping deeper into the pale blue armchair she had claimed a few hours ago. The wisps of hair that laid flat on her forehead failed to cover the creased brow that had haunted the room all morning. She glanced idly at the book in her lap, untouched since she sat down with the intent to finish it.

She had lost her chance— her one shot at knowing the identity of the lady writer.

In the few days after she warned the woman of the Queen's trap, she had felt morally justified— a savior of journalism and a martyr for all the gossips in town, she was! But increasingly, she began to feel her motives might have been more selfish than she had allowed herself to think. Did she really think the queen would have done something horrible to Lady Whistedown? Whistledown, surely, was too smart to write without a plan for her discovery by the public. Today, like yesterday and the day before, Eloise was stuck on the idea that perhaps she had warned Whistdown not because she valued her safety, but because the secret of her identity was most valuable when it was hers alone.

Initially, she found joy in daydreams of unmasking the writer, her brothers smiling approvingly and her mother musing that perhaps were indeed suited better for the literary world rather than the marital one. But the more she read, the more she thought, the more she felt as though she and Lady Whistledown had the kind of bond that would only be weakened by the gaze of the outside world. And despite her dream of praise, adoration, and freedom that might come with unmasking Lady Whistedown, she couldn’t imagine being satisfied without just a moment in which she alone knew Lady Whistedown. Even just a moment of calm, to look at the other woman as a colleague, and perhaps to have her look back at Eloise with a brow raised in begrudging respect.

But, as it had been so many times since that night, the daydream was crushed as Eloise remembered the carriage fading away into the alleys. Even Penelope was growing sick of her anxious pacings, the other girl still upset by Colin's departure. It's not that Eloise wasn't upset, but her fondness for Colin, and of Daphne, for that matter, was much outweighed by her quiet, restless thoughts.

Mama entered the room again, the third time this morning, frowning with concern rather than displeasure.

"Eloise have you read a single page?" she asked, a mix of worry and disapproval marring her pleasant features.

Eloise didn't bother to look up at the figure in the doorway. "When did you become so terribly concerned about my reading habits? Other than their interruption of your social life?" Eloise replied, the words coming out sharper than she had intended.

Mama's frown deepened "You're right" she said slowly. "Perhaps I am not quite as passionate about your stories as you, but I know that you sitting there with a closed book in front of you means that something is troubling you."

Eloise flicked her eyes over to her mother, dressed for callers and company despite the emptiness of the house. Elegant as always. "Mama, you must be much more troubled than I, two of your children gone in the space of a month." she tried to say with sympathy.

Mama laughed "You are not as clever as you think you are, at least not yet. Changing the subject will not be the end of my concern. I miss Colin and Daphne both, of course. But I am blessed with the children that remain with me, and I will not pretend as though their displeasure does not pain me"

Eloise groaned "Fine, Mama, alright?" she said, exasperated, as she opened to a random page in the book.

Her mother smiled, not quite pleased but satisfied for the moment. Turning out of the room, she smiled again at the daughter she least understood. "Perhaps after you're finished reading your romance in protest, you might visit Penelope. I don't believe the Featheringtons have any callers today," she suggested, hoping that the other girl's company would soothe whatever ache pained Eloise.

But Eloise, without meaning to, was already engrossed in a poem, both to spite her mother's good intentions and because she did, ultimately, wish to be distracted. But Wordsworth musings on the perfect woman-- his "phantom of delight" who was "a spirit, yet a woman too" only reminded her of her close encounter with Whistedown. Both a phantom and a woman, an apparition and a human form the writer was, and yet Eloise was no closer to knowing who she was than when the season had begun. Without finishing the poem, she shut the volume, intent to begrudgingly follow Mama's advice and distract herself with Penelope's pleasant company.

//

She was a phantom of delight
When first she gleam'd upon my sight;
A lovely apparition, sent
To be a moment's ornament;
Her eyes as stars of twilight fair;
Like twilight's, too, her dusky hair;
But all things else about her drawn
From May-time and the cheerful dawn;
A dancing shape, an image gay,
To haunt, to startle, and waylay.

I saw her upon nearer view,
A Spirit, yet a Woman too!
Her household motions light and free,
And steps of virgin liberty;
A countenance in which did meet
Sweet records, promises as sweet;
A creature not too bright or good

For human nature's daily food;
For transient sorrows, simple wiles,
Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.

And now I see with eye serene
The very pulse of the machine;
A being breathing thoughtful breath,
A traveller between life and death;
The reason firm, the temperate will,
Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill;
A perfect Woman, nobly plann’d,
To warn, to comfort, and command;
And yet a Spirit still, and bright
With something of angelic light.

- William Wordsworth, 1804

Chapter Text

Eloise sat in the Featherington's drawing room, squirming under the gaze of Mrs. Featherington. Penelope, not anticipating callers, was elsewhere, meaning that Eloise had been stuck under the eye of her friend's mother, desperately hoping Pen would return home soon.

Mrs. Featherington pursed her lips, equally uncomfortable at having to entertain the Bridgerton girl.

"Your sister" she began, her sweet tone forcing itself through hesitant lips "is she well?"

Eloise nodded, a half smile seemingly stuck on her face

"And your mother?"

Eloise nodded again "Very well, she is, thank you"

Out of topics to discuss with Eloise, Mrs. Featherington sucked in a large breath, and Eloise knew she was about to be the unwitting victim of a lengthy monologue-- the kind that is all exposition and no feeling, filled with half-true anecdotes and gentle jabs. At that moment, thankfully, a noise in the front room suggested her friend had returned home. Eloise lept up, bumping into a table and giving her hostess an almost-polite nod before vaulting to find her friend.

Penelope, entirely unaware that her presence had been waited upon, took a step back when Eloise came bounding out into the hall. Penelope was in usual form, her unfortunately-styled saffron dress doing nothing to dull the warmth of her cheeks and the laugh that escaped when she saw the desperation in Eloise's eyes.

"Are you…quite alright?" she asked Eloise, choking down what was left of her laughter

"I have been attacked!" hissed Eloise, grabbing her friend's hand. "I am in mortal danger and it is imperative that you take me to safety at once!" she continued into Penelope's ear.

"I have been gone not half of an hour, Mama could not have done too much damage in that time" Penelope returned, a grin overcoming any semblance of sympathy in her face.

"Half an hour? You have been gone a fortnight, at least!" Eloise insisted, only half teasing "At least it feels as though I have been waiting here with your mama for at least that time, her eyes boring into my very soul as I prayed to God for your safe return from the journey that kept us apart. Pen-- you mustn't leave me again, I cannot bear it!"

Penelope, now giggling mercilessly, patted the back of Eloise's hand "I will never again leave your side-- though I must remind you that you are the one who intruded into my home without notice."

The girls' dramatic reunion was interrupted by the sound of Mrs. Featherington's footsteps, which sent the girls and their laughter peeling down the corridor.

//////

"My knight--" wheezed Eloise as Penelope too caught her breath, "--in shining armor."

Penelope and Eloise had found themselves in the Featherington's less formal sitting room, Penelope sitting in a chair by the window and Eloise taking up as much space as possible on a settee.

Penelope eyed her enviously.

"Mama would have my head if she caught me sitting like that" she remarked as Eloise draped a leg over the side.

"So would mine" Eloise laughed "Though at least my mama would feel sorry as she marched me to the guillotine-- yours I think might gleefully construct one of her own."

"That's a horrible thing to say!" said Penelope, hardly serious, as Eloise sat up, imitating a falling blade and crumpling to the floor.

"I do not think you have ever taken a single moment seriously!" chided Penelope as Eloise stood up and bowed.

"How you wound me!" Eloise cried, clutching her breast as if shot through the heart.

"You cannot both be beheaded and shot" Penelope remarked drily.

"I will be the very first!" crowed the younger girl "and then Lady Whistledown will write a eulogy so moving Byron retreats in shame!"

Penelope raised an eyebrow "I think Byron would be quite unmoved by Lady Whistledown's writing."

Eloise shook her head decidedly "Have you read Byron, Pen? It's all fanciful nothings on love and nature and pain and men! Whistledown writes of much more important things! Marriage, society, women!"

Penelope laughed "So you value writing on marriage over love, society over nature, and women over men? I am not entirely certain you are cut out to be a writer at all, then!"

Eloise huffed "I can be a writer without being a poet, can I not?"

Penelope shrugged, apparently no longer interested in the topic.

"Do you not care even a little that there is a woman in our midst is more widely read within the ton than Byron or Shelley?"

Penelope sighed gently "I think I might care, but you've grown so attached to Whistledown it becomes hard to even think about her writing."

"I am not attached, Pen," Eloise responded, her brow creasing at the perceived insult. "I am invested."

"I think you're more invested in the mystery of the woman than her writing."

"If she even is a woman"

"You really think a man could have written all that?"

"Why not, Pen?"

Penelope shugged, chewing on the inside of her cheek in thought. "I cannot imagine a man writing like that."

"Like what? How is a man's writing different from a woman's?"

"I do not mean the style, I mean the subject. What man would be so invested in the lives of women as to write, print, and distribute papers about them, with their men existing on the periphery. Men best write about themselves, I think. Do you not?"

Eloise took a full turn about the room in silence before again facing her friend "I think you to be the wisest person-- man or woman I have ever met, Penelope Featherington."

"Why?" was all of Penelope's reply

"Because you are right of course! We must ask ourselves who has something to gain from Lady Whistledown's publications. Men will marry and make money regardless, but women--" Eloise's face was flushed and her eyes bright "--women have something to gain from what she writes. Well. I suppose perhaps only one woman."

Penelope nodded slowly, her look of discomfort mistaken by Eloise as one of confusion.

"I could be wrong, you know." she managed

Eloise took another step and placed her hands on Penelope's shoulders "You are not wrong, Pen. I can feel it."

"Ehm. Feel… what, exactly?"

"Whistledown! I can feel her as if she's here in this room, as if she is watching us to see if we will be the ones to find her, before the queen, before the ton, before any of them!"

Eloise grinned at Penelope as one might at a co-conspirator, too absorbed in the mystery to see the blush fading from her friend's cheeks.

"Ever since I warned her I have felt hopeless, Pen. But I might catch her yet. Mama told me you would raise my spirits and she was right, Pen!"

Penelope stood up, shrugging Eloise's hands off her shoulders.

"What was the point of warning her if you still want to catch her?" she asked

"Well I still want to know who she is, do you not?" Eloise asked.

Penelope shrugged again.

"Since the queen does not want my help, I instead seek Lady Whistledown out as an admirer, a lover of her work, and a devotee to her words."

Penelope laughed softly at Eloise's impassioned ode.

"Will you ask for writing lessons from your captive once you've imprisoned her?" Penelope asked.

"Do you not think that is a fair bargain? She aids me, and I keep her secret."

"It is no bargain at all. Besides, Eloise, I think you a much better writer than she." Penelope said with a grin.

Eloise embraced Penelope tightly, her fingers caught in coils and ringlets.

"You are my most dearest friend to say such a thing" she said, speaking with absolute sincerity for the first time all day.

"I thought I was your most dear friend before I said that" Penelope laughed.

The two stood like that for a moment, embracing in silence, until Penelope realized she had been holding her breath the whole time and turned away to catch it. Eloise managed to keep all her fingers, which barely escaped the grasp of Penelope's auburn coils and the blades of her hairpins.

She too, had to catch her breath.

Chapter Text

Penelope could hear her mother wailing. Shouting or crying, she wasn't sure. Penelope felt rather bad about having no more tears to cry for Papa. Her well of grief was more shallow than her mothers', perhaps. But Penelope suspected it wasn't losing love that Mama was mourning, but the heavy burden weighing down on her with the Featherington patriarch gone. Penelope and her mother did not have the same kind of genial fondness that Eloise and her Mama had, Penelope thought. But she also knew that come heaven, hell, or high water, the Featherington widow would never stop in her pursuit of success for her daughters. An exhausting thought.

Any chances of Penelope sitting out the next season were dashed, she could already picture her mother begging members of the ton to honor the widow of the late Baron by aiding her daughters. Philippa and Prudence would be as good of sports as possible, and she would be there, subject to even more pity now, a mustard dress covered in ribbons and tears.

Penelope sat down on the chest in front of her bed, comforting herself with the memory of Eloise's hair tickling her neck as they embraced.

Her two wants were at odds. On one hand, she wanted the whole thing to be over. The gaudy gowns and the awkward dances were too unpleasant to go through again. On the other hand, to her it was the only way to get married. She wasn't like Eloise in that way-- writer or not, she wanted to be married, to have a house filled with noise and merriment and love. The dresses and dances would all be for naught if she gave up now, though she knew her mother would die before letting her become a spinster. And since the events of the month prior, she had all the more need to marry-- quickly and well. She did not envy Eloise's attitude, but she did envy her family, who could and would support her regardless of her marriage, though perhaps Mrs. Bridgerton would never admit to it.

Penelope thought about the poet Lord Byron, who Eloise had gone on about at length. A man writing of love and nature without marriage or society (though she imagined Eloise had embellished his disdain for the latter just a bit). I think that might be what Eloise wants, she thought. The problem was that Penelope liked society. She wanted a marriage. And Eloise would be just as happy dropped off on the moors with paper, pens, and a bundle of cigarettes delivered once every fortnight. They were the kind of friends, she thought, who were inseparable as girls but who would have nothing in common as women. Eloise would marry well, and for love-- who couldn't love her after a day of knowing her? For all her childish protests, Eloise was witty and charming, even more than her favored sister, her dark eyes never vacant of thought for even a moment. With a heart like hers and a name like her father's, Eloise would be married by the end of next season. Penelope thought of writing out her congratulations as Lady Whistledown, distant but perhaps impressed. Or perhaps Lady Whistledown would not return for the next season, the mystery fading away as more scandals were more certain to immerge.

Mama's wailing had ceased while Penelope was lost in thought, and she breathed out a sigh in the moment of peace.

___

The next week passed in much of the same way, with Penelope lost in thought against the melody of her mother's lamentations. With Eloise spending a month with Daphne and the duke, Penelope's escapes were brief. Few callers and fewer friends appeared at the Featherington home, save for a few that were hurried into private calls with Mama.

In her few spare moments, Penelope thought of Lady Whistledown. There was no cause for her to write save her own family's struggles, and while she had not objected to writing about just that in the past, she couldn't quite muster the coldness possible to use her mother's tears as fodder for gossip. Perhaps, Penelope thought, she might wield Whistledown's credibility to restore the Featherington's name. There were downsides-- if successful, Penelope would have signed the next year away to another season of watching the ton propagate itself and her mother shamelessly trying to secure her daughters' future. Better still, perhaps, than the alternative beginning to look more and more likely: impoverished spinsterhood.

Penelope stood up, shaking the hauntings of the future from her head and walking to the drawing room. As she neared, she heard her mother's voice, with no sign of its usual melancholic grandeur. Penelope walked into the room, where the three other Featherington women were chatting amongst themselves rather pleasantly, with Mama smiling at Penelope's arrival. The smile did not reach Mama's eyes-- Penelope did not expect it to-- but while she was perhaps not as jovial as she wanted to appear, the tension of loss was all but gone.

"Penelope." she said, her smile steadfast. "I was wondering when you would join us, I've just told your sisters of our good fortune."

"Good fortune, Mama?" Penelope asked tentatively.

"Relatively so, at least. I have secured us a tenant"

"A tenant, Mama? To share our home?"

"No, Penelope, the tenant is leasing the house. One Mr. Dodson, I believe. He's been in the navy for some time now and has made rather a lot of money out of the venture it would seem, and is looking for a house in the city to lease now that he's back home."

"He's leasing the entire house?"

Mama nodded. "I decided it would be a shame to let the home go unused while we are in Bath."

"Bath?" Penelope looked at her mother, trying to make out the pieces of the puzzle that didn't fit together.

Her mother sighed, her voice lowering slightly. "Your father's bookkeepers are still-- looking through his paperwork, ensuring we are looked after. But until that is settled, the renter will be paying more to lease the house than we will for the one I've arranged in Bath. We, my girls, get a wonderful holiday away whilst retaining an income from a wealthy tenant"

Penelope frowned. Could her mother truly believe that the accountants could find a stash of money that had remain un-wagered amongst Papa's things?

"For how long?" Penelope asked, her voice catching on the final word.

"It all depends on messy bits of business we have no need to trouble ourselves with. I am certain all will be sorted out by year's end."

Penelope's stomach dropped. "That's months away, Mama! We are to move to Bath for months then, with the hope that Papa has grown more responsible in death than in life?"
 

"It's not as if you're leaving a trail of suitors behind to mourn your absence." The matriarch said, barely clinging to her last threats of calmness. "We are not needed in London, and everyone will understand why a grieving widow and her daughters needed to leave the city that had caused them such harm."

"So it's not just about the renter money, is it?" Penelope said in realization. "It's to ensure no one in London has to watch as you rabidly pick up the broken pieces of the family name, is that it?"

Portia, not used to the tone and already on edge, just looked at Penelope while the other girls watched in hushed silence.

"I'm sorry, Mama." Penelope said with genuine regret, her voice returning quickly to a humorless calm.

"This is for your sake, just as much for mine" Portia said with a wobble. "Mr. Dodson moves in next week, so we will be on our way to Bath by Monday."

"Monday?" Penelope had assumed the holiday was closer to a month than a week away. "But Eloise does not return until the following week. I cannot even say goodbye?"

"We will all be writing to our friends, Penelope. I see you writing all the time, I assumed they were letters, were they not? Surely you and your Bridgerton friend can continue the tradition. If you think you are the only one who has made sacrifices, you are far more self-minded than I thought you."

Phillipa's voice had a familiar edge to it now, not out of pride but of pain. Hearing this, Penelope was not apt to reply with anything other than acquiescence, but she realized now that not only would she be leaving her friend, but Lady Whistledown as well. There would be no way to get the pages to the London press in secret, no opportunity to help her family using her only tool. But Mama did not know this-- she could not.

But with everything lost-- the disasters of the social season, the death of her father, and the crucible of pressure that was living with her mother-- Penelope could not imagine survival without Eloise. Eloise, who was the only one who continued to call after the rest of the city had paid their condolences out of politeness and pity-- the only one who visited just for her. The only one who did not think of her as a failed woman of the ton or the youngest Featherington daughter. And now she was to be without her for months.

Penelope excused herself from the room, just making it to her rooms before collapsing into tears, more than she had cried for Colin or her father. She was to leave London-- removed from society and without the hope of marriage on the horizon. Lord Byron, as brilliant a poet as he was, was a foolish man not to write about such things in favor of things as fleeting as women and love.

__

When the Featherington women left London on that Monday, there was little fanfare. Penelope had tried, in the last few days, to write a final Whistledown missive, but nothing would come, nothing that would be enough to patch up the family in enough ways to stay. So instead, her final letter to London was to Eloise alone. She could not bear to write of all the ways her friend would be missed, so instead she wrote that by the time the Featheringtons returned to London, the brilliant Eloise would have discovered the identity of Lady Whistledown, well on her way to becoming a writer with a room of her own.

//

When we two parted

   In silence and tears,

Half broken-hearted

   To sever for years,

Pale grew thy cheek and cold,

   Colder thy kiss;

Truly that hour foretold

   Sorrow to this.

The dew of the morning

   Sunk chill on my brow—

It felt like the warning

   Of what I feel now.

Thy vows are all broken,

   And light is thy fame;

I hear thy name spoken,

   And share in its shame.

They name thee before me,

   A knell to mine ear;

A shudder comes o'er me—

   Why wert thou so dear?

They know not I knew thee,

   Who knew thee too well—

Long, long shall I rue thee,

   Too deeply to tell.

In secret we met—

   In silence I grieve,

That thy heart could forget,

   Thy spirit deceive.

If I should meet thee

   After long years,

How should I greet thee?—

   With silence and tears.

- Lord Byron, 1817

Chapter Text

"Are you even listening to our guests?!"

Portia's venomous whisper forced the return of Penelope's mind to the situation at hand. The dam of her mental refuge had burst at the intrusion, and she found herself back in the drawing room at the rented home in Bath. She was seated, still, on a little brown settee, identical to the one her sisters shared and next to her mother, seated so rigidly that she seemed to be hovering over a navy chair.

At Portia's less-than-subtle reprimand, Penelope sat up a bit straighter, flashing an apologetic smile to the two men seated with the Featherington women.

The Twining brothers had arrived in Bath several weeks ago on business, and had spent much of the last few days in the Featherington house. Branwell, the eldest Mr. Twining, had apparently (Penelope had her doubts about this part of the story) seen Phillipa in town on a walk and, smitten immediately, cast aside propriety in the attempt to speak with her so quickly he tripped over a loose stone and fell at her feet, with only a small cut and a bruised ego to show for it. Phillipa is said to have stifled her laughter just in time to save the poor man from self-imposed exile, helping him up and tending to the 'monstrous head wound' that had looked much more like a scratch when Penelope saw it.

Regardless of what unimpressive truths lay beneath Phillipa's grand retelling of the story, the elder Mr. Twining had been so grateful for Phillipa's help (said help consisting of dragging him back to the Featherington house and asking Penelope to ask a maid to fetch a wet cloth) that he had returned every day since. After the first few visits, Portia had stopped insisting that Prudence and Penelope socialize as well, leaving Phillipa and Branwell to their own devices as she pretended not to listen in on their daily conversations, hoping that if she prayed enough times outside the drawing room that Branwell might propose.

But today, Penelope had been called to the drawing room once again along with Prudence to meet Mr. Twining's younger brother, Patrick, who had come along with his brother on Branwell's daily visit.

Penelope, realizing her mother expected her to say something, cleared her throat.

"So, Patrick, do you also work in textiles?" she asked, only realizing she had blundered when an almost imperceptible giggle escaped Prudence's mouth and her mother's smile grew cold. Even Branwell raised his eyebrow, realizing the youngest Featherington had not been paying attention to the conversation at all.

Patrick laughed in spite of himself and smiled good-naturedly.

"Yes, Miss Featherington. As I was saying-- actually as I have been saying for a good quarter of an hour now, I am working under my brother to help manage the factory in Manchester."

Penelope felt her face turn red, internally groaning at the image of the redness in her face being made even brighter by her dress, which reminded her of a week-old lemon custard.

"Please excuse me, Mr. Twining, I must not have slept well, I cannot seem to keep my mind on any one task today for very long. It was not a defect of your story but rather of my manners." Penelope said quickly, several words getting stuck in her throat.

"Well I should say not, I rather thought my story quite interesting, all the excruciating details of textile production laid out in perfect detail. Would you like me to repeat it, since you seem to have floated off somewhere the first time? I'll add even more detail about factory life to entice you to listen." Patrick's joke somehow managed to poke fun of Penelope while simultaneously easing her humiliation, her mother distracted by her own seemingly genuine laughter.

"Somehow, Mr. Twining, I do not think you adding more details to your honorable profession of questionable conversational value would do much to aid in your storytelling, hm?" Penelope's volley was half in jest, half punishment for his laughter at her expense.

"Miss Featherington, how you wound me!" Patrick said, putting a hand over his heart.

Penelope frowned. Only a month ago, Eloise had made the same joke in London, though she had certainly outdone Patrick, considering her 'wounds' included not only a shot to the heart but a mimed guillotining as well.

"At this point," continued Patrick, "Two Featherington women have been involved-- however indirectly-- in the wounding of two Twining brothers. Is this not what Shakespeare imagined when writing the feud of the Capulets and Montagues?"

Portia laughed merrily, making an almost-tasteless comment that somehow both put poor Branwell on the spot and horrifically misrepresented the ending of Romeo and Juliet, but by then Penelope was gone again, the red fading from her face finally as she remembered Eloise's dramatic approximation of the fall of a guillotine blade. Eloise had played dead for only a moment before she had found her own silence unbearable, her bright eyes popping open again, dark lashes fluttering open as if waking from a night of sleep before laughing and continuing on.

"What do you think, Miss Featherington?"

Penelope returned to the conversation again, with Patrick Twining looking at her expectantly

"I'm sorry, say it again?"

Patrick didn't laugh this time, but his smiled widened at catching her daydreaming again.

"I was wondering how you interpreted the end of Romeo and Juliet. Your mother believes it to be a play about the importance of a quick marriage, and you?"

"Well what do you think, Mr. Twining? Is that not what you take from the play?"

Penelope had cornered him-- he either had to lie and agree with Portia, or be honest and risk offense.

Patrick nodded, as if in begrudging approval of the quagmire Penelope had left him in.

"Well," he began slowly, "I agree with my hostess-- the tragedy of the young lovers might have been a comedy if they had married more hastily, rather than spending the entire 48 hours of their relationship shouting at balconies"

Penelope pursed her lips to keep from laughing in spite of herself.

"But, I also think that the tragedy of the play is not the deaths of the young lovers, but rather their fear of their own families-- the belief that if they were to tell their parents of the love sprouting between them, they would be cast out of their family and branded a traitor."

Portia nodded, bored with an interpretation she had not thought of herself. Phillipa and Branwell had stopped listening at some point in the last few minutes, Penelope had not been paying well enough attention to know precisely when. The two were now leaning almost improperly close to each other and whispering. Prudence was, to Penelope's surprise, still in the room, silently enjoying company for the sake of company.

"I ask you again, Miss Featherington," Patrick's voice pierced through Penelope's observations, "what is your interpretation?"

Penelope sat back and thought, wishing she could think of something devastatingly clever that would shut her mother up and wipe the smile (however genuine) off the younger Mr. Twining's face for just a moment. She had not seen the play in ages, but recalled that last autumn Eloise had enlisted her to play Juliet for a scene whilst she practiced a Romeo monologue. Penelope had asked her what the purpose of the exercise was, but now could not quite recall Eloise's answer.

"My interpretation is that one should not fall in love nor marry in such a short time as Shakespeare's star-crossed lovers. Whatever it was that Romeo and Juliet felt for one another was not truly love."

"Why not?" Patrick asked, leaning in.

"Because loving someone does not mean being unable to live without them." Penelope replied easily "It does not mean losing your sense of worth or self because you cannot see them again. It means forming a partnership, and honoring that partnership through life-- not chasing it into death."

Portia stared at her daughter thoughtfully, no doubt thinking of her own marriage: its successes, failures, and ultimate end. Had she ever seen her marriage as a partnership? Or even a contracted relationship forged in mutual respect? Penelope did not know the answer to either question, and Portia excused herself, blaming a sudden faintness, before Penelope could analyze her mother's face further.

Penelope's guilt at her mother's discomfort was interrupted by Patrick's long sigh.

"You seem rather cynical about love and marriage for a young woman unwed and unwidowed." Patrick said.

"You mistake me, I am not cynical of love and marriage. I am cynical of the poets who present such matters as if they are one and the same concern-- as if love is either a tragedy or a comedy, blessed or cursed by the whims of God himself."

Patrick nodded. "So tell me then, sibyl of love, Penelope Featherington, what do you make of your sister and my brother?"

Penelope snorted. "I think that if how they met is true then they are quite a good pair."

Patrick look puzzled. "How they met? Branwell said that your sister tripped and fell into his arms, is that not the truth of it?"

Penelope covered her mouth, overcome by laughter, full minutes passing before she could talk again, with Phillipa and Branwell, even without hearing the conversation, choosing to take their leave of the room to avoid Penelope's outburst, with Prudence following soon after.

"Alright well now you must tell me!" Patrick insisted, unable to help himself from laughing too.

"If that was what had really happened, Phillipa would have told me-- it's much too romantic for her to rewrite." Penelope said in short breaths, before detailing her sister's story of how her suitor had fallen in the street after catching her eye.

Patrick laughed harder than even Penelope had, the two gasping for air.

After several minutes of laughing, and several more of the silent intakes of breath, Patrick turned again to Penelope.

"I think," he said quite seriously, "that both your sister and my brother stumbled in the street, and have each altered the story to avoid their own embarrassment."

"I think that theory quite sound, Mr. Twining" Penelope nodded, in as serious a tone as she could muster.

"As long as the two of them are quite happy fawning over each other shamelessly, I see nothing wrong in it." Patrick said, his smile returning.

Penelope nodded. "I suppose you are right. No Romeo and Juliet, but perhaps that bodes well for the success of their courtship."

Patrick nodded, and the two continued to make analogies between Shakespeare's tragedy and the budding relationship of their siblings until Branwell appeared in the doorway.

"We must take our leave now," Branwell said to his brother, smiling politely at Penelope. The older Twining did not seem to have much of the joviality of his younger sibling, but he seemed polite and kind enough, and quite fond of Phillipa, which was enough for Penelope to return the polite smile.

Patrick and Penelope stood up, Patrick straightening his jacket to leave and Penelope bidding him goodbye.

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Featherington. I hope to stumble upon you again." Patrick said with a wink, and Penelope could not help but smile.

After the brothers left, Portia returned downstairs, her spirits apparently restored at seeing Phillipa look so truly happy.

"I must tell you, Phillipa. He is not titled; marrying him will not raise your status or return you to London. But he is a wealthy man, a good man too, it seems, who could ensure your comfort."

Penelope looked at her mother. She seemed more tired than she had in a while, but for the first time in a long time, her smile reached her eyes. All Portia Featherington had ever wanted was for her daughters to marry well. But the last few months had changed the Featherington matriarch-- seeing even one of her daughters in reach of happiness of comfort was enough, at least for now.

Phillipa grinned happily, and she and Prudence wandered off to gossip and theorize over Branwell's every word in search for clues of a potential proposal.

Portia and Penelope stood in silence for a moment.

"Mama, when I was talking about marriage, I did not mean to imply--"

"No matter at all." Portia said dismissively. "After that disaster of a social season ended and we left London, I did not expect even one of my daughters to end the year with marriage on the horizon. But Portia's match is all but confirmed, and the younger Mr. Twining seemed to enjoy your company today. He will not be quite as well-off as his brother, but perhaps if they end up opening another factory like they planned, Patrick will be put in charge of that one and you might have a prosperous future yet."

Penelope looked at her mother with raised eyebrows and a widening frown.

"Mama, I do not think--"

Portia interrupted her daughter again. "No of course you are right status is important, but if Prudence marries into a good family, then all will be well. You and Portia well cared for with Prudence tying our family to another of equal caliber. And I can finally rest."

Portia's smile looked so genuine that Penelope did not have the heart to deflate her mother's ideas of grandeur.

"I did just meet the man today, Mama."

Portia smiled knowingly. "I know, Penelope. But if I am right, and about these things I am always right, he will be back tomorrow to call on you."

Penelope smiled at her mother-- an attempt at gentle kindness rather than agreement. "I do not think we will be so lucky as to have both Twining brothers at our home again so soon, but perhaps."

Penelope's last remark was one meant to placate her mother, to prepare her for the disappointment of tomorrow when Branwell arrived alone and Penelope would be allowed a modicum of freedom.

-

Portia Featherington is not a perfect woman. But she is not a stupid woman, either-- and Patrick Twining did indeed come calling at the Featherington house the next day.

//

Why then, O brawling love! O loving hate!

O any thing, of nothing first create!

O heavy lightness, serious vanity,

Misshapen chaos of well-seeming forms,

Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health,

Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is!

This love feel I, that feel no love in this.

- William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet

Chapter Text

The Twining brothers were perfect gentlemen.

Branwell began arriving every day with gifts for Phillipa, a flower that reminded him of her, a trinket to think of him by, a hairpin that matched her eyes. The two were smitten with each other, no matter how their romance had begun.

Patrick did not accompany his brother every day, but at least several times a week the younger man would arrive at the Featheringon's home in Bath with a boyish grin and a teasing jest waiting on his lips. Penelope only realized she looked forward to his visits on the days where he did not appear at the door with his brother, and a twinge of disappointment colored her day as she idly listened in on Branwell and Phillipa's innocent if rather dull conversations.

On the days Patrick did come to the house, he was fawned over by Portia until Penelope managed to save him, and the matriarch returned to spying in on her elder daughter. Prudence was always fluttering about nearby, though she more and more frequently enjoyed the solitude of her own thoughts now that her mother had two bachelors on which to fixate. 

Patrick did not bring gifts, and Penelope was quite grateful for it, having never been very good at the art of accepting presents. He did not fawn over her, nor she him, talking instead of whatever had happened in Bath that week or the news Patrick received from Manchester. He had of course been to London, but was always interested to hear Penelope discuss the goings-on of the city's titled inhabitants. Despite the newfound wealth of he and his brother, Patrick Twining would never be invited into that world. Times might be changing, with new classes of merchants and factory owners finding profits that rivaled even the members of the ton. But London was not ruled by coin, but by name. Patrick Twining could be the richest man in all of England and still not engaged by the aristocracy. But he did not seem to mind, Penelope noticed. He listened in fascination, of course, but could not help but laugh at strict nature of London's social season-- the ways that the rules had been set and unions had been arranged before the young people attended the first ball. Penelope, offended at first by his dismissal of what she considered her way of life, eventually found the humor in it all and laughed alongside him.

"I must again tell you that it is not quite so dramatic as you make it." Penelope reminded him one afternoon in response to his laughter. "We all take it quite seriously."

"You cannot tell me that there exist not even a few members of the ton who have no desire to play this game." Patrick said, his laughter subsiding. 

"Some of the men, I suppose, would rather be out riding or gambling and wait a few years to find a wife." Penelope agreed.

"And the women? They are all quite ready to ascend to married life?"

Penelope let a ghost of a smile appear on her face. "There's one young woman, I suppose, though she is not meant to begin her first social season until next year."

"Is this girl you, perhaps?" Patrick mused.

Penelope laughed politely, shaking her head. "I am not good at the politics of it all, I'm afraid, but I did not mind it. No, I'm speaking of my friend, Eloise. She thinks that if she is married her first season she will have no time to go on and become a famous writer. As we speak, I am certain that she is plotting for a way to escape her debut."

Patrick smiled. "Why does she  believe being married precludes her from writing? You know of Mary Wollstonecraft?"

Penelope nodded. "I believe so, but I have not read her work."

"Well I believe she continued to write after marrying William Godwin. Nothing quite as radical as her earlier work, but she continued."

"And what of after she had children, did she still continue then?"

Patrick frowned "She died giving birth to her second child, Mary. Godwin was quite heartbroken over it if I recall."

"That poor little girl having no mother in the world." sighed Penelope. "But you see, even if marriage does not stop a woman's writing, children very well might."

"That seems a big unfair, she did die having the child, it is not as if she could not manage writing and raising little Mary."

"Well then perhaps the part of her soul that made her such a good writer was passed into the infant girl, and she will become a great writer of the new century since her mother could not."

Patrick nodded. "She very well might. Percy Shelley, the great poet? I have heard he grows estranged from his wife and visits Mary Godwin more and more frequently. Perhaps he will inspire her."

Penelope laughed. "You are making this up, surely; you are just as bad as a gossip as a young London woman!"

Patrick held both hands up defensively. "Aristocrats do not have a monopoly on scandal and gossip, my Penelope, the rest of us have been doing it much longer and much better. You read the poets for light entertainment, we read them as the creators of worlds."

Penelope rolled her eyes. "Fine, though I do not believe that the daughter of Mary Wollstonecraft is carrying on with Percy Shelley, and will not believe it, even if you told me you saw them romping around with your own eyes!"

The pair had a good laugh before Patrick stood up, holding an imaginary glass. "A toast, to the soon to be Mary Shelley--"

Penelope gave Patrick a half-serious stare.

"Alright, alright! A toast, to Mary Godwin! May she live to be as talented and celebrated an author as her mother, and may she find happiness with a certain poet, who I shall not name for fear that Miss Featherington will run me out of her house and never let me return."

Penelope groaned, but raised her own imaginary goblet. "To Mary Godwin." she said finally, and the two drank their invisible wine before sitting back down again, quite amused with themselves.

They remained in quiet for a while, Patrick certainly trying to recall a line from any of the writers he had just listed to impress Penelope, and Penelope lost in thought about three women: Mary Wollstonecraft, Mary Godwin, and Eloise Bridgerton. She would have to remember to write Eloise about her conversation with Patrick; she would had certainly read something of Wollstonecraft and as laughable as it was, Penelope would take joy in passing along the gossip about Godwin and Shelley's supposed indiscretions.

Eloise had only written once since Penelope's arrival in Bath, a rather obscenely long missive lamenting her friend's departure from London and accusing her of abandonment. Penelope had responded with sincere apologies, promising Eloise she could visit Bath any time she wanted. She told her of Phillipa's good fortune in finding a suitor, and of the younger Twining brother's visits. She wrote that she thought Eloise and Patrick would be fast friends were they to meet. But Eloise had not responded in the fortnight since Penelope had sent the letter, and she now was overcome with worry that she had said the wrong thing, had not been quite apologetic enough or had flaunted her new acquaintance in the face of her now-lonely friend. 

"Where have you gone now?" Penelope looked to Patrick at his voice breaking the silence. "You wandered off."

"I was thinking of Eloise. You would like her, I think."

Patrick nodded. "I am certain I would be charmed by any friend who keeps company such as yours, Penelope."

Penelope flushed at Patrick's almost forward endearment, racking her brain for a grateful yet clever response. She was saved, thank God, by what sounded like a mix between a laugh, shout, and squeal from the next room. She looked to Patrick, who grinned knowingly.

"What was that?" Penelope asked, standing up in alarm.

"Oh I think I might have an idea." he laughed. "Come, let us go find the commotion."

-

The pair walked into the hall to find that indeed two distinct noises had been made. Penelope guessed, based on the occupants of the room, that Branwell had just in fact asked for Phillipa's hand in marriage. The squeal, it would seem, had been from her, and from the look on both of their faces, she had accepted as soon as she had enough air in her lungs to do so. The other sounds seemed to have come from a jubilant Portia, who had been listening in from the hall and forgotten herself in glee.  She had somehow managed to wedge herself between the newly-engaged couple, quite literally inserting herself into the arrangement.

"Congratulations, brother." Patrick said warmly. Branwell, still trying to hold onto masculine dignity, nodded in polite thanks, though his flushed face and barely-concealed smile patched Phillipa's perfectly.

"I cannot believe you did not tell me he was going to ask her today!" Penelope scolded Patrick in a whisper.

"He swore me to secrecy, what if your sister had refused? I would not like to be the reason to add on to his humiliation."

"You know very well she would have said yes no matter how he had asked, you just thought it would be funny to see my face."

Patrick shrugged. "Alright, that certainly factored into my decision to keep his secret for the afternoon."

Penelope laughed, and went to congratulate her sister as Patrick clapped his brother on the back; the Twining brothers and the Featherington women celebrated together. Oddly enough, Portia's bold and rather off-putting honesty seemed to be welcomed by the brothers who, while both polite, had no need for the rules of decorum that governed London's elite. Branwell seemed truly happy at not only Phillipa's acceptance of his offer, but of Portia's exuberant response. Even Patrick's need to lovingly mock his brother and his new fiancee was extinguished for the time being, and the cynicism that usually accompanied his words were entirely absent. Even Prudence rejoined her family, and the group of them laughed and jubilated until the light began to fade from the windows.

Eventually, the brothers said their goodbyes, with Branwell's eyes lingering on Phillipa long enough that had they been in London, Penelope was certain Lady Whistledown would have written of it as a scandal. She had not thought of Lady Whistledown in weeks, she realized. How disappointed Eloise would be to discover that the woman behind Whistledown had thought of her pseudonym less frequently than Eloise herself.

"Patrick forgot his hat." Portia said to Penelope, motioning to the garment forgotten. Penelope could not help but laugh. Mama had almost certainly stolen his hat away and placed it back after he left so that he would be forced to return the next day to retrieve it.

"I will make certain he will take it with him the next time he calls." Penelope promised with a grin.

Penelope tidied both rooms that had hosted the brothers, trying to decide what her reaction would be if Patrick asked her what Branwell had asked Phillipa today. She would say yes, of course. Patrick was kind when he wanted to be and brutally clever the rest of the time. Penelope knew she would not have the same look Phillipa wore today, thought: one of absolute bliss and delight, as if the entire world collapsed and began again when she was asked to be a wife. But she did not think Patrick would expect that from her. And that was one of the reasons Penelope was so fond of him. The easy conversation and lack of expectation on her own behavior allowed her to worry not of what the world might think of her. Perhaps part of that was simply owing to the fact that this was not London and he was not a titled man she had to impress to maintain her reputation. But at least some part of it, she was certain, was Patrick himself.

A maid entered the room as Penelope finished tidying. "Miss?" she interrupted Penelope's thought's politely.

"I know the cushions are not quite right but I cannot figure out how you get them to look quite so firm after they've been sat on and leaned against. I just needed something to do."

"Oh, it's not that miss, someone's come calling for you."

Penelope laughed, "I truly thought he could go a full day without his hat." She picked up Patrick's forgotten hat and brought it to the door, ignoring the maid's confused look.

"Is your hat really so vital to your sleep that you could not go to bed without it?" Penelope called down the hall, the guest appearing out of the front room where they had clearly been snooping.

"I will admit, I have not once tried sleeping with a man's hat on, but if you recommend it I will indeed try it this very night."

Eloise's clear voice interrupted Penelope's thoughts of Patrick. Before the latter could open her mouth, Eloise had closed the gap between them, snatched the hat from her friend's hands and placed it on top of her own head, her eyes glittering in mischievous delight.

"I think it rather suits me, no?"

//

“if I see but one smile on your lips when we meet, occasioned by this or any other exertion of mine, I shall need no other happiness.”

 - Mary Shelley, née Godwin, Frankenstein

Chapter Text

"I think it rather suits me, no?"

The question hung in the air for a moment before Penelope again found words.

"Eloise? What are you here for?" she managed to get out.

Eloise adjusted her new hat (she had no intention of returning it to its original owner) and grinned. "Well for you, of course!"

Before Eloise had quite gotten out the first syllable, Penelope embraced the surprise visitor tightly. Eloise had no sharp reply and stopped fiddling with the hat long enough to hug Penelope back, resting her cheek on her friend's shoulder with an involuntary smile already on her lips.

It was Penelope who first broke the embrace.

"What on Earth are you doing in Bath, Eloise? You could not manage to write me back, but you managed the journey from London with no apparent travel companion."

"First of all, it was a surprise, Pen. Do not tell me that Bath has made you so dull as to have forgotten surprises." Eloise ignored Penelope's huff and continued. "Besides, by the time I had finished reading the first page I had made up my mind to come and give you the ever-glorious gift of my presence, I needed every moment of the next week to prepare. Once Mama heard how urgent your situation was, she finally allowed me to come unattended, so I had no need for a companion, especially for a journey so short."

"What do you mean by my situation… and why exactly is it urgent?" Penelope asked, having caught about 50 percent of Eloise's sped-up monologue.

"Well, Mama has grown quite--" Eloise paused thoughtfully. "Attached. With her favorite daughter out of the house I have been left to pick up the slack in the honorable duty of befriending my mother. She would not have let me come if it were not a matter of life and death, you must understand, Pen."

"You have said an awfully many amount of words while saying absolutely nothing, Eloise." responded Penelope dryly.

"Alright! Well I needed Mama to allow me to come straight away and without worrying that I had abandoned her. So, naturally, she believes you to be desperately ill with a horrific but entirely non-contagious disease, and that in light of the odds, you have asked me to come to Bath to tend to you in what very well could be your final days." Eloise squeaked out the last words, wincing in a relatively mild case of shame.

"You mean to tell me that your mother, and thus your mother's friends, and thus the entire population of London, believes me to be on my death bed?" Penelope asked slowly.

"No, no! I swore her to secrecy, I swear to you no one else knows. But still, next time you see her it wouldn't entirely hurt to throw in a cough or too and a mention of how grateful you am for my life-restoring presence, no?"

"I swear, Eloise, if either of us is close to death it is you, who cannot hold any violence I am about to commit against me!" Penelope's threats of violence were in jest, but her annoyance was at least part in earnest. For all of Eloise's charming qualities, and in spite of all of the ways Penelope felt indebted to her, Eloise, in all her charismatic brilliance, was quick to make decisions without considering their effect on the people around her, even those for which she cared deeply. It was, hence, Penelope's job to decide that she would not disturb her mother at the late hour, instead getting Eloise settled tonight and telling Mama in the morning that Eloise would be staying with them in Bath for a while.

"Why have you arrived so late, did you not leave early this morning?" Penelope asked finally.

"Well I meant to, but half of the maids have caught something horrible in the last week, so I ended up leaving later than intended." Eloise, paused, as if only now seeing the faint little stress wrinkles hovering over Penelope's brow.

"Pen, I am sorry. I should have just left tomorrow early so you would not have to entertain so late. And I should have told you I planned to come a week ago, but-- in my head, it seemed so spontaneous and romantic to arrive unannounced. I should have thought of the stress it might cause you."

Penelope, in spite of herself, let a smile sneak onto her face. "You arrived, unaccompanied and without notice in Bath after dark because it was… romantic?"

"You would mock me after I have journeyed halfway 'round the world for you, Pen? Not romantic in the way you think of a man whom you hope will ask you to dance. In the way that a good poem or a dewdrop on a leaf is romantic."

Eloise laughed as Penelope embraced her again. "I cannot say I miss the anxieties your impulses brought me when we were together in London, but you are the only woman in the world who would describe a leaf as romance, so perhaps I will not immediately turn you out, and in thanks you can list all of the other things you find particularly 'romantic' so that I might remember them when a suitor arrives asking how he might win over your cold little heart."

"My heart is perfectly warm, thank you! I will tell you of my list, but I do so in confidence, it is not to be used against me next season or anywhere else." Eloise responded, back to thinking in quips and going a million miles a minute now that Penelope seemed to have forgiven her sins. Penelope led Eloise up to the second floor where Penelope's rooms were, perpetually shushing her as Eloise, too eager to please, listed absolutely everything she had ever seen, smelled, or thought of that reminded her of romance.

-

"Oh! And the way that curtains flutter when you've left the windows open on a spring day, the smell of the grass up north a few days after spring has arrived so the flowers have bloomed and do not overpower the scent of--"

Penelope was, despite her genuine interest, truly relieved when the pair reached her door and she had an excuse to interrupt Eloise.

A maid helped both undress and prepare for bed, under strict orders that she was not to tell Lady Featherington that Eloise was there until Penelope had a chance to do so the next morning. Once the maid left, Penelope got into bed, while Eloise grabbed her new hat once more and put it back on, both girls in Penelope's nightdresses

"Next season all the ladies will be wearing it like this, I think." Eloise said with mock certainty.

"And by 'like this' you mean borrowed nightgowns paired with men's crooked hats?" Penelope laughed.

Eloise pouted and straightened her hat, sitting on top of Penelope's duvet. "Well when you say it like that it doesn't sound as glamourous as I am imagining, Pen."

"Yes, I know, you are indeed very glamourous." Penelope said, sitting up and grabbing Patrick's hat off Eloise's head.

"If you're taking my most beloved accessory I do expect you to replace it, Penelope Featherington."

"Patrick left it here, and I would prefer if you were not wearing it when he comes back in the morrow to retrieve it."

"You mean to tell me that this is the very hat of the world-famous Patrick Twining, of the greatest textile factory in all of Manchester--nay, in all of England!"

Penelope groaned. "I am never writing to you again after this, nor will I tell you anything else in confidence to avoid your mockery."

"I am not mocking you!" Eloise cried out in earnest. "I am mocking your new friend Patrick, clearly."

Penelope smacked Eloise with the brim of the hat, and both collapsed hopelessly on the bed into laughter.

"So tell me of the young Mr. Twining, Penelope, I have been waiting eagerly for more news."

"You act as if he is a suitor, my God, Eloise."

"Is he not, then?"
"I keep him company whilst his brother visits with Phillipa. And it's all worked out in the end, he asked her to marry him only a few hours ago."

"Phillipa? Engaged?" Eloise made a show of falling off the bed in surprise. At this point, Penelope expected the dramatics and didn't bother to do much more than tilt her head and raise an eyebrow until Eloise popped her head back up from the floor.

-

By the end of their conversation recounting Patrick's most recent visit and Eloise's journey to Bath, the moon had begun to set, and the two finally said goodnight. Laying her head on her pillow, Penelope felt Eloise's small chin rest on the place where her shoulder met her neck.

"How long do you think you'll stay?" Penelope whispered into the dark.

"However long it takes for you to heal completely from the horrible and yet completely non-contagious disease I told Mama you were ailed with." came back the reply, the humor in Eloise's voice only just now tinged with sleepiness.

Penelope laughed softly, and Eloise wrapped an arm around her bedfellow's middle. The pair laid like that for a while, the shallow breathing proof enough that neither was quite asleep.

"Tell him no, Penelope." Eloise's voice, usually strong and clear, had been reduced to a shallow whisper.

Penelope half turned her head, having all but fallen asleep. "What?"

"When Patrick asks you to marry him,  please say no."

Penelope did not respond for several beats. "He will do no such thing, Eloise."

"Yes, Pen, he will. And when he does, please say no." All of the dryness, the humor, the joy, the cynicism, and the grit that usually laced each and every word out of Eloise's mouth had evaporated in the air between them. All that was left was a vulnerable sincerity that burned her eyes.

"Goodnight, Eloise." was all of Penelope's eventual reply.

Despite Penelope's final words, both girls remained awake for what seemed like an hour. Only when the first rays of sun began to warm the horizon did Penelope finally drift off,  just as she felt a gentle kiss press against her shoulder and the warm breath of her almost-sleeping bedfellow.

//

What if you slept

And what if

In your sleep

You dreamed

And what if

In your dream

You went to heaven

And there plucked a strange and beautiful flower

And what if

When you awoke

You had that flower in you hand

Ah, what then?

  - Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Chapter Text

The next morning, Penelope informed Portia of Eloise's visit. Portia was most concerned about the excitement over a visitor taking away from Phillipa's engagement, and of course that London would hear of the intimate details of the family's situation through Eloise's eyes when she returned. But otherwise, the Featherington matriarch welcomed Eloise into the home politely, determined even more to have her new life respected by the Londoners when Eloise returned to tell of her visit. When breakfast was served, the dining table was set with an extra chair that had been almost certainly meant for Patrick, were he to arrive for his hat so early, but which Eloise assigned to herself gladly.

Eloise and Penelope had not talked of the former's request the night before. As far as Penelope was concerned, it had been a childish request of a friend who did not want her to move so far away. Eloise convinced herself of the same. There were far more interesting things to discuss, anyways.

Penelope was truly shocked that her mother was able to finish her plate with the relentless rapidity with which she battered poor Eloise with questions. Eloise had been appointed, without her knowledge, the representative of the entire city of London, and was thus made responsible for answering Lady Featherington's every query about home. Eloise did not plan on being run out of Bath for rudeness (though the image of her grabbing her too-long skirt to run as fast as she can away from a mob lead by Portia Featherington played on a loop in her mind) and thus answered questions for as long as she could with polite coolness.

Portia asked after the rest of the Bridgerton family, the Hastings, and the goings-on of the fortunate and unfortunate matches of the social season until she devolved into inquiries on the state of Madame Delacoix's shop, which she proclaimed must be in a terrible state without the three Featherington girls to dress. Eloise nodded politely to all of her hostess's comments of questionable taste, to Penelope's relief.

"And what of Whistledown?" Portia asked finally, finding a topic she was disinterested in enough to start on her second cup of tea.

Penelope turned to Eloise, next to whom she was seated, and found a winning smile in the place of the half-hearted grin that had been on Eloise's face for the past quarter hour.

"Well, Lady Featherington, I do not want to spoil my great reveal, but I have been getting much closer in my investigation. Alright, I will give you just one clue into what I have been thinking--"

Eloise's excited run-on was interrupted by Portia's waving her hand while she finished a mouthful of tea. "No, no, I mean  has she published anything since we have been away."

Eloise's face fell, much more in annoyance than disappointment. "No, I am afraid she has not. But that has not stopped my inquiries, of course-"

Before Eloise could get anything else out, Lady Featherington called for the plates to be moved from the table, ending the conversation before Eloise could gain the momentum to take control of the room. She excused herself immediately after, no doubt preparing for Patrick's impending arrival, instructing her daughters to take care to entertain their guest.

"I would rather like to hear about your investigation, Eloise." managed Phillipa through her last mouthful of scone.

"You won't even be living in London after you're married, why does Whistledown matter?" Prudence asked her sister.

Phillipa answered in the way of a non-committal shrug, looking again to Eloise.

"Well I am an investigator, and I mustn't give too much away if I am to preserve the variables I have set out to interrogate." said Eloise, ignoring Penelope's stifled laugh at the girl's serious look barely covering up her excitement. "But I will give you a hint, if you insist."

Phillipa nodded eagerly just as Prudence responded "No one is insisting anything, Eloise."

Eloise ignored the eldest Featherington daughter, glancing between Phillipa and Penelope. "All I will say is this-- I do not think Whistledown's silence is due solely to the end of the season." Eloise said this with all the dignity and mystery she could muster, which was entirely wasted on poor Phillipa.

"Come again?"

"Alright, Phillipa, let me put it another way-- I do not think Lady Whistledown has been quiet because the social season ended, or because she was but nearly caught by the queen's men. There's another reason why she has not written in these few months."

Phillipa nodded. "Well why has she stopped then, if not for those things?"

Eloise shook her head, quite satisfied in having entranced even one listener enough to deliver the following line: "I am quite sorry but that is truly all I can share about an open investigation."

Phillipa nodded quite understandingly, which was particularly kind of her considering that she did not, in fact, understand.

--

As predicted, Patrick Twining showed up before the morning was gone, amused and hatless. Portia had already readied the sitting room for his visit, and he realized far too late that once he had crossed the threshold he had no true chance of escape. Penelope had been honest the night before when she told her mother that she doubted he would come for his hat so soon, and so Portia had smuggled her upstairs to dress properly for company, which she had failed to do that morning. Eloise too, had failed to dress for company, but Portia had all but forgotten her the moment Patrick had walked in the door. Eloise hadn't minded at all-- as the Featherington women fawned upstairs over Penelope, she sat herself across from Patrick Twining in the otherwise empty room. They guessed each other's identities immediately, and quick pleasantries dried out into uncomfortable silence.

"Nice hat." she said, nodding at the retrieved accessory seated next to him on the settee.

Patrick nodded with a smile, picking it up and weighing it with his hands. "Yes I am rather fond of it, I suppose."

"Though it is not so nice as to merit a walk across town before tea time." Eloise said, a false laugh filling her mouth with an unpleasant taste. Patrick Twining seemed nice enough, she supposed. He knew who she was instantly and introduced himself politely. His smile seemed earnest, even endearing, and despite being rather unremarkable, he was handsome enough. And yet, Eloise realized only in the back of her mind, she did not seem to like him.

"Well." he cleared his throat, realizing he was a rabbit in the eye of a hawk. "I must admit to you, Miss Bridgerton, I did not return only for my hat."

"A shame, breakfast was cleared almost an hour ago." Eloise attempted to push past her snap judgement, which she knew to be unfounded, with humor, though when she had spoken she realized it sounded more like an accusation than a joke.

Patrick stifled a laugh by clearing his throat. "Yes, a shame I missed it."

"But you are not here for breakfast. Nor your hat." Eloise stated plainly, her directness no longer masked by civility.

"No, I am not, Miss Bridgerton."

"So what are you here for?" Eloise knew the answer very well, but she was not above the gentle cruelty of making young men uncomfortable, and had decided that her immediate dislike of Patrick must be due to some intrinsic flaw in him that her subconscious had yet to reveal.

Patrick cleared his throat once more, shifting in his seat, realizing his hasty assumption that all titled Londoners were as polite as Penelope was quite wrong. "Well I did need my hat. But I am always quite glad to spend a few hours with our mutual friend."

Eloise gave herself a headache from keeping her eyes from rolling. "So you are here, truly, for Penelope?"

"For Penelope." he nodded.

"Well we have both arrived for the same reason, it would seem." Eloise said without a smile.

Patrick laughed, thinking her statement a joke. "I suppose so, Miss Bridgerton. Though I would venture that my intentions are perhaps slightly different than your own."

The poor man had, without knowing it, signed a proclamation of war. Eloise decided in that moment that there was simply no one she disliked more than the kind and endearingly awkward Manchester factor manager that was Mr. Patrick Twining.

Luckily (for Patrick, mostly), Penelope entered the room soon after Eloise had begun thinking up battle strategies, and to Eloise's annoyance, the warlike staleness that had permeated the room disappeared to accommodate the warmth Penelope brought with her to each room she entered. Dressed now in only slightly lighter shade of yellow than the one she had worn at breakfast, Eloise felt like she had watched the preparation of a doll for sale, and slumped in her seat just enough for Penelope to notice with Patrick remaining oblivious. Not that he would have noticed if she had fallen to the floor dead in that moment; he was quite clearly distracted from every other living and non-living thing the moment Penelope entered.

Penelope sat next to Eloise and across from Patrick, apologizing for her absence and introducing the two, having no knowledge of their stilted conversation prior to her arrival. Eloise, seeing the pair greet so fondly and familiarly, realized that whether Penelope realized it or not, Lady Featherington had been right-- Patrick was enamored with Penelope, and it seemed as though Penelope was just as enthralled with him.

The couple entered into a friendly conversation easily, showing no discomfort or tentativeness. For a while, Penelope attempted to rope Eloise into their conversation, telling Patrick of what a great writer she was going to be, and insisting Eloise tell him about what she had read most recently. Aside from a short review of the poems of Katherine Phillips (given after much prodding), Eloise resisted Penelope's gentle herding, and Penelope eventually allowed her to sit in silence.

Eloise was not upset because of Patrick's attentions to Penelope. She was not being impolite because she truly disliked Patrick (though she would dare not admit it, I think) at all. She was upset because she could not figure out precisely why she was upset. Despite her fears, Penelope was thriving in Bath. Her sisters seemed kinder and her mother seemed saner than when they had left. Penelope was, as Eloise looked at her now, happier than she had been in a long time. Patrick, despite his success, his travels, and his money, rarely talked of himself, much preferring to inquire after Penelope's thoughts. As Eloise sat in silence as Patrick and Penelope talked, she realized her unhappiness was not because of Patrick, who was making Penelope smile brighter than she had in months. Rather, the source of her silence and self-pity was in that it was not she who was making Penelope laugh with such abandon. She was not the one coaxing out unexpected laughter from Penelope's lungs, not the one whose teasing brought a gentle blush to Penelope's cheeks.

 The selfishness of Eloise's own hurt struck her as if lightning, guilt soon overshadowing her annoyance with Patrick, and she silently repented for asking God to strike him down on his way home but moments ago. But her repentance did not soothe her confusion, nor her inability to understand why she saw Patrick's clear infatuation with Penelope as a threat to her own ties to her friend. She felt sick.

She excused herself suddenly, bumping into Lady Featherington, who had been eavesdropping  in the hall, on her way out.

"Eloise." the older woman said in a whisper. "Might you wait until he has left before returning to Penelope's side?" Eloise would have taken offense if she did not recognize the genuine plea in the speaker's eyes-- it was not a dislike of Eloise, but a hope that Patrick would feel more at ease sharing his heart with Eloise removed from the room that caused Portia to speak. Even Portia, who had dreamed of Penelope's titled match since before she had given birth, was willing to encourage the blooming romance given the circumstances (no doubt having pinned all her hopes to Prudence, poor thing). How did it come to be, thought Eloise, that I cannot offer one ounce of that same excitement for my dearest friend on what seems to be the eve of her engagement?

Eloise thought back to all of the many times Penelope agreed to be a part of her schemes, listened to her lament, encouraged her passions and quieted her angers. Penelope had been, for a very long time, Eloise's most singular friend, cherished relation, and dearest companion. And yet, despite all that familiarity, it was Patrick Twining, not Eloise, who had lifted her from her lingering sadness. Eloise Bridgerton found herself, standing next to Portia Featherington in that house in Bath, devastated. Not because of Penelope's happiness, but because she could not bring herself to celebrate it.

"Do not worry, Lady Featherington," said Eloise eventually. "I will let them be."

//

Forbear, bold youth, all’s Heaven here,

And what you do aver,

To others, courtship may appear,

’Tis sacriledge to her.

She is a publick deity,

And were’t not very odd

She should depose herself to be

A pretty household god?

First make the sun in private shine,

And bid the world adieu,

That so he may his beams confine

In complement to you.

But if of that you do despair,

Think how you did amiss,

To strive to fix her beams which are

More bright and large than this.

- Orinda aka Katherine Phillips, "An Answer to Another Persuading a Lady to Marriage"

Chapter Text

Patrick proposed by the end of the week, ending the doubts of everyone in the Featherington house of his intentions. 

As Lady Featherington (who served as a not-so-silent witness to the moment) told it, Patrick had quoted an indecipherable few lines of poetry before finally asking Penelope if she would marry him. He had stood up from his seat, grasping her hands gently until she joined him standing. Eloise could not manage to grasp the details of the proposal itself, as Lady Featherington built up to hysterics every time she attempted to tell it, which she had done four separate times to Eloise alone by the end of the day. Eloise only managed to catch that Penelope had answered 'yes' on the third retelling. Phillipa had been thrilled for Penelope, her younger sister marrying her own fiancé's younger brother both ensured Phillipa would have friend upon arriving in Manchester and that she would maintain a higher status than her sister in their new family as the wife of the eldest brother. Prudence had been quiet since Penelope's engagement; the eldest and now only sister with a chance of making a proper match was perhaps already feeling the weight of the importance of a future engagement. Lady Featherington was happy for her younger daughters for certain, but Prudence was certain this was in part because her mother believed that Prudence would find a man with a title to marry, with or without a fortune like the Twining's.

After Patrick had gone, red-faced and grinning (and holding onto the brim of his hat tightly, this time), the household celebrated in earnest for Penelope's engagement. Everyone drank, Portia most of all, who had put aside her respectability for long enough to begin several dances that required no music at all. Eloise joined the Featheringtons in their jubilation, finding a chair in the corner of the room and drinking from what at some point become her own jug of wine as she watched the women dance.

Eloise had neither exclaimed in excitement nor wept in horror at the news of Penelope's engagement. She felt rather strange, as if she was watching an opera of which she was not a part: an opera she had seen before and knew the ending by heart, confined to the audience when she wanted so badly to leap onto the stage and change the final aria, grabbing the young ingénue and telling her of the grave danger that was to befall her once the orchestra had quieted. But Eloise made friends with her cushioned chair and wine, smiling and shaking her head each time Penelope invited her to dance to the tune of Portia's drunken soliloquies. When all four Featheringtons were distracted by Prudence and Phillipa's reenactment of the proposal (directed by Lady Featherington, of course), Eloise slipped away to Penelope's room, her head aching from more than the wine.

Penelope, to her credit, thought the familial celebrations a bit absurd, and was only giving in because no one save the kitchen staff could see her mother's drunkeness. That being said, she could not help but be joyful. Not only was she engaged to a man who was kind and who could provide for her, but the mother who had seemed to be weighed down by her and the sisters who did not understand her were drunk off of her success, her celebration. She pushed her judgements aside long enough to learn her mother's dance, and clap enthusiastically at her sisters' all-but-humiliating reenactment of Patrick's proposal. 

Penelope noticed Eloise's disappearance soon after the latter had retired from the living rooms. Penelope tried to push down the bubbling feeling of resentment as soon as she felt it in her chest. Eloise, despite her polite little smiles, was clearly unhappy. Her drinking was not in celebration, but in distraction. Penelope tried to ignore the nagging thought, the little voice that asked her why Eloise could not forget herself long enough to think of just Penelope, at least for an evening. But if Eloise could not forget herself long enough to celebrate, Penelope knew it was because her friend saw the engagement as her own loss, rather than Penelope's gain, and thus attempted to rid herself of the bitter taste in her mouth with another sip of wine.

--
When Penelope finally retired to her room, her mother and sisters were still downstairs, realizing only belatedly that she was gone. Eloise was waiting on an ottoman on the far side of the room, closing her open book when the creaking door announced Penelope's entrance.

"The woman of the hour has arrived." Eloise said with a smile, putting down her book.
"I thought I would enjoy hours of my mother's attention much more than I did." Penelope smiled tiredly.
"I could have told you that had you asked." Eloise responded in teasing, her mood seemingly much improved from when she had left the celebration. 

The friends sat on Penelope's bed as they had every night since Eloise's arrival. On previous evenings, they had talked about London and Bath gossip alike, Lady Featherington's recent social blunders, and rumors that Branwell had drank too much at a pub and rather unbecomingly professed his love for his fiancée for every man in the city. But tonight, both were quiet; a few candles only lighting half of their faces. 

"You cannot leave me, Pen." Eloise broke the long silence finally, her voice cracking. "You cannot marry him and move to Manchester and leave me alone."

"Eloise." Penelope said, tenderness lifting her mouth into a gentle smile. "I am going to marry him. I am not leaving you any more than I did when we left for Bath." she cupped Eloise's face in her hand, brushing away the first tears just as they appeared. "You must stop seeing the things I do as actions taken for or against your favor. You are my dearest friend, Eloise. But my marriage is not about you. You cannot imagine the pain of the last four months. And Patrick has allowed me not to forget that hurt, but to find moments of happiness within it. I am going to take the opportunity to find more of those moments with him. That does not mean I cannot find similar ones with you."

"But you don't love him." Eloise said tearfully. "I know you don't!"

"If I wait for the love of your poets to earn my happiness I will die lonely and heartbroken. I am more in awe of Patrick's confidence, kindness, and brilliance each time I see him; I will not squander away an opportunity for joy with him because I cannot name my feelings only hours after he has asked to marry me." Penelope said softly.

A long silence draped over the two young women, with Penelope pulling her hands away after brushing a final tear from Eloise's face. Eloise chewed her lip, trying to find the words to describe the incredible pain she found herself in. It was more than the sadness of a friend moving away, she was certain. But there were no words, no ways to explain to Penelope the pit below her sternum that seemed to devour her from the inside out. 

She finally shook her head, the battle for words lost before the fighting for begun. She rested her head on Penelope's shoulder and began to sob in earnest, not the delicate tears from before, but sobs that shook both their bodies. Penelope embraced Eloise, petting her hair silently, knowing for certain now that whatever Eloise was struggling with she could not understand. 

It took no small length of time for Eloise's weeping to subside. The show of emotion might have embarrassed her in other circumstances, but she knew nothing of else to do. Finally, she picked her head up off her friend's shoulder, and smiled sadly.  "I cannot bear to mourn your happiness but I cannot make myself celebrate it, either. I am so sorry, Pen."

"We've all had far too much wine, Eloise, you mean nothing of it and will forget it in the morning." Penelope pushed away the hurt caused by Eloise's honesty to reassure the teary-eyed girl, excusing Eloise's sudden burst in emotion as a result of a long day and too much wine.

Eloise said nothing, drowning silently in the futility of her own words. No matter how many strings of words she put together in her mind, she could not find the right phrase to make Penelope understand what she had done to her. Eventually, she nodded, putting herself to bed without removing her dress, turning herself away from Penelope. Penelope readied herself for bed properly, grateful a persistent maid had not interrupted them in an attempt to aid them in the endeavor. Eloise laid silently while Penelope undid her hair and changed into her nightdress, and did not turn to face the girl when Penelope got under the sheets, grabbing onto Eloise tightly.  But Eloise did not pat the arm that wrapped around her, did not kick gently Penelope's feet with her own as she had so many nights before. 

"I promise you will feel better in the morning, Eloise. This will all be forgotten." Penelope said, kissing Eloise's cheek before falling asleep holding the girl whose heart broke for her. 

--
Penelope woke late the next morning, a headache from last night's wine encouraging her to remain under her sheets until she realized the other side of the bed was cold. She sat up in the empty room with the realization that Eloise had risen without her. In touching Eloise's pillow, her hand met a single folded paper, which when opened, contained the following:

Pen,

Forgive me for my careless words. I fancy myself a writer but you have always been better with sentiment than I. You are right, of course, about love. It can bloom and grow and blossom if nurtured. But I will not concede that it is only you who has found the answer-- I was not wrong in my own speculation, I have decided. Love can be more than the hope for a flower to bloom. It can just as easily be a cherry tree covered in blossoms before you have even realized it is Spring, or an unexpected rain during a daily walk. 

I assumed that because you are a romantic, it was my duty to insist you wait for the cherry tree, to wait for the rain. 
But though we are friends, and though I know you trust my judgement in spite of my horrible behavior, I have realized I cannot demand you wait for something that may never come. Sometimes the trees stay green, and sometimes the rain never comes. I hope that one day, the fondness you have for Patrick blossoms into something even greater than the little cherry tree I always hoped for you. But I fear that if I remain here for the duration of your proposal, I will drive Spring away all together. 

If you can find it in your heart, please apologize to Patrick for me. He is a good man who will grow to deserve you more and more every day. But do tell him that proposing with the poetry of Robert Burns should not be done if you want the girl to accept. He was lucky that you are more forgiving than I. 

Your most devoted of friends,

Eloise.

//

“ I have not had one word from her

Frankly I wish I were dead
When she left, she wept
a great deal; she said to me, "This parting must be
endured, Sappho. I go unwillingly."

I said, "Go, and be happy
but remember (you know
well) whom you leave shackled by love

"If you forget me, think
of our gifts to Aphrodite
and all the loveliness that we shared

"all the violet tiaras,
braided rosebuds, dill and
crocus twined around your young neck

"myrrh poured on your head
and on soft mats girls with
all that they most wished for beside them

"while no voices chanted
choruses without ours,
no woodlot bloomed in spring without song..."

- Sappho of Lesbos, the 7th century BCE

Chapter Text

Patrick smiled sympathetically as Penelope once again recounted the evening of their engagement, when Eloise had left Bath with only a note to say goodbye. In the weeks since, his new fiancée had been inconsolable, uncharacteristically morose even as she tried to host him graciously. Penelope had not told Patrick of the entire contents of the letter left on her pillow, only that Eloise had grown dissatisfied with her short visit to Bath, and did not want to get in the way of the engagement. Patrick was privately quite relieved. Where Penelope found his quips charming, Eloise always managed to find fault in them. With Eloise by her side, he had no longer been confident that Penelope would continue to enjoy his company in the coming weeks. He did not relish Penelope's sorrow, but in the same way Eloise could not manage to find joy in Penelope's engagement, Patrick could not find it in himself to mourn Eloise's departure.

Chapter Text

When Penelope knocked on the door of the Bridgerton's home in London, she felt less excited and more nauseous than she had expected. She had travelled to Bath on a whim, desperate to tell Eloise that she felt… well she was still entirely unsure of how to explain how she felt, but she brushed that aside, hoping that once she saw Eloise, a way to express herself would appear. But what if Eloise did not wish to see her at all? Penelope could not blame her for it, but was certain that if she might just be allowed to speak for but a moment, she could make Eloise understand the feelings with which she was wrestling.

Chapter Text

Eloise's triumphant look disappeared immediately when she realized Penelope had not breathed out since she revealed what she knew. Forgetting the guessing game, she rushed to the floor in front of Penelope, sitting back on her heels and grabbing on to Penelope's hands.

"Pen? Pen, please breathe, I'm sorry." Eloise cursed herself for letting her success hurt Penelope, realizing all too late she might have broached the topic in a kinder way. She squeezed the silent girl's hands, brushing her lips against them in pleading.

Penelope finally breathed out, still unable to look at Eloise, who was still fervently holding onto her hands. "I am so sorry, Eloise. I am so terribly sorry!" Penelope tried to cover her face, but Eloise's grip refused to give up.

"Sorry for what?" Eloise said with a smile.

"For all of it, I hurt you, I hurt your family, I made a mess of everything, Eloise." Penelope was crying in earnest now, guilt enveloping her so completely that Eloise's warm hands on her own seemed to be the only thing tethering her to the ground.

"Oh, Pen." Eloise whispered, finally releasing her grip to brush away Penelope's tears before they fell on her dress. "This is not something to lose yourself over. Do not think too badly of me when I say that the small discomforts you may have caused… well they are nothing to me compared to what you have given me."

"I gave you nothing!" Penelope all but shouted. "I tore everything down, I ruined everyone's fun, I could have destroyed so much more than I did if things had not worked out as they did in the end."

Eloise smiled softly. "This season began so miserably. Mama would not let me forget that I was to be paying close attention so that I might be ready for my first season next year. It was horrible, I was going to have to listen to the horrors of every dance, every dinner and pretend as if it did not horrify me. But Lady Whistledown-- you-- gave me something far better, something far more than a distraction. You made my last season as a girl into a game, a beautiful memory to be cherished and to be laughed over. I do not think you understand the breadth of the gift you have given me, Penelope."

Penelope's tears did not subside, and Eloise's eyes grew wide with panic, unsure what to say if her honest thanks had not soothed her friend.

"Oh please Penelope, forget I said anything, I did not mean for this to upset you so badly."

Penelope's hands covered her face, and Eloise did not want to risk upsetting her further by grabbing them once more, so she instead rested her head in Penelope's lap, hugging her legs as she whispered admirations and apologies in quick but quiet succession.

As soon as she heard Penelope start to quiet, Eloise let herself relax into the folds of Penelope's dress, playing with the fabric idly, silence falling over them both, a comfort rather than an awkwardness. She felt Penelope's gentle fingers combing through her loose hair, and sighed happily, content defer their conversation as long as Penelope let them sit like this together.

Eloise finally looked up at Penelope, to find her companion looking back at her, cheeks flushed in a way that made Eloise feel almost sick with delight.

"Please forgive me, Pen." Eloise whispered finally, breaking the silent understanding between them. "I thought you would be glad I knew-- proud I was the one to figure it out."

Penelope managed the smallest of smiles-- of course Eloise would see it that way, forgetting the harm Penelope knew she had caused. She did not deserve the look on Eloise's face meant for her.

"I am always proud of, you, Eloise." Penelope said. "You were always Whistledown's greatest opponent, the Achilles to her Hector."

"I did not mean to be her opponent, your opponent, not in that way. I thought it a game of chess, not a battle."

"You're an absolute fool at chess, Eloise."

"So are you, Pen."

--

Penelope and Eloise sat like that until the latter finally admitted her neck was beginning to hurt, which she only did when it became absolutely unbearable-- otherwise she could have sat there forever, perfectly content.

The two rose in silence, both feeling rather suddenly shy. When a maid rapped on the door to announce dinner, Eloise had requested that both she and Penelope be excused on account of Penelope's weariness from travel. The maid promised to bring them food later in the evening, and Penelope absently hoped the poor girl would not get in trouble for failing to bring them to the meal. While Eloise exchanged with the maid through her closed door, Penelope busied herself by attempting to tidy Eloise's room, straightening her bedsheets and picking several nightgowns up off the floor.

"What are you doing?" Eloise asked when she turned and spied Penelope's work.

"You've made a mess." Penelope said rather shortly.

Eloise frowned. "I liked it that way." she mumbled, flopping down only the newly-made bed. Penelope sighed, but continued her work, humming brightly as she swept through the room.

Eloise sat up after a moment. "Are you not going to ask me how I figured it out?" Clearly, Eloise's guilt over upsetting Penelope with her revealed secret had been gone long enough for Eloise to continue her victory march.

Penelope sighed, putting down her work and laying down next to Eloise, looking up at the ceiling. "How did you figure it out, El?"

Eloise smiled brightly at Penelope playing along. "It was really quite simple. We assumed Lady Whistledown stopped publishing because the season was over, but having read her-- your-- writing so many times, I was certain that a scandal on the scale of your family moving to Bath was not something she would have missed writing on. At first, I thought perhaps that meant Whistledown was someone sympathetic to your mother, but I realized that Whistledown had written rather… unflattering things… about your family before, so it could not be mere friendship or sympathy that stopped her from writing. It had to be a physical boundary that kept her quiet. By the time I went to visit you, I was certain it had to be someone in your family or within your staff."

"And you did not think to tell me this then?"

Eloise shrugged. "I could not simply go around accusing Featheringtons until I found the truth, could I? Besides, I did drop a hint at breakfast the morning after I arrived. Based on Phillipa's reaction, or lack thereof, I decided she could not be responsible. And Prudence seemed to care so genuinely little about the entire matter that I decided she was either terribly clever or completely ignorant." Eloise stressed the last two words a bit more than she needed to.

"After a while, well, I'll be honest, I rather forgot about the investigation, I was thinking of too many things, all happening so quickly--" Eloise darted her eyes over at Penelope, who was still staring at the ceiling. "--that it failed to be a priority. It was only after I left that I managed to cross off your mother, whose behavior towards your…suitor… made it clear to me that if she was Whistledown she would have used it only to aid in her daughter's matches. I suppose I should have been more thorough in combing through your staff. But arriving here, or rather leaving you, was what made me realize it was you."

"How?" said Penelope quietly. "How did us being apart aid in your investigation?" she finally turned to face Eloise, whose face was now flushed and looking away.

"After I left…well I kept replaying all of our conversations over in my head. Over and over and over. I must have replayed my final night in Bath over a thousand times." Eloise's voice had become barely a whisper. "It was only when I took my papers out to distract myself that I realized your verbiage was not terribly dissimilar from Whistledown. The words, the phrases, the things you find scandalizing or dull… it all sort of came crashing down into place." Eloise looked back at Penelope, who had turned onto her side to face the girl with the still-flushed cheeks.

"Have you told anyone?" Penelope asked finally.

Eloise turned her body to face Penelope, looking almost hurt. "Of course not, Pen, I will never tell a single soul as long as I live, I swear it."

"Thank you, Eloise." Penelope said with soft gratitude.

"I could not bear to share you anymore than I already must." Eloise said teasingly before thinking.

"Share? Who must you share me with now, Eloise?" Penelope asked, fighting down a smile.

Any pinkness that had left Eloise's face returned. "I did not mean anything by it, Penelope."

Penelope propped herself up with her elbow. "No, answer me, with whom must you share me?"

Eloise frowned. "I just meant that it is nice to have a secret of our own, something just for us."

"I do not know what to do with you Eloise, I have traveled for days just for you and you still see my loyalty as divided."

"Isn't it?" Eloise whispered.

Penelope did not respond, staring at her friend, both entirely still. The silence was thick enough that after only a few minutes, Eloise had forgotten her own question. They laid like longer than either of them realized, turned towards each other, breathing deeply without words. Eloise was entirely content. She did her best to forget that Penelope would soon leave, returning to Bath and to Patrick. Right now, her visitor was hers alone, and Eloise was dedicated to spending as long as she could drinking in Penelope's face so that when she left, Eloise could close her eyes and see her exactly like this.

"Eloise?" Penelope finally spoke.

The other girl nodded silently.

"Did you not want the answer?"

"The answer to what, Pen?" Eloise knitted her brows together in confusion.

"I believe," Penelope began slowly, "when I first arrived in your room, you had crafted yourself a riddle on the reason for my arrival."

"Oh." was all Eloise could say, having forgotten her three hypotheses long before they had laid down together.

"Well? Do you want your answer?"

"I take it then you did not come all this way to tell me about your secret identity?"

Penelope shook her head quite seriously, indicating to Eloise she was correct about one of her first two guesses. And Eloise knew which one was more likely.

"Please don't" Eloise begged quietly after a silent mental battle, looking smaller and more vulnerable than Penelope had ever seen her, even compared to that last night in Bath. "Please, just let me enjoy your visit without having to think of your departure."

Penelope frowned, grabbing onto Eloise's fidgeting hands. "Are you certain that is what you want?"

Eloise nods, refusing to look at Penelope.

"What if you hear the answer you want? Isn't that better than not knowing?"

"You have no right to tease me, Penelope!" Eloise sat up suddenly, pulling away from Penelope as if physically hurt. "You have no right to say such horrible things when you know very well what happens after you leave. I told you everything, as well as I could before I left Bath! It was humiliating and… and exhausting. You do not have to return any of my sentiment, but the very least you can do if you still call me 'friend' is to not mock me using the words I told only you!"

Penelope sat up slowly, frowning. "You think so ill of me, Eloise?"

Eloise just stared, sitting up and breathing hard, a look of betrayal slowly mixing with one of confusion. "I could not think ill of you if you killed me yourself, Pen." she said finally, defeated.

Penelope made her way to the other side of the bed, embracing Eloise, encouraging her softly to lay back down. "Stay here for just a moment, El." Penelope said softly, exiting the room.

Eloise caught her breath, exhausted from the day's emotions. She rested quietly back on the pillow, letting her mind wander until Penelope returned, a letter in hand.

Eloise lifted her head high enough to see what Penelope had brought. "What is that?" she asked quietly.

Penelope ignored the question, sitting back down on Eloise's bed before opening opening the letter and beginning to read:

" Love can be more than the hope for a flower to bloom. It can just as easily be--"

Eloise interrupted immediately upon recognizing the letter as the one she left Penelope in Bath. "Don't! Have you no sympathy for me at all? I know what I wrote, you do not need to remind me!"

Penelope looked up from the letter. "Let me finish, Eloise." she said evenly, though Eloise was certain she heard a wobble in Penelope's voice as she continued:

"It can just as easily be a cherry tree covered in blossoms before you have even realized it is Spring, or an unexpected rain during a daily walk."

Penelope folded up the letter once more very gently. She had handled it enough times that smudges had begun to appear at the corners. Penelope carefully placed it at the foot of the bed, inching closer to Eloise, once again grabbing the girl's now-cold hands.

"You" Penelope said only one word and felt as though she would combust. "You are my cherry tree, Eloise."

Eloise stilled, squeezing Penelope's hands involuntarily. "I don't understand, Pen." she managed to get out.

"And you are not a sprinkle of unexpected rain" Penelope continued, "You are a hurricane."

Eloise did not move, her eyes wide.

"You've flooded every part of me, El." Penelope said, her voice somehow growing quieter and louder to Eloise's ears at the same time. "I did not come to Clyvedon to tell you I plan to leave you for Manchester. I came to tell you that I cannot leave you, in any sense of the word. And I feel so stupid that it took me so terribly long to understand what you were saying that night. I would have never let you leave if I had known then, please believe me."

"It's the first?" Eloise said finally, letting silence rest between them as long as she could.

Penelope looked at Eloise in confusion. "The first what, El?"

"My first guess" Eloise said, her mouth dry. "As to why you came."

Penelope was so taken aback she actually laughed--  in spite of all her nerves she laughed and did so loudly and with abandon.

"What is so funny, Pen?" Eloise asked, a quiet suspicion in her eyes.

"I am telling you that I care for you too much to ever leave you again, telling you that I have feelings for you that no poem can describe,  and before you tell me if you still feel the same as you did in Bath, you insist on knowing which one of your guesses was correct."

Eloise smiled self-consciously. "I like being right, Pen."

Penelope smiled still, inching again towards Eloise until the other girl was wrapped firmly in her arms. "I know, El."

Eloise sighed happily, and Penelope could not tell if it was because she was held by the girl who had traveled so far to see her, or because one of her three guesses had been correct.

They laid entirely still like that for several minutes before Eloise sat straight up, looking at Penelope in what looked like alarm.

"What's wrong?" Penelope asked, confused.

"You came to tell me that you care for me, love me, in the same way I could not describe to you."

"Yes, Eloise. I have already told you that." Penelope said, amusement washing away her confusion.

Eloise nodded, as if the truth of what Penelope had told her only now hit her. Suddenly gone was the Eloise who had laid docile in Penelope's arms, content to be still in a moment of bliss. The girl threw her head back and laughed in what I can only describe as impossible joy, grabbing Penelope and kissing her cheeks in delight.

"Eloise!" Penelope tried to admonish her friend, but in her surprise ended up adding her laughs of delight with Eloise's.

Daphne had worried about the girls when neither came to dinner, and after her meal had come to find them. Her ear had just touched Eloise's door just in time to hear the girls' joyous laughter. The duchess smiled, a quiet laugh of her own celebrating the happiness of her sister and guest as she left to find her own rooms.

--

Even after the rest of the castle was long asleep, Penelope and Eloise remained wide awake. After they had laughed themselves hoarse, and Eloise could find no part of Penelope's face that remained un-kissed, they finally got under the covers of Eloise's once-again unmade bed.

"I will not be able to fall asleep with you looking at me so intently, Eloise." Penelope said with a tired smile.

"Good." Eloise smiled smugly. "I do not want you to fall asleep."

Penelope rolled her eyes and groaned in jest. "I am not quite so forgiving of excessive kisses when deprived of sleep,  you know."

Eloise giggled. "That was not excessive at all. You have not seen how Daphne and Simon kiss when they think I have left the room."

"Always the spy, Eloise!" Penelope chastised.

Eloise grinned, the gentle admonishment taken as a compliment.

"Alright well you must tell me then."

"Tell you what?"

"How your sister and the duke kiss, if it scandalous enough to watch from the shadows."

Eloise paused thoughtfully, suddenly rather embarrassed about describing the private moment she had witnessed.

"Well?"

"It's hard to describe, it is just different to friendly kisses, or the kisses I remember seeing between Mama and Papa."

Penelope watched Eloise think of a way to describe the scene but could not entirely make out her face the moonless night sky affording them so little light.

"I cannot." Eloise said finally. "It is just different."

Penelope's breathing had become shallow when she finally answered. "Well then the least you can do is show me. You cannot act shy now, El."

Through the darkness, she saw the brightness of Eloise's eyes dart up towards hers before her friend inched closer.

"They were standing, though." Eloise said doubtfully.

Penelope laughed quietly. "It does not have to be an exact replica, Eloise."

Eloise would have pouted if she was not so intently focused on her task. She cupped Penelope's cheek with her hand, her thumb resting on the apple of her cheek with her fingers reaching back behind her ear.

Penelope's laughter went quiet as she looked at Eloise, who was looking at her mouth as if it were a book needing to be read, studied, and devoured.

"El-" Penelope was not sure what she had been about to say; before she could finish the word, Eloise had pressed her lips gently against her own.

Eloise and Penelope had kissed in a way rather like this before, a friendly peck upon meeting or departing was not at all uncommon. But Penelope realized quickly that while it might have seemed not so terribly different in form from their friendly kisses, it was a different thing entirely.

Eloise's thumb pressed gently down on Penelope's cheek as she kissed her deeply, her lashes brushing against Penelope's. Eloise forgot almost immediately that her task was to recreate a kiss she had seen-- that was entirely uninteresting to her now, an unimportant dream fading away as the sweetness of reality rushed around and consumed her. Now she was much more interested in the softness of Penelope's lips, of her cheeks, of the hair that had become entangled in her fingers as she held her face next to her own.

Penelope kissed Eloise back the moment their lips touched, an instinct rather than a choice. She sighed happily against Eloise's mouth, which had become more fervent in its task. Eloise only broke the kiss when she truly felt her lungs had been emptied entirely of air. Penelope watched her as she caught her breath.

"And that is how you saw your sister kiss the duke?" Penelope asked finally.

Once Eloise had caught her breath, she laid down on her back, looking up at the ceiling and shaking her head slowly. "I cannot imagine it was quite like that." she said in soft reverence.

Penelope nodded, understanding her meaning. It was if she had spun in circles for hours after drinking too much wine. But instead of feeling sick she felt… well she felt like this.

Both women wanted nothing more than to continue, but for reasons neither could describe they were both feeling suddenly rather shy. Eventually, Penelope turned to her side as if to fall asleep.

"Oh Pen do not fall asleep yet!"

Penelope laughed with her eyes still closed. "Eloise I do not think I can keep up with your kisses if I you do not, at some point, let me sleep."

Eloise smiled. "Alright, I vow to never kiss you again so long as you stake awake with me."

"Eloise!" Penelope laughed, opening her eyes. She turned to look up at the ceiling again "If I had known that at the end of my exhausting journey I would be met with sleep deprivation, I might have thought to stay in Bath." She paused, admiring the delicate lines of the trim on the ceiling. "Alright, I will stay awake with you as long as my eyes will let me, if it will make you happy. But what is my reward for loyalty through exhaustion?"

When Penelope received no response, she turned over to find Eloise fast asleep, a ghost of a smile still clinging to her lips.

//

See! the mountains kiss high heaven,

And the waves clasp one another;

No sister flower would be forgiven

If if disdained its brother;

And the sunlight clasps the earth,

And the moonbeams kiss the sea:–

What are all these kissings worth,

If thou kiss me not me?

- Percy Bysshe Shelley

Chapter Text

Penelope woke the next morning to find her range of motion compromised by Eloise, whose arms were wrapped around her tight enough to make it impossible for Penelope to get up without waking her bedfellow. She laid still for a while until she was fully awake. She slowly wriggled out of Eloise's embrace until the girl's arms tightened.

"Not yet." groaned Eloise.

"I traveled how many miles for you and yet you fell asleep before me and wake up after me." Penelope teased.

Eloise just groaned again, pressing her head into the place between Penelope's chin and shoulder.

"Eloise, we skipped yesterday's meal, I'm starving."

"Mm. Well I guess we'll just die of starvation here, then." Eloise mumbled.

"I think you have become rather spoiled since arriving here." Penelope remarked, detangling herself from Eloise and rising.

Eloise whined, bunching up a sheet and pulling it up over her head without opening her eyes. Penelope laughed, watching her move under the covers before it seemed Eloise had returned to sleep. Penelope took the opportunity to find her way back to her own rooms to ready herself for the day.

Soon after she had dressed, a maid knocked and entered, the same cheerful one who had seen her in the day before. "Good morning, Miss Featherington. Breakfast is served, if you would like to join the duchess."

Penelope nodded gratefully. "I would love nothing more-- is Eloise coming as well?"

The cheery maid's smile faltered. "I beg your pardon, but if you would like her to come, I would recommend asking her yourself."

Penelope bit her lip to prevent from laughing. Eloise was actually a terror. "I will tell her to be a bit kinder when she wants to be alone." she promised the maid. "She is quite protective of… well everything actually."

The maid smiled, nodding, which Penelope suspected was far more forgiveness than Eloise deserved.

"In the meantime I will find her and she can lead the way to breakfast."

--

Breakfast was a pleasant affair, with Penelope sitting physically and figuratively between Daphne and Eloise, working overtime to dissolve any tension between the two. The moment Daphne called her staff to clear the table, Eloise and Penelope leapt up and ran back to the hallway their rooms shared. Penelope and Eloise, among many other things, were two young women who had just discovered how much they enjoyed kissing each other, among other things, and like many young people who have discovered the same thing, they wanted to be alone long enough to perfect their new craft.

Daphne, certain time was what their friendship needed to heal, did indeed leave them alone, feeling quite proud of herself for orchestrating the entire thing. She could not have known of course, that the moment the pair returned to Eloise's room that they would resume their clandestine fun.

The pair sat on the floor this time, giggles interrupting every other kiss they took from one another, until both were lying on the bedroom floor, panting from a mix of too much laughter and not nearly enough kisses.

Eloise eventually sat up, the last tremors of a laugh finally dying down. "I think you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen." she said finally, looking down at Penelope, still lying on the floor.

Penelope laughed. "I think we must introduce you to more women then."

Eloise scowled good-naturedly, shaking her head. "Aphrodite herself could walk in here right at this very moment and I would say 'Hello, your holy majesty, but I have no need for further beauty here, I have more than I can stomach already!" Eloise clutched her hand to her heart dramatically, as she was wont to do when she gave into such fits of dramatics.

"Yes, and then Aphrodite would smite you down for being rude and I would be left alone." Penelope laughed.

 "You are right, I could not subject you to such a cruel fate. What kind of unkind world would leave you un-kissed, beautiful Penelope?" Eloise said solemnly and returned to lavishing the object of her devotion with her attention once more.

This was Penelope's favorite Eloise-- somehow both earnest and irreverent. When Eloise was like this, Penelope felt as though she was the only person on the planet, as if Eloise's attention alone called things in and out of being. Penelope thought again how foolish she had been in not realizing the magnitude of that revelation sooner.

Eloise pulled away, still leaning over Penelope, her hand supporting her as she looked down at her friend. "What are you thinking about"

"Right now?"

"Right now."

"Well. I was thinking that I do not think I would like to anything else but stay in this room and kiss you for as long as Clyvedon still stands." Penelope laughed.

Eloise frowned thoughtfully, Penelope's reference to time reminding her of their mutual problem of the future. "But what about Bath?" she asked eventually "About Patrick?"

Penelope's laughter ceased quickly at Eloise's remark. "Please do not bring up unhappy things so early in the day." she asked, pulling Eloise down towards her again.

But Eloise did not let herself be comforted so easily, pulling away gently from Penelope's embrace.

"El, don't do this to yourself." Penelope begged, sitting up as Eloise remained deep in thought. "Why ruin such fun?"

"I am not the one who ruins it." Eloise said rather cruelly, though unintentionally so.

"Eloise! You cannot say such horrible things." Penelope said firmly.

"Speaking of your future does not change it, I do not see why my mentioning it has injured you so." Eloise said petulantly without looking at Penelope.

"Because I do not want to remember it any more than you." Penelope said gently, moving behind the morose girl and holding her tightly, kissing her hair.

"It does not matter whether or not you wish to remember it. Eventually you will leave and marry Patrick and I will be all alone." Eloise whispered, leaning back into Penelope's arms.

Penelope held Eloise like that in silence, stroking the girl's arm soothingly. Eventually, Eloise detangled herself from Penelope, and turned around to sit across from her, clearing her throat.

"I know this is horribly selfish, Pen. I know it is, and if you hate me for asking I cannot blame you. But I have to tell you that I could not bear to see you married. Even if you moved to house right next to mine, and you had hours every day to spend with me, I cannot… I cannot overcome the pain I feel at thinking you married to someone else."

"I am not terribly fond of thinking of you in someone else's arms, either, El. But I cannot very well marry you, and I must marry someone. There is no reason we cannot stay the same kind of friends after marriage."

"You cannot kiss me as you have just kissed me and think this is the same as the games girls play as children." Eloise whispered, the hurt evident across her face. "You cannot hold me as you have held me and believe that I should be quite happy at the thought of you giving me affection whenever your husband is away." Eloise paused, once again trying to describe something she did not have words for.

"Eloise--"

"You cannot go and be some man's wife, Penelope." Eloise said, the pain written across her face wounding Penelope.

"Eloise, you do not see that the freedom marriage brings would allow us to continue to be the same kind of friends we are now?"

Eloise frowned, looking down, without a retort.

"El?" Penelope said finally, worried after Eloise had been silent so long.

Eloise's face flushed, and she refused to meet her friend's gaze.

"Come on now, Eloise, out with it."

Eloise finally looked up at her, a wounded look of want mixing colored by the pinkness in her cheeks. "I do not see why you could not be my sort of little wife." she said softly.

Penelope smiled affectionately. "Would that make you my husband, El?"

Eloise frowned, but her discomfort seemed to fade when Penelope did not outright laugh at her. "No, Penelope, don't be silly. I would be your little wife." she paused for a while, dragging a finger across the floor absently. "Two little wives." she murmured quietly to herself. 

Penelope watched Eloise's face: there was no hint of a joke in her words. Penelope wiped her eyes quickly as to forbid tears to come. The earnestness with which Eloise imagined them overwhelmed her, all at once. She knew Eloise was not so naïve as to believe that what she was describing could be true, and yet it was as if Eloise had shut out the entire world just to have an imagined life with Penelope for a few moments. Penelope wished she had the ability to push the world away to imagine perfect happiness, but there was too much practicality in her to allow it.

Penelope scooted herself closer to Eloise, holding still the hand that had been drawing circles on the floor. "Cannot we be little wives now?" she murmured, tucking the stray hairs behind Eloise's ears.

Eloise shook her head. "You cannot be a wife to me now, in play, if you intend to be a wife to someone else in earnest."

Penelope sighed, wishing in that moment she could mold the entire world to make Eloise happy.

"I want all of you Penelope. I do not want to be the friend you laid with and kissed before you married, a childhood fancy you enjoyed before you ascended into some version of true womanhood. I want to be all of it."

Penelope sighed, nodding. "My sweet Eloise, I could love no man in the way I love you, not any man I have met thus far nor any man I could meet in the future. I do not know how to be any more honest with you-- I cannot live without you, I will not live without you. But the life you want for me is spinsterhood, a life only truly suited for wealthy women in the country with little family to pursue marriage for them. Please do not see me seeking out marriage as a rejection or refusal of my love for you, I am simply doing what must be done to ensure my own safety, my own future. Surely you cannot wish me to be unhoused and impoverished just so you might be the sole object of my attentions." she said the last words with a bit of a smile, trying to cheer Eloise up while still making her see reason. But of course Eloise had never been good at seeing reason.

"I would take care of you!" Eloise said, louder than Penelope expected. "After a few seasons, Mama will realize that I am destined for spinsterhood. She will be terribly disappointed but she would never deny me money. We could move away from London-- to the country! And we could be quite content there if you would allow it!"

Penelope smiled sympathetically. Eloise seemed to live in a world different from her own, and it pained her deeply that she did not have the power to call it into being. "I cannot live my whole life on charity, Eloise, even yours. I want a life, not to be a permanent guest of the Bridgerton home, or an exile in the country"

Eloise frowned "It is no different than having a husband provide for you, Pen!"

"It is entirely different, El, you know that. Money can only give a woman so much power. And money is much more fleeting than a husband."

Eloise slumped, all of her cards having been trumped by Penelope's cool rationality. "If there were a way for you to remain unmarried, to be with me only, would you? If the world was somehow different?"

Penelope nodded sadly. "Of course. But there are simply too many factors to--"

Eloise cut her off, having heard what she wanted. "Penelope Featherington, I vow to you that I will not rest until I have found a solution!" she said, jumping up from the floor in triumph.

Penelope sighed. Eloise's grandiose ideas were charming, endearing… everything but practical. Was it better to tell her now to cease her attempts at creating the world she wanted? Or ought she let Eloise figure it out for herself? The real question was ultimately: ought she to break Eloise's heart now, or later?

Before Penelope could properly decide, she was distracted by Eloise's excited kisses once again. Later, then.

--

After the conversation that morning, Eloise did not again bring up Penelope's engagement or future marriage, and Penelope knew it was not because she had forgotten, but rather because she was keeping her schemes to herself. Penelope knew, in the back of her head, it was terribly wrong of her to pretend as though she did not know Eloise was crafting a foolhardy plan while enjoying her affection and attention. But she could make herself break the bubble of bliss they had found themselves in. And so she continued to play little wives, pretending as though she did not know it had to end.

Every morning, she found herself in Eloise's bed trapped within the tight hold of Eloise's arms. She would lay there quite contently until Eloise woke up, always later than her. The mornings were Penelope's favorite: kissing and petting Eloise under the warmth of the newly-risen sun was what she imagined heaven might feel like. Only a maid knocking to announce breakfast interrupted them, and even then they often arrived late to the morning meal, Daphne raising her brows every time the pair arrived after the food had been served with pink cheeks, red lips, and wrinkled dresses. Simon arrived several days after Penelope and Daphne had, which meant that breakfast was followed directly by him challenging Eloise to a game of chess, which she always agreed to and always lost. Despite her losing streak, Eloise liked the duke well enough, he was almost always in a good humor and much more reasonable than Daphne, she thought.

Penelope and Eloise spent their afternoons exploring, attempting and failing to make a mental map of their hosts' home,  and racing each other around corridors when they became truly lost. Daphne had caught them once, Penelope mortified when she ran straight into the duchess in an attempt to beat Eloise back to their rooms. Evenings were Eloise's favorite part of the day. She would post up in the duke's library reading, enjoying the quiet moment to herself, not wanting to bore Penelope by forcing her to keep company, knowing she was not a good companion with a book in hand. After Penelope realized where she was going after dinner, she quietly joined her in the library each night, silently sitting on the settee and allowing Eloise to lean against her until one of them had to be awoken by the other. At first, Eloise had insisted that Penelope did not have to sit there without something to do just to keep her company. But Penelope continued to follow her to the library despite Eloise's insistence, and continued to gently pull Eloise against her while the latter read, just as engrossed in Eloise as the reader was in her book. Eloise did not think heaven could be quite as grand as those nights in the library.

After a few weeks, Penelope sent a letter to Bath, informing her mother she was to spend Christmas at Clyvedon at Eloise's request. The duke and duchess were glad to have her as a holiday guest-- the duchess found that she enjoyed Penelope's company quite well, and the duke found that Eloise was a much better sport about losing a game of chess when Penelope was there to soothe her.

But just as Penelope had suspected, Eloise continued to plot away when Penelope was distracted or sleeping, certain there was a way to allow the joy they had found at Clyvedon to continue. Several weeks into Penelope's stay, after she and Eloise had readied themselves for bed, Eloise explained her plan.

Penelope grew sick realizing what Eloise was doing. She had put off dashing the girl's hopes for weeks, selfishly lost in the happiness of pretending the world did not exist outside their rooms. But as Eloise sat her down, she realized she would be forced to break the perfect little spell now if it was not to destroy them both.

Eloise missed all of Penelope's concerned looks as she outlined her grand plan, her face bright with excitement, gesturing all around the room in a frenzy as she explained it all.

When Eloise had finished, she was slightly out of breath, looking to Penelope hopefully.

"Eloise." Penelope said softly.

"No, no, no, do not say my name like that! I know what that means, Penelope! You will not even give it a chance?"

Penelope sighed. "You want me not only to turn down my only proposal, but reveal that I am Lady Whistledown to multiple people. And that is all before we know if this will work."

"Two people." Eloise corrected quickly. "That's all it would take, and I could explain it all for you!"

Penelope shook her head. "You promised me you would tell no one, Eloise."

Eloise bit her lip in frustration. "But this is different, Pen."

"No, it isn't." Penelope said, standing up from the chair Eloise had sat her in with forceful excitement. "I would risk everything, and you would risk nothing."

Eloise looked like she had been absolutely shattered, her careful crafting torn down in seconds. Penelope swiftly closed the gap between them, hugging Eloise tightly. Eloise did not return the embrace.

"What is more worthy of a risk than this, Pen?" Eloise whispered into Penelope's shoulder. "Than me?"

"I don't know El." Penelope responded.

There were no fervent kisses that night, no quiet laughter under the sheets of Eloise's bed. The pair went to bed quietly, and for the first time since Penelope had arrived, Eloise did not move close enough to embrace her, instead turning her body away from her. When Penelope realized Eloise was content to ignore her, she moved towards the silent girl and wrapped her arms around her.

"Don't do this, El." Penelope whispered.

"I am not doing anything" Eloise insisted.

"You are pouting because you have not gotten your way."

Eloise did not respond to this accusation, but Penelope was certain if Eloise was facing her she would see her pout deepen.

"What can I do to fix this?" Penelope asked.

"You know what." Eloise said quietly.

Penelope sighed. They laid in bed quietly for a while, reminded of Eloise's first night in Bath, when they had laid in a similar silence. Neither was tired: Penelope felt sick with worry and guilt, and Eloise was filled with too much energy to sleep.

"What if--" before Eloise could finish Penelope groaned. "Enough, Eloise!"

"No, please listen!" Eloise begged, turning to face Penelope. "What if I could keep the plan the same without revealing Whistledown's identity?"

It took Penelope several beats to answer. "Is that even possible?"

"Yes! Oh Pen, yes I am certain of it. It calls for improvisation but I see no reason why it cannot work!"

Penelope chewed her lip in thought. "Alright." she said quietly. "If you swear you can attempt this without identifying me...do it."

Eloise began piling on compliments and thank you's until Penelope could interrupt.

"If it does not work, Eloise, you must give this up."

"You mean that I must give you up, Pen." Eloise whispered.

Penelope shook her head, but did not have the heart to lie to Eloise. Perhaps there was some outcome in which they both married good men in the same city, who traveled frequently enough for Eloise and Penelope to continue their affair of the heart. But it would not be fair to their husbands, Penelope knew. Besides. There was a man willing to marry her this very moment. Was it worth risking the security of her future in the hope she might find one closer to Eloise?

Penelope felt a pang of guilt thinking of Patrick, who had been nothing but perfect. He was perfect, it seemed, in every way except the one that truly mattered: he was not Eloise Bridgerton. And Eloise was right-- Penelope could not imagine kissing him and not feeling as though she was betraying not only Eloise, but herself.

"Are you alright?" Eloise whispered, watching Penelope deep in thought.

"Alright?" Penelope's eyes returned to Eloise and she smiled, nodding. "How could I be anything less, sharing a bed with you, my little wife?"

Eloise smiled, Penelope's reassurance being all she needed to finally fall asleep.

--

When Eloise requested a private audience with Daphne and Simon the next day, separate from any of their staff, the duke and duchess looked at one another, confused. 

"Could you at least tell us what this is about?" Simon asked finally, equally suspicious and amused.

"Well, Your Grace" Eloise said, her eyes glittering as she paused for dramatic effect. "I believe I have a business proposition for you."

//

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height

My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight

For the ends of being and ideal grace.

I love thee to the level of every day's

Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.

I love thee freely, as men strive for right;

I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.

I love with a passion put to use

In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.

I love thee with a love I seemed to lose

With my lost saints, I love thee with the breath,

Smiles, tears, of all my life! and, if God choose,

I shall but love thee better after death.

- Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Chapter Text

"Well, Your Grace" Eloise said, her eyes glittering as she paused for dramatic effect. "I believe I have a business proposition for you."

Simon raised an eyebrow in skeptical amusement, and Daphne shook her head and said nothing, all too familiar with Eloise's grand schemes. Simon finally agreed to hear Eloise out, though it seemed more out of curiosity than genuine interest. Once the room had been cleared, Eloise stood up straighter in front of her sister and brother-in-law, prepared to dazzle them with her idea.

"Your Graces" Eloise said formally, clearing her throat. "If I am to be the humble recipient of your attentions for--"

"Eloise. Out with it." said Daphne, who knew Eloise enough to know whatever she was about to say was absurd enough to make her giddy. Simon, on the other hand, had to suppress a laugh, though Daphne shot him a look despite his attempts to hide his amusement.

Eloise nodded, sitting in front of her sister and brother-in-law. "Alright, alright, I will be quick about it then if you insist on being so utilitarian.. Now I know that once you hear the first half of what I have to say you will assume that I have gone insane, and say no immediately. So all I ask is that you wait until I am finished to make your judgement."

Simon nodded and looked to Daphne, who, after a few moments of suspiciously appraising her sister, nodded. "I will not say a word until you have concluded, Eloise." Simon nodded in agreement, and thus Eloise began:

"Prior to Penelope leaving London, the pair of us had been working to find out who Lady Whistledown was. Upon her arrival here we continued to do just that, combing through all the copies of her writing we saved and our old theories. It was not easy, but I believe that after a rather large amount of sleuthing, we have discovered the identity of the one and only Lady Whistledown."

Daphne opened her mouth to speak, but closed it as soon as she saw Eloise's face, reminded that she was not yet allowed to comment.

"Now before you ask, I cannot tell you Whistledown's identity-- none of this will work if her identity is known. But I can tell you that it is someone Penelope and I believe would be interested in a mutually beneficial arrangement, were we to have the means to offer it to her."

At this point, Eloise was impressed Daphne had not popped a vein; the duchess was sitting quietly in her chair, the puzzlement in her face telling Eloise that she had at least a few more moments before Daphne refused to hear any more.

"Now let me back up a moment, so that I might share with you the full picture. As you know, I am not terribly fond of the idea of debuting next season. Or the season after that. And quite frankly, I would quite happily take on the mantle of spinster here and now if it meant I did not have to go through any of it."

Eloise paused, willing her hands to stop fidgeting. Revealing her knowledge of Lady Whistledown was easy as compared to telling her sister of the plans she had that would surely disappoint the entire Bridgerton clan.

"These two things, the knowledge of Whistledown's identity and my desire to avoid future seasons have led me to that which I now propose." Eloise let out a short breath before continuing. "I would like to open a printing press. In London, and with Penelope. Based on what I know now, I believe I can convince Whistledown to abandon her current press and publish exclusively with us. With the excitement for Whistledown's commentary on next season, we would become the premier press of the women of the ton. And where the ladies go, as you know, the lords follow. This way, Lady Whistledown can continue writing while under my supervision, and I can assure that she prints nothing too terribly damaging about our family. But more importantly, I will have means to support myself, as will Penelope, and Mama will not have to worry so much about finding me a husband."

Eloise finally stopped, her voice having become a shadow by the end of her pitch. She dared not to look up at Daphne's face, so she focused on the stitching in her shoes, waiting for the silence to break. Unsurprisingly, it was the duke who finally spoke first.

"And your proposition is that you are asking us for an initial investment?"

Eloise looked up to Simon and nodded. "I will admit I do not know much about financing a project, but if we begin to charge even a few pence for Whistledown's writings, I am certain the press would be profitable by the end of the season, your investment would be returned the moment it was possible. Whistledown's audience is the women of the ton, who can afford paying a few pennies for a pamphlet; we would lose no customers at all, I'm certain."

Simon nodded. "And would you only be publishing Whistledown?"

Eloise grinned excitedly, forgetting her nerves for a moment. "No, no, not at all. After we pay off the investment, we could put that money back into paying more writers. We could advertise them in the Whistledown papers until they've popular enough in their own right. We could publish all kinds of things-- social commentary at first, to match the tone of Whistledown, and then perhaps we could move into other arenas."

Daphne was still silent, looking at Eloise as if both listening intently and ignoring her completely.

Eloise sighed. While Simon might be interested in the finer details of the arrangement, Eloise knew those things mattered not to her sister, who was no doubt thinking through every single word Whistledown had written about her.

"Daphne, I knew you would be cross about my working with Whistledown, and my refusal to name the person behind her. I know that her publications were, at times, incredibly painful for you. And I know…I'm sure Lady Whistledown would regret that if she was to come to truly know you now. But this is not about Whistledown for Penelope and I, it is about regaining our freedom from gambling our future on dances and parties. In using Whistledown's name, we would propel ourselves to success faster than we otherwise could."

The duchess's face remained unmoved.

 "Oh Daphne, please understand! I know you are not like me and I not like you, but I promise you that going through the next several seasons will change nothing for me. I will still become a spinster, the only difference is that I will have wasted my youth on making other people happy instead of myself. If you help me in this you will be saving me, and I will be forever in your debt."

Daphne took a long breath in, Simon watching her reaction carefully. Eloise realized the duke would do nothing if Daphne did not sanction his doing so; he cared for her too much to hurt her in going against her wishes. And so, things had come down to Daphne, as it seemed things too often did in Eloise's life.

But Daphne, in the end, said nothing, anti-climactically excusing herself quietly from the room before Eloise could convince her to stay.

Eloise looked desperately at Simon, who smiled sympathetically at Eloise but made no move to convince Daphne to hear out the rest of the proposal.

"Eloise." He ventured finally, "I understand your plight more than most. I had no interest in this past season, and yet if I had completely avoided society I would have never met your sister, and I would be a worse man for it."

"That is-- very nice, your Grace." Eloise said in a voice that made clear she did not think it was particularly nice at all.

Simon smiled with a touch of humor. "I simply mean to ask you-- how can you be certain of your disinterest in finding a  husband if you have not even debuted? Why do you not wait one more season, appeasing your mother, before you decide on an alternative route, one that requires working with the tormentor of the ton?"

Eloise sighed. "I understand that perhaps you thought you knew what you wanted, and meeting my sister… changed things for you. But my feelings are not those of someone who thinks herself hopeless, they are the feelings of someone who sees hope in the idea that she might find the world in the palm of her hand if she can only find the means. What if you had fallen in love with Daphne and were not a duke, what if you had not had the means to marry her, to be with her? Would you not have suffered? That is how I feel. I know what I want. Pretending as if there is another way for me to find happiness is for me to waste years of my life!"

"So… you're in love with a printing press?" Simon asked, skeptical in Eloise comparing his wife to a business.

Eloise laughed. "Something like that."

The pair sat in silence for a while, Eloise deciding that even if Simon denied her request, she would still find him a rather tolerable example of his sex, in spite of the fact he would not let her win at chess. She had to admit she could not think badly of a man who refuses to act on that which affects his wife.

"Alright, Eloise." Simon said seriously after several moments of thought. "I will speak to Daphne in your favor. I cannot promise she will come around to all this, but I do not wish for you, or any of her family, to be unhappy when I have the ability to aid in the creation of happiness. But I will not move a single finger that would hurt her-- if she does not wish to support you in this venture, then I will have no part of it."

"Thank you, Your Grace." Eloise said in earnest as Simon got up to take his leave.

"Eloise, if you call me 'Your Grace' one more time, I swear I will start a rival press just to put you out of business even if my wife agrees to help you."

Eloise laughed. "Thank you, Simon."

The duke just nodded, taking his leave to find his wife.

--

Eloise relayed only part of the conversation to Penelope. She knew Penelope already felt guilty enough about hurting Daphne, and saw no purpose in telling her that she suspected Daphne's hesitance was due to Whistledown.

Seeing that Eloise was anxious for the duke's reply, Penelope did her best to distract, heaping kiss after kiss on her friend. Eloise could not help but return Penelope's affections, and yet still her mind was preoccupied with the conversations that might be happening in Simon and Daphne's rooms.

"It is no fun to kiss you when you are so distracted." Penelope said, sitting up on Eloise's bed.

"I know, I know, Pen. But how can I think of anything else when the thing that we want--need-- so badly is being discussed without us?"

Penelope sighed. "You have done all you can, El. There is no point in worrying, what is meant to be has already been set in motion."

Eloise groaned, grabbing a pillow and placing it over her face to stifle the noise, to Penelope's amusement.

"How else can I distract you, poor thing?" Penelope asked sympathetically.

"You cannot!" Eloise cried in self-pity from under her pillow.

"Oh really?" Penelope laughed, deciding to take on Eloise's challenge. "I was thinking of allowing you to open your Christmas present early, would that not distract you even a tiny bit?"

Eloise peeked her head out from under the pillow, a brow raised.

"Well, Eloise?"

"I think that opening a present might indeed help my ailing nerves." Eloise said with a dramatic sniffle. Penelope's only response was to grab the pillow and smack the little actress with it.

"Alright, wait here." Penelope laughed, returning to her own rooms to retrieve the package. She had meant to give the gift to Eloise upon her arrival, but the events of her first few days at Clyvedon had been so filled with distractions she had decided it would be Eloise's at Christmas instead. But she should have known, she realized now, Eloise would find a way to get an early present.

When Penelope returned, Eloise was sitting up on her bed, eyes bright with excitement.

"Ah, you seem much better now, perhaps we can save the gift 'til Christmas after all!"

"Oh do not tease, Pen!" Eloise laughed as Penelope reluctantly handed the package over.

Eloise tore through the brown paper that wrapped it to find a men's hat box. She looked at Penelope quizzically before opening the box, inside which she found a top hat very similar to the one of Patrick's she had discovered and liked so much on her first night in Bath, though the base of this one was circled with a little white ribbon.

"This one is yours." Penelope said happily, watching Eloise touch the fabric of the brim reverently. "I told the hat maker I needed one for a fellow whose head was… well I think my exact words were 'small enough to be a lady's' so it should fit a bit better than the last one. I was the one who stitched on the ribbon. "

Eloise had already put it on, the hat indeed fitting her quite perfectly. Eloise could not help but grin. "Now I have the most beautiful hat and the most beautiful girl-- I do not mean this to be cruel but poor Patrick Twining has truly lost everything to me now."

"Eloise!" Penelope admonished her friend immediately, disliking when she spoke ill of Patrick. But Eloise cared not, hugging and kissing Penelope, her new hat getting in the way only briefly.

"Does this mean you like it?"

"I love it, Pen. It is absolutely perfect."

Penelope beamed, readjusting it on Eloise's head until it sat just right. "It suits you quite well, I think."

"That's what I have been telling you Pen, since I arrived at Bath. If I walked outside in this hat, every Englishman would flee the country, knowing not one of them could look quite so handsome in such a hat." Eloise said, brushing her hair back in mock confidence.

Penelope rolled her eyes but laughed, glad to have distracted Eloise from her worries, even for only a few moments.

--

At dinner that night, all parties were quite silent. Eloise kept stealing glances at Daphne, who gave nothing away, and Penelope kept stealing glances at Eloise, who gave far too much away. Simon seemed quite content to focus on his meal, though he occasionally smiled to himself as if rather enjoying being the cause of so much stress among the women of Clyvedon.

After dinner had been cleared away, Eloise finally spoke up. "Well if that is all, I think I would rather like to retire to my rooms for the evening."  Her tone had become clipped in an attempt to keep her composure in the face of disappointment.

It was Daphne who responded. "Oh. I would have though you would want to know our decision on your request. But by all means if you are too tired, we can discuss it in the morning."

Eloise, who had stood up by this time, shot back down into her chair like a bullet.

Simon choked down a laugh and nodded at Daphne for her to continue.

"As much as I enjoy your occasional torture, Eloise, I suppose I will begin by telling you that we are willing to allow you the money to begin your printing press."

As quickly as she had sat down, Eloise stood straight up, her chair scraping in protest behind her as she slammed her hands down on the table. "Really?"

The duke nodded as Daphne continued. "But we have some conditions that we have decided you must meet before we provide you the money."

Penelope nodded eagerly and Eloise looked at Daphne suspiciously. 'Conditions' from this particular sister were certain to be unpleasant.

After watching for Eloise's reaction, Daphne continued.

"Firstly, you must get Mama's permission." Daphne said. "Aiding you is one thing, but we will not help you if it is in spite of Mama's wishes."

"Daphne, you cannot be serious, she will never agree--"

"Eloise. I have tried to, if not understand, then respect your wishes about your life. But I am certain that if you upset Mama with this decision by disregarding her feelings, you will hurt her deeply and regret it for far longer than you think. We have decided on this condition not to spite you, but to save you from hurting yourself and Mama. Penelope, I do hope you will do the same, though your relationship with your mother not entirely my own to concern myself with."

Penelope just nodded, trying not to imagine how that conversation with her mother would go. Eloise, on the other hand, was in quite a huff, but with no reasonable retort, she did not object.

"Our second condition is that once the press has become profitable, you will end your contract with Lady Whistledown." Daphne said. "Eloise, I understand that you feel as though you need her name recognition to build your business, and if I put my emotions out of it entirely, I cannot disagree. But enough harm has come from those pamphlets that I think it only reasonable cease publishing them after the end of the next season."

"You're giving us but one year to get on our feet?" Eloise protested.

Daphne smiled gently and nodded. "Eloise you are much too smart and much too stubborn to fail. I trust that you will be able to do just that."

Eloise may have been quite smart, but she was also quite easily overtaken by flattery, and thus she nodded in agreement. "Very well. What are your other conditions, Daphne?"

"That is all, Eloise." Daphne said. "Those are the only conditions."

"If Mama allows it, and if we end our contract with Whistledown in a year, then you will help us?" Eloise said in disbelief.

Simon and Daphne both nodded. Eloise, propriety forgotten, launched herself around the table to hug her sister, who patted her back in return. Penelope looked to Simon and mouthed a "thank you", with Simon nodding, smiling, in return.

Eloise demanded that they all sit down immediately and began drawing up plans, but Daphne brushed her off with a laugh, and instead the group of four celebrated with wine and laughter before retiring for the evening.