Archive of Our Own

A breeze slips through the cracked windows of the Bridgerton home, brushing fabric aside and slipping affectionately across exposed skin. It is the hottest day of the summer thus far. One might even go as far to suggest that it is the hottest day of any summer in recent memory. The air sits heavy in the parlor and heavier in the lungs. Unfurled fans sit in gloved hands, but they have been forgotten simply because it is impossible to summon the effort to move. 

Eloise and Penelope lounge on opposite ends of the chaise. Earlier, they were begging for relief with their eyes towards the ceiling and their mouths turned towards God, but when their appeals went unanswered, they took matters into their own hands. 

They are in their lightest clothes. Eloise, in particular, has opted for sleepwear in lieu of her heavier silks, completely ignoring the expectations for a woman of her status. 

Or any woman, at all, for that matter. 

Not that anyone would catch Penelope complaining about the indecency. She keeps finding her eyes drawn to the way the nightgown hugs Eloise's curves, gauzy fabric clinging to the shimmering sheen of sweat that coats her body, leaving little to the imagination. It skims affectionately over the heave of her breasts in particular, drawing Penelope's attention so intensely that she cannot seem to shake her eyes free. 

Thankfully, Eloise has not noticed Penelope's indiscretion. Her eyes are partly closed as she stays as still as possible, only her mouth moving as she details her latest sojourn to an activist meeting. She has talked of little else for the last several weeks, and though Penelope would normally be pleased that Eloise is at last distracted from her pursuit of Lady Whistledown, she finds herself completely incapable of listening to so much as a single word of the tirade. It passes in one ear and out the other. Her mind is completely absent in the space between, focused on fantasies of breaching the suffocating air of the room, pulling Eloise beneath her, peeling away the thin layers of fabric, and touching her friend in ways she never has before -- pushing boundaries and forging new ground. 

She blames the heat for her failure to act. It seeps into the bones and boils the blood and causes muscles to atrophy. In reality, however, she is simply not bold enough to speak her wants into existence, not brave enough to tell Eloise that she wishes to be more than friends. 

Instead, they simply sit and speak and sweat. 

And perhaps when the heat wave finally passes, Penelope will find her legs and chase down her heart.