Chapter Text
From the moment Eloise Bridgerton was born she was raised for a single purpose. Marriage. Not just any marriage. A marriage based on the expectations of society, a marriage that would secure her social standing.
While other girls found fulfillment in the matters of dress fittings and floral arrangements and the formal minuet, Eloise couldn’t care less about appealing to a suitor, about possessing the feminine qualities that would make her a most desirable partner. Eloise rebelled against the absurdity of females being an inferior gender, especially when she could no longer avoid her debutante season. She despised being evaluated and measured for her value as a homemaker and child bearer. Was it really so terrible that she wanted to be more than idle and ignorant? While every other debutante thrilled over balls and horse races and proposals of marriage, Eloise found exhilaration in more intellective matters. Books, and debates and new ways of thinking. Especially when it came to oppression at the hands of the patriarchy. It seemed quite simple to Eloise, admirable even, to strive to be as enlightened as possible. Yet these stimulating discussions were so hard to come by in polite society.
She had found it, though, so precious and rare, with Theo. She never bristled against his gaze or attention. In fact, she sought it out. When Theo looked at her in that way he did, intently and eye-to-eye, it was without any expectation or pressure to be an ideal society woman. He didn’t care about the size of her dowry or feathers in her hair. Instead, he allowed her to be her true self. Saw her intelligence and curiosity and fueled both. He welcomed her ideas and challenged them, never let her get away deductive thinking, always pressing her to cite examples to build her conclusions. With Theo, Eloise got a taste of what she so fiercely craved. Yes, she had the privilege of wealth, as Theo so harshly reminded her the last time she saw him. But money could never buy what she desperately wanted. Freedom. Adventure. Learning. Her place was meant to be in the home when all she wanted was to be out in the world. Even if it was a man’s world. Even if she was seen as inferior in that world. Eloise was certain she could effect change, join the movement fighting for equality. Theo helped her see that.
Her last moment with him crossed her mind often, replayed hundreds of times in her head. The way her hand felt in his, their accidental touch sending confusing jolts of heat through her body. She remembered how close they stood, breathing the same air, how wonderful he smelled, a mix of ink and soap. Mostly she remembered his expression, the way he looked at her like nothing else, no one else, existed. So wrapped up in solving the mystery of Lady Whistledown, and the unfamiliar sensations overwhelming her mind and body, that Eloise almost forgot about Penelope’s warning. About the growing gossip surrounding her and Theo, about the harm even more scandal would cause her family. Not to mention Theo. He would be the one to bear the brunt of consequences should their meetings be exposed. She could never live with herself if that were to happen. Theo’s overture for a kiss, a so very tempting kiss, her first one ever, instantly sobered her. In a blink, Penelope’s words rushed through her, reminded Eloise of the absurdity of what she was doing.
Theo accused her of never having to endure any real difficulties in her life, but he didn’t know how walking away from him that night at his print shop was one of the hardest thing she’d experienced, topped only by her father’s death and the night of Hyacinth’s birth. She wanted to run after him, explain how he was one of the only good things in her life, let him know how much she cared for him, ask him to understand.
Instead she was left with only the books he gave her, the ones that made him think of her. Neatly stacked on her desk, cherished reminders of their time together. Sometimes she saw them and smiled, motivated to reread one of them or find a new book to stay enlightened. Other times the brown leather spines swallowed her whole into heartbreak all over again. Not just by her ruptured friendship with Theo but by Penelope’s betrayal.
It was not lost on Eloise that for so long all she wanted was to learn Lady Whisteldown’s identify, attaching so much importance to that knowledge, to being the one to decipher the clues and solve the mystery. But now that the reveal had come to fruition, her dearest best friend at the duplicitous center of it all, there was none of the extreme satisfaction Eloise envisioned. Instead, her heart was shattered into a million pieces.
Ironically, writing became her outlet. Rather than the gossip that filled Penelope’s scandal sheets, Eloise poured her inner thoughts onto paper, just for herself. Anytime Theo came to mind, something she’d want to say to him, share with him, she wrote it down, scribbling furiously, going through quills at such a rapid pace that even her mother mentioned it. Theo became her faithful one-sided correspondent. She wrote endlessly to him, letter after letter, but never sent any, tucking them away in a locked drawer when she was done. There was no repairing this untenable situation.
Benedict noticed her isolation and sadness, offered reprieves from her melancholy with walks or a new book or late night talks on the swings, even an occasional cigarette. She kept Penelope’s secret from him, from everyone, too devastated and confused to wield that information in any logical way.
John, her family’s Footman, noticed too. Do you require any trips to market, Miss Bridgerton?, he’d ask. I’m free early morning if you require any carriage, he’d offer more quietly other times with a wink. John had been a reluctant partner in crime, helping Eloise meet with Theo for half her pin money. But now he seemed eager to take her to the print shop at will, with no enticements of secret compensation. Eloise declined all his offers. While she ached for Theo, she was certainly the last person he wanted to see. And she barely understood what happened between them. A friendship, certainly. But something more too, something intangible, indescribable that made her body tingle and mind buzz whenever she was with him. Eloise thought it best to avoid the situation, too disoriented to make any sense of it.
What Eloise didn’t realize, still naive to the power of gossip even though she should know better than anyone, was the secret tunnels of information whispering all around her. Through the kitchen and maid quarters to the laundry room and carriage house. Benedict wasn’t the only one to notice her gloomy mood. Her mother wasn’t the only one to pick up on her excessive use of pen and ink.
So an innocent pile of discarded drafts of Eloise’s writings to Theo became something bigger without her even knowing. John, concerned about Eloise’s sudden unhappiness, asked Mary, the house maid, if she noticed anything. A fight with a sibling? Or an aggressive suitor, perhaps? The maid, intrigued, started to pay more attention. It’s the little moments that truly reveal the nature of an estate. A late arrival to dinner, a hushed conversation in a hallway, a furtive sideways glance. And when her job was to blend into the background of the Bridgerton’s lives, it’s quite easy to observe, quite easy to notice the unusual amount of broken quills and crumpled paper in Eloise’s pail, quite easy to see they were all addressed to someone named Theo.
It was all harmless. Mary sneaking one of the letters into the pocket of her apron and giving it to John was all in good spirit. Indulging in some innocuous gossip was the servants’ only entertainment at times. Eloise’s letter primarily espoused on her many concerns about arranged marriages and the urgent need, financially and socially, for women to be able to independently file for divorce. But it’s the way she concluded her letter that let John know some sort of break up occurred between Eloise and Theo, though not fully able to understand the context from her brief words. I’m so deeply sorry about everything that transpired and hope that one day I can explain it all to you. Warmest regards, Eloise Bridgerton
John was employed by the Bridgerton estate right before Eloise was born and was part of her life from the very beginning, watching her grow from fussy little baby into a strong, beautiful lady, albeit on the sidelines. Accompanying her, announcing her, delivering her packages, though she started to refuse some of his more chivalrous assistance, like knocking on doors for her, as she got older and asserted her independence.
The relationship between master and servant was not always easy to navigate, most aspects of the role governed by unspoken etiquette and code of conduct. Be reliable, discreet and trustworthy. John’s whole life revolved around his employer. So he knew what it was like to wish for something more. To think what if? What if he could partake in the glitzy and glamorous balls instead of waiting endless hours outside in the carriage? What if he could wear a simple trouser and shirt instead of the powdered wig that itched so terribly?
He could see Eloise asking the same question. What if? Always the most individualistic of the Bridgerton bunch she was constantly challenging the invisible boundaries that controlled her life, wanting to express herself in ways society simply wouldn’t allow. He could feel the regret in the words of her thrown away letter. While John belonged in the shadows of the Bridgerton’s lives, only emerging for very specific tasks, he made a decision to ignore, just this once, the customs that so stubbornly regulated both him and Eloise.
John wasn’t a rich man in the sense of dollars and possessions and land. But he knew what was most valuable. Love and happiness. No more important currency existed in the entirety of the world. He was no meddler, not like the footmen he knew who had illicit affairs with the ladies of the house. But he’d witnessed so many loveless and practical unions as he stood on the periphery of the lives of the wealthy. Eloise deserved so much more than that. There was no denying the way she lit up around Theo, so evident from the witty repartee of their very first meeting. Eloise always had a special glow about her whenever she was on her way to, or returning from, meeting Theo. A brightness that came from the inside out, not the rouged cheeks ladies tried to force with safflowers and red wine. He saw it with his own parents, a marriage based on friendship and respect, and even with Lady Violet and Master Edmund before his untimely passing.
Just a little push was all he’d give them, a small nudge was all Eloise and Theo required. So he took Eloise’s discarded letter, Mary helping him flatten out the creases as best as possible with a towel and iron, and carefully folded it into a copy of Memoirs of the Life of Mrs. Elizabeth Carter. Mrs. Carter, the bookshop keeper assured him when John told him what he was looking for, would be the perfect selection for anyone interested in a cultured and comprehensive mind. Securing the letter inside with twine, John patiently waited until his next trip into town, waited until just the right moment when Lady Violet was busy inside Madame Delacroix’s modiste to scurry to the print shop and deliver the book to Theo. He didn’t give Theo the chance to object or question or decline the package. Instead he forced it into his hands with a quick message of “special delivery” and turned away, leaving Theo with a look of surprised annoyance, returning to the carriage before anyone even noticed his absence.
John smiled, a little breathless from the thrill of his secret mission, satisfied at how well part one of his plan executed. Now, onto part two.