Chapter Text
She spends rest of the night sitting on the window sill, bawling her eyes out and lamenting the end of her friendships. It is only when the sky starts to pale and the party at the Featherington house is dismissed that Eloise turns away form watching flickering candle light in Pen's window. She does not have to think twice about what is her former friend doing up so late.
Slowly and methodically she starts collecting torn papers on the floor, feeding it into the dwindling fire. She kneels by the hearth and watches as Penelope's work burns. There is the feeling of immerse satisfaction at first, but as last of the Whistedown's pamphlet turns to ash, something akin to shame and regret lurches in Eloise's heart. For no matter how insipid she finds the gossip itself and how cruel it were to her, the fact remains – it was a work of woman of incomparable talent. Even if she cannot forgive, she can admit that. Penelope truly did something, no matter how horrible. It is more than Eloise can say for herself.
She wakes in the morning with that thought in mind and determination to change it. And not even Anthony's exuberant announcement of his engagement does discourage her, though it derails her efforts slightly. Mother quickly latches onto her newly acquired free time and has her running around, picking flowers and compiling menus and guest lists. Eloise does not protests as vehemently as usual (to her mother's delight and her siblings bewilderment), planning to cash in her good behaviour in her own good time. That little free time and solitude she has, Eloise spends by research, writing letters and compiling her arguments for when the time comes. She is cornered by Benedict about two weeks in, her brother genuinely concerned for her well-being. So she lets him onto her plan. He laughs and promises to back her up.
Finally, one month after that horrible night, everything is ready. Wedding is tomorrow, Kate at Lady Danbury's house with her family preparing for her big day, Anthony hidden in his study after enduring his brothers and Simon's efforts to throw him another stag party. Eloise watches Colin and Ben stagger in the garden and collapse on the grass, Simon joining them few minutes later, all three laughing like idiots. Gregory was send to bed hours ago, after being allowed to join his brothers for a brief moment.
Eloise quickly leaves the room and hurries towards her oldest brother study. Knocking on the door, she does not wait for him to permit entrance and slips inside.
“What are you doing still up?” Anthony sits behind his large desk, feet propped up. He looks happy, relaxed and in better mood she can remember.
“I need to talk to you.” Her tone is serious, voice slightly huskier and coloured with anxiety and Anthony notices. He gives Eloise his full attention immediately.
“Is something wrong?” he motions for her to take a seat across the table, but that feels little too formal and imposing for Eloise, so she makes for the hearth instead. Looking into the fire, warming her hands, she replies:
“Plenty. And I would like to change that.” There is silence in the room, interrupted only by scraping of the chair and then soft footfalls on carpet.
“I'm afraid I do not understand.” Anthony stops by her side, curiously watching his sister's profile. She knows she was always a little bit of a mystery to him. Daphne, Francesca and Hyacinth, while each different and unique in their own way, never baffled him that much. Somehow, in them, Anthony was always able to identify traces of their mother, traces of what he was taught about women. But Eloise always marched into the beats of her own drum, destroying any and all assumptions about her on the way. When she finally speaks, she does so again.
“There is… an opportunity. For me. To get higher education.” She pauses, then adds: “To do something worthwhile with my life.” There is a faint underlying of bitterness in her voice, that little bit she cannot keep down no matter how hard she tries. By the corner of her eye, she notices Anthony wince and she knows he heard it too.
“Continue.” Eloise bits her lip in concentration before speaking, recalling all the words and facts she put into speech and then practised in the mirror.
“I… it came to my attention, that the University Collage in London is opening several unofficial spots in their classes. For women. Under patronage of sir Jeremy Bentham. History and literature, a little bit of social studies, maybe. Nothing too taxing for female mind.” Last sentence is said with discernible disgust. When she finally looks at at her brother, there is a fiery glint in her eyes that has nothing to do with the flames in front of them. Anthony cannot prevent a small smile creep upon his lips.
“And you would like to go.” She grins right back.
“Yes.”
“How did you find out about this?” Eloise falters for a second, images of assemblies and passionate discussions cross her mind, but when she answers, it is sure and unashamed.
“From like-minded individuals.”
“Political radicals?”
“If that is how you want to call them.” There is a silence again, this time a little bit stifling. She still gets a bit defensive about this topic.
She admitted to her family, that in essence, what Lady Whistledown wrote about her was true, but she refused give any names or places. Anthony was furious, of course. But no amount of her brother's rage would change her mind. She may be naive and unaware of lots of thing, but she is not an idiot. She kept mum about her new friends to keep them from any potential harm or retribution from upper classes. High-born calling for societal reform is eccentric, at worst shunned or shamed. Some apprentice from lower London would be lynched. She knows that now. (She expects Anthony would be a bit surprised she does. It is something he certainly never told her or cared for her to learn, not deeming it appropriate topic for a young lady in the making.)
She looks at her brother, trying to figure out his next move.
“Tell me more about the classes,” he says, with what can be described as an encouraging smile. Words bubble up from Eloise at breakneck speed.
“It is three years run, we start with the first year students, shadow them through lectures, take part in discussions, will be granted access to university library for independent research. We will not be taking any exams and we will not be awarded the title at the end of it all, of course.” There is a much less venom in that last statement than she expects, surprising even herself and Anthony notices.
“That alright with you?” he asks curiously. Eloise snorts inelegant laugh and then just shrugs.
“I want the knowledge, not the piece of paper.” Of course, she would like the paper as well, if only so she can rub it in everyone's face, but… priorities.
Anthony is silent for excruciating length of time, at least according to Eloise's high-strung nerves. But, when he finally speaks, his words are most welcome to her ears.
“I'm not against it in principle, but I feel I must warn you, this will not be looked upon very favourably by the ton.”
“I'm aware. Personally, I don't give a rat's ass…” In her excitement she lets her mouth run away from her and is interrupted by Anthony's indignant: “Eloise!” but she heeds him no mind and continues her rapid rainstorm of words.
“… about what the society mamas are saying about me, but I would hate to make any more trouble for the family. Francesca will be coming out next season and I know she is actually looking forward to it. She will be a success and a great balm for our mama's frizzled nerves and I wish her all the luck form the bottom of my heart. I do not want to be a disappointment to the family and I truly believe that I can make you all proud this way.” She finishes, hiding all her insecurities behind the bright smile. Her mother assured her she could never disappoint her and Eloise is sure Anthony would convey the same sentiments when prompted. In her heart she even believes them, but there is that little corner of her mind, stuffed with memories of all the exasperated sights, all the reprimands for her inappropriate behaviour and interests, of being compared to Daphne and never quite measuring up. She cannot quite shake that off just yet, no matter how much she pretends and loudly declares otherwise.
“So?” she probes her brother impatiently, when the silence stretches between them again. Anthony, ever the dutiful son, replies with:
“Have you talked to mother?” Eloise shakes her head, but before she can launch into carefully prepared argument of why she decided to go to him first (well, second, Ben already knows everything), her brother interrupts her and shocks her into silently gaping at him for full ten seconds.
“Well, do. And if you manage to convince her or at least soften her enough to the idea, I will support you.”
“Really?” Eloise manages to squeak. Surprisingly, Anthony does not look all that amused by her stunned look. He watches her with a pensive expression in his eyes and Eloise is not quite sure what is that supposed to mean. But before she can delve into this mystery, small smile appears on his face and he confirms his previous statement.
“Of course.” She almost tackles him down into the fireplace, jumping around his neck, kissing his cheek.
“Oh, Anthony! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” He finally laughs, hugging her back.
“Am I your favourite brother now?” Eloise chuckles, still not believing that this first hurdle is successfully overcome.
“You are now in the running,” she acquiesces. Anthony sets her back on the floor. He ruffles her hair like she is still a little girl and then has the audacity to wink at her.
“Convince mother. And when me and Kate return from our honeymoon, we will put it in motion,” he promises her. Eloise nods.
“If you could come back with mama's next grandchild already under construction, that would be very helpful. I believe she would agree to anything then,” she offers, only half joking. Anthony rolls his eyes, but does not reprimand her for being inappropriate.
“We will do our best,” he drawls, then pushes her to the door. “Now go to bed. Early start tomorrow.” For once, she does not protest being send up and goes. However, when she reaches the door, she turns back to the room. Anthony is watching her, still standing by the hearth, flames bathing him in soft, warm colours and making him look so very… approachable.
“Thank you, brother,” she whispers, trying to convey all the gratitude she felt at the moment. Anthony smiles.
“Thank you for trusting me with this and not sneaking around.” They smile and Eloise finally leaves. When she falls asleep that night, her dreams are lightest than they were in weeks.
The wedding goes through without a hitch, to everyone's relief. It is significantly smaller affair than her brother's previous attempt at marrying a Sharma girl, but Eloise still feels a bit stifled and breathless. But, if she should be completely honest with herself, that has more to do with who is attending, not number of attendees.
Featheringtons are invited. And it would not be Lady Featherington if she did not grasp at the opportunity to show up in a good company. And now, when Bridgertons have once again weathered scandals and came through them with heads held high, who else would qualify? After their cousin skedaddled back to Americas with the money he stole from half a ton, Lady Featherington was desperate to show everyone her family were victims of his actions as well. Successfully, with the help of Colin's testimony and Lady Whistledown's latest report.
Eloise turns her eyes to the lady in question. Penelope stands by the open terrace door, trying to be invisible, watching everyone and everything with keen eyes. Dressed in her traditional (hated) yellow, she keeps to the walls, trying to blend in. And she manages to do so with ease Eloise both envies and hates.
Truth is, her rage has subsided over the course of last month. And betrayal, hurt and confusion surfaced instead, attacking her heart with vengeance. Until now. Now the anger reaches out with its ugly head and before she can stop herself, Eloise marches to her former friend.
“Eloise!” Penelope gasps, choking on the lemonade she is sipping. She gazes at her with earnest eyes full of emotions Eloise cannot even begin naming all.
“Penelope.” Her greeting is much colder then Pen's. There is a flash of wicked satisfaction seeing hurt on her face. But it is gone as quickly as it came, leaving only sour taste in its wake. Penelope turns her eyes to the dancing before them.
“Lovely wedding,” she offers. Eloise almost snaps at her, asking if she is planning to smear it in her gossip rag, but catches herself at the last moment. Instead, she replies with hallow:
“Yes, splendid.” She can fell the rage building up in her guts and she knows, least she wants to cause a scene at her brother's wedding, she needs to remove herself from this situation. Eloise curses her lack of self-control and quickly asks the question she came here to ask:
“Would you take walk with me, tomorrow? I believe we have a lot to talk about.” Penelope looks stunned for a second, but gathers herself admirably quickly.
“Yes. I believe we do,” she agrees and looks at her with hopeful smile Eloise cannot stand. Her tone is positively icy when she speaks next.
“I will call on you in the morning. With little bit of luck, everyone will be still sleeping and we can get away without maids.” She starts turning away when she is interrupted by Pen's panicky exclamation:
“Without maids?” The hypocrisy of Penelope's outrage makes Eloise's blood boil. Have her mind been clear, she would recognize it as a token indignation women in their positions need to present for the sake of propriety. But Eloise is too far in her anger for that now.
“Don't worry, I only intend to take to promenade, not my usual cesspool of political radicals and other undesirable individuals I'm known to fraternize with.” With that, she turns and leaves before the venom in her heart makes her say something else. She spends the rest of the night loitering around with Benedict and avoiding her mother and her never ending quest to introduce her to all available men in the ton.
Thankfully, she is noticeably calmer the next morning. Pen is already waiting on the steps of her house. She had to see her coming across the street. Eloise greets her with a nod and then they head to the park and promenade. They walk for almost twenty minutes, when Penelope finally breaks the silence.
“I was not sure you would came, after all.” She sounds apprehensive, like she expects her to have another outburst and leave again. Eloise does not blame her.
“My mouth got away from me. I thought my anger subsided considerably since… But, alas…” she trails off, words hanging between them. They finally take a turn into the park and among deserted gravel paths and leafy trees, they find empty bench sitting in the morning sun. Eloise plops herself down without care, Pen inspects the bench first before sitting down, mindful of her dress.
“So you are not as angry with me?” Penelope follows up on their conversation, hope colouring her words.
“Still plenty angry, no worries.” It is said less venomously than anything she uttered yesterday, but Pen still grows quiet. Eloise sights. She is not sure how to approach this. Their last fight, their only real fight before this, resolved itself in the end, without either of them actually addressing the issue. But that will not happen now, that much Eloise knows. Her hurt is deep. And she has no idea how Penelope is even feeling about it all. Well, she may as well start there.
“You?” The question seems to startle Pen and she looks at her, trying to discern what she means. Eloise elaborates, speaking in uncharacteristically quiet and meek voice:
“Are you still very angry with me? I have said… some very cruel words to you.” Penelope answers with a venom Eloise finds surprising, but not entirely unjustified.
“Yes, you did.” More crushing silence follows. Neither of them know how to proceed, how to fix this and the silence stretches, until Pen breaks it with heartfelt cry:
“Oh, El, could we just say we were both in the wrong and move past it? Please?” Penelope gazes at her with earnest eyes and her first instinct is to say yes. Oh how easy it would be, throw all of this behind their heads and jump right back into careless banter and shared giggles. For couple of seconds, Eloise wants to agree, but in the end, she does not.
“I'm sorry, Pen, I do not think that is possible.” Penelope's eager expression melts from her face and it is replaced by disbelief.
“So you took me out just to tell me again you will never speak to me?”
“I want to… I just want to understand.” She quiets the vicious part of her that still want to scream at Penelope, reprimand her for all her dishonesty and betrayal. But she stops herself and controls her emotions. She is angry, but she wants the truth more. Why Pen started to write about everyone's secrets in the first place. Why she betrayed her. What she herself maybe did to deserve this betrayal. She asks all these questions and with a deep sigh, Penelope starts her explanations.
“I know that you always thought we are essentially the same. Both of us outcasts. But where you embraced being excluded from talking about dresses and gossiping about boys we fancy, I wanted to be included. I do not despise this world the way you do. I like it. I want to be part of it. And being your friend always opened those doors for me. Because even if you did not want to, everyone else wanted to be seen with a Bridgerton. So they took me in with you.” Eloise's heart skips a beat, dreadful assumption darkening her thoughts. She blurts her next question (and accusation) before Pen can elaborate.
“Is that the reason we became friends? So you could get into better company?” Thankfully, Pen does not give her time to dwell and hurries with her tale. Eloise has a feeling that she needs to tell her all just as much she herself needs to hear it, no matter how painful it will be.
“That was mama's original idea. But I swear, Eloise, our friendship was never based on that. Mama send me over and I thought you are going to be just like my sisters, just like any other girl from society I met. But you asked if I like to read and bit Cressida for calling me fat little piggy. And I knew… I knew I would be safe with you.” Despite the situation, fleeing smile graces both of their faces. Eloise's mind is flooded by images of sunny Sunday afternoon almost ten years ago, first London season after her father's death. She remembers also being send into the gaggle of young girls in hopes of making friends. She remembers little redhead on the wedge of tears, but still standing as tall as her short high has allowed her.
“Pen, you never needed me to keep you safe. You are quite magnificent in your own way.” Her words are barely a whisper. Penelope smiles again.
“That is nice to hear.”
“Was it a revenge, then? On the ton, for mistreating you?”
“A little bit of that. People did not notice me, at least not until it suited them for their own amusement. Part of it was that I was just… lonely. You were not there last year and… I had no other friends. And in part, I heard everything everyone said and by writing it down, I felt like living this exciting life myself.” Penelope pauses and Eloise uses the silence to gather her thoughts. In only few sentences her view of her friend was almost completely turned on its head and she does not know how to deal with it and she admits as much.
“I'm not quite sure what to say to that. I'm afraid I do not have much of understanding for desire to be included in society.” Despite her obvious shock, Pen actually giggles.
“No, I do not expect you do.” Her easy tone only makes Eloise that much more anxious. She jumps up from the bench and starts to pace the length of the pavement before them, gesturing wildly as she is prone to.
“But that is horrible! As your friend, I should know these things.” She is angry, this time at herself for misreading her friend so thoroughly. Pen, ever one to avoid open conflicts, tries to placate her.
“You know them now.” Eloise pays her no mind. She stops in front of Pen and admits, somewhat guiltily:
“I always just assumed that your inactivity in social circles was result of your distaste for them, same as me.” This time, Penelope actually laughs, but is sounds hollow to Eloise's ears.
“That is kind of boost for my ego to hear you say I am desirable enough to afford dismissing people around me.” She can easily identify underlining bitterness in her words. Eloise contemplates for a second, seeing Pen anew. Was she always this insecure? This jaded by their society? And this apt at hiding it from her? Then again, maybe she should not be so surprised by Pen's ability to hide her true feelings. After all, when she admitted to her insecurities concerning being constantly compared to Daphne and disappointing everyone around her by falling short in such comparisons, Penelope appeared as bewildered as Eloise is now. Like it or not, their mothers education and societal pressure to always keep up appearances were rooted deeply inside them.
“Do I need to bite someone again?” Still, despite believing Pen does not need her to be her knight in shining armour, fury at everyone who made her friend feel insufficient is present and so is her thirst for revenge. It is probably whiten all over her face, because Pen quickly grabs at her skirt and tugs her to sit back down on the bench.
“No.” For a second, their old dynamic is restored – Eloise making hasty impassioned decisions and Penelope keeping her in check (or at least trying). But, as much as lovely and familiar it feels, Eloise knows that is not the road they can take again. She takes a deep breath.
“You should have told me. If I rolled all over you, dragging you with me just because I thought you feel the same, you should have told me. I cannot read your mind, Pen. And I'm ready to admit, that I can be a bit single-minded at times.”
“I guess I always thought our friendship is like one of those from fancy novels. We are so bonded we can tell what the other feels without any words.” There was once a time (not so long ago) Eloise thought the same. But not any more.
“That is exceedingly dumb.” Thankfully, Pen does not take an issue with her statement and readily agrees.
“Yes. Terribly so.”
There is once again silence, but this time Eloise does not mind it. It helps her collect her thoughts and gather courage for the last leg of this conversation. Her feelings are now a curious combination of old anger and newly acquired guild. She does not know how to deal with them yet, but she knows what she must say in order to move this along towards coveted outcome.
“I can forgive what you wrote about me…”
“I was just trying to save you, I swear!” Eloise has her doubts about that, accusations formed in her mind in the last weeks making themselves known at once. Was Pen's motivation truly so pure? Or was it coloured by little bit of jealousy? By envy of Eloise's perceived desirability bestowed upon her by circumstances of her birth? Was it a pride in her work and unwillingness to let anyone else take credit for what she achieved, no matter how damming it could be? Eloise asks all these questions in the future, but not now:
“… but Pen, it did not affect just me, it affected my family too, it could have affected…” she abruptly stops herself. For all the progress they are making, Eloise is not quite sure she wants Pen let onto this just yet. But Penelope is very observant and quickly connects the dots, saying out loud what Eloise is unwilling to.
“Your friend, Mr. Sharpe?” Her voice is gentle and for some reason that makes Eloise that much angrier.
“Yes! He could have… He already had trouble when queen's guards showed up at the print shop!”
“Well, that was mostly your fault.”
“I was trying to find… well, you!”
“You shouldn't have.”
“You wanted me to!”
“What?! What are you talking about?” Penelope actually chokes on her own breath, while Eloise jumps up again, agitated, spewing words in feverish haste.
“Oh, come one, Pen, striding me along, tugging my strings, posting that brilliant piece about women's worth. You posted it right after I said I do not care about Whistledown any more, to bait me right back in. You craved the attention, the thrill, the danger.”
“I'm not quite sure if you are still reprimanding me or praising me.” Penelope looks genuinely confused. Eloise stops and ponders her words, realising that indeed, she got carried away. With apologies she sits back down and motions to Pen to talk.
“I know it is pathetic, but your opinion always meant a lot to me and hearing you that I had nothing new to say… hurt my feelings.” It is the most vulnerable Pen had appeared all morning and it pains Eloise to see.
“Pen, you are not pathetic. You are a wonderful writer, the fact you bewitched the entire ton with your words should be proof enough. You do not need anyone to tell your worth. Least of all me.” She truly believes her words and wills Pen to believe them too. Her efforts are rewarded by brittle smile.
“I'm working on it, but, well... I need to hear it sometimes, I do not have as much confidence in my own ability as you.” Oh, and is not that the greatest joke after all. Eloise is full of doubts and insecurities, just like Pen, and her confidence is used to mask them all.
She suddenly finds both of them completely ridiculous. For two intelligent women they managed to misinterpret lot of their supposedly close friendship. Their relationship is certainly not one from novels, but more like from absurd comedy of errors. With a new determination, Eloise makes a choice to end that right now.
“I'm really sorry I hurt you.” She means it, from the bottom of her heart. Pen grabs her hand and answers earnestly:
“Me too.” Just to make sure, she hopefully adds: “Friends again?” and this time, Eloise is able to join in on the sentiment. She squeezes her friends hand and promises, determined and sure:
“Yes. Better than before, for from this moment, we will actively work on our friendship, so it never crumbles again.” She is not a girl any more and neither is Pen. They cannot hide serious tears in their friendship behind childish squabbles and avoidance of problems. They must learn to talk. Their friendship from now on will be based on solid foundation of mutual respect and knowledge of themselves and each other. Eloise holds Pen's gaze and her heart soars when she sees her friend's resolute nod.
“That seems like a worthy challenge for a pair of remarkable young women.” Laughter finally bubbles out of her throat, sweet and liberating.
“Hear, hear!” She tugs Pen up on her feet and hugs her with all her might, delighting in fact that her friend readily reciprocates. They keep holding each other until the sounds of hooves on the ground tears them out of their world. They jump out of way of the rider enjoying his morning trot. Arm in arm, they turn towards home.
They part ways with a kiss and assurances to meet again soon. Eloise makes it home just in time to be trampled over by her mama running around and organizing the newly-weds smooth departure. Eloise is pretty sure neither Kate or Anthony would notice if they were sat in a carriage in their sleep gowns and send into Thames. They have eyes only for each other and it is both sickening and sweet at the same time. They manage to snap out of it by the time the noon rolls around, but everybody knows it is not for long.
Finally, farewells are exchanged and Bridgertons (plus Sharmas) are once again standing on the street, watching one of them ride towards their bright future. Beside her, Edwina sighs longingly and for a second Eloise worries she is going to cry, lamenting her escaped lover. But, Miss Edwina is apparently made form sterner stuff, for she only says how happy she is for them – and looks absolutely genuine while doing so. Eloise makes a vow to examinate this later and befriend Miss Edwina. (She does not really get a chance. Two weeks after the wedding, Queen invites her and her mother to the palace. Two months after that, Edwina is engaged to the Queen's nephew. If Eloise was not that put off by the institution of marriage in general, she would find it most impressive.)
Their family stays in London for another month before absconding to Aubrey Hall. Eloise spends that time working on her reconciliation with Pen. It is a rocky road. Sometimes, old grievances they did not even knew existed make themselves known, new ones not fully healed yet. They get caught in couple more rows, but pull through, determined to save the friendship so dear to them both. When they say theirs goodbyes, it is with real sorrow about not seeing each other for months.
They write to each other, of course. Penelope about her mama's newest machinations, her new books, her progress in writing other things than Lady Whistledown's paper. Eloise writes about pall mall games, books and her continued efforts to convince her mother to let her study. It takes almost whole summer, but by the time they receive a letter announcing Anthony's and Kate's perceived return, Violet Bridgerton is mostly swayed.
There are compromises needed to be made, of course. Eloise's plan to skip the season altogether is denied, her mother extolling from her daughter promise she will still attend some dances and soirées. (They settle on one outing a week and retrospectively, Eloise admits it is probably the best deal she could get out of her mother.) Same, her request to live in London even out of season is not met with much enthusiasm. Her original plan was to shackle with Benedict in his “cottage” but mama is shaking her head even before Eloise finishes speaking and no amount of convincing form both her and Ben makes a difference. They finally agree on her living with Kate and Anthony, should they decide to reside in London through the year for now, which mama calls “most likely to happen, after all, no newly-weds want to be in a house full of people”. When Eloise says she can understand that, Benedict snorts a laugh and says she really does not and her mother blushes profusely and shushes her second child with fervour. Eloise is convinced it has all to do with so very often mentioned but never explained marital duties and makes a mental note to find some books on the topic, for her family will not educate her on this issue no matter what.
But, all is well that ends well and after her eldest brother and his wife finally make it home, the deal is struck. Eloise will live with Kate and Anthony in London, Kate passionately supporting her endeavours and quickly promising her mother-in-law to keep a close eye on Eloise in her absence. (This daunting promise is made little bit sweeter by a wink Kate throws her while nobody watches.) She will diligently attend all her classes during the year and pre-agreed social evens during the season. She will conduct herself with dignity and mindfulness of someone carrying the name Bridgerton (whatever that means).
“So, what now? Do I just write to sir Bentham to expect you in his class next month?” Anthony asks, happily sprawled in his chair, sipping his wife's tea. Eloise sights, that old shadow of words about her unearned privileges creeping up momentarily. She pushes it down quickly.
“Basically. I'm afraid that our name alone will be enough incentive to accept me. But… I was hoping… you could use my dowry and buy two or three more places for someone less fortunate than me. They have a lot of applicants and not all of them can afford it.” Her request is met with stunned silence, from both her mother and brother. Only Kate is smiling again, like she already knows how it will play out.
“You will need your dowry when you marry, dear,” her mother says and Eloise has to bite her tongue so she will not snap at her and ruin all she was able achieve so far. There is no point in repeating she does not wish to marry, for her mother seems to still suffer selective deafness when this topic is discussed. Instead, Eloise takes a deep breath and says:
“I would hope, that if I ever decide to wed, my husband will not be marrying me for money.” Her mama is already opening her mouth to retort, but is thankfully interrupted by weirdly impressed looking Anthony.
“Very well. I will write tomorrow. And yours and other three candidates education will be covered.” He smiles and then almost purrs when Kate presses his hand. This display of wedded bliss thankfully distracts her mother enough for Eloise to slip away with one last heartfelt thank you. She dodges rest of her siblings and hides in her room. Full of joy and optimism and high hopes for the future, she pulls out her writing equipment and does one more thing she should have done ages ago. Words came surprisingly easy to her and so her letter is on its way to Bloomsbury next morning.