Work Text:
Oh, my life is changing everyday
In every possible way
And oh, my dreams
It's never quite as it seems
Never quite as it seems
Small fingers stumble over themselves, missing their target. The pianoforte releases a discordant sound before becoming silent, the child sitting on the stool in front of it looking puzzled. Bigger, older hand reaches out, hovering over the white keys for a moment, then descending and playing the difficult part on its own. Gentle encouragement, explanation of where did the young pianist went wrong (fingering, it's always the fingering with this one, the little girl willing to break her fingers rather than to follow the pre-described path her digits are supposed to take). Murmured countdown to start on tempo. Three tacts in and the same mistake and the child giggles. Woman sitting beside smiles too. The minuet seems to remain undefeated. This time, at least.
The end of the lesson nears, the last ten minutes are spend by a playful attempt at duet by the pupil and the teacher, simple folk song accompanied by slightly off-key singing. As soon the clock chime four however, short legs stretch to reach the carpeted floor and the little girl is out of the door in the whirl of ruffles and ribbons, shouting “See you next week, miss Eloise!”. John, no longer wearing a footman uniform, but the butler one, manages to get out of the way just in time, stepping aside a bit more when Eloise makes her way to him too, only to see the girl jump down the last three stairs and run to her nanny.
“How long it will take her this time, what do you think?” Asks John, the tone low and amused, confidential and way to casual for an employee to be using when addressing his de facto mistress. Eloise smirks.
“Her nanny today, not the maid. She will remind her before they get out of the door.” By now they both know the drill and John is forced to concede that Eloise's guess is probably right. And truly, the nanny helps her little charge into her cloak and as she is putting on her woollen mittens, she asks where her sheet music is. The girl lets out exaggerated gasp (Eloise is pretty sure it's faked, this one is “forgetting” her playlists every week, hoping to avoid practising at home), but then she's obediently running back up the stairs. Eloise is ready, collecting the music sheets as she herself rose up from the piano. The latest women rights pamphlet is already safely tucked between them, awaiting to be delivered into the eager hands of Mrs. Harridan, the girls mother. It's a simple, yet effective system. In this particular case made that much safer by the fact that the chances of the child coming across the radical writings is very low indeed.
“Thank you, miss Eloise.” The girls says, angelic smile on her lips as she accepts the folder with music. And then, as every week, she turns to John and bats her eyelashes at him and dowager house butler easily succumbs to her doll-like look. Reaching into his pocket, he fishes out a hard sugar sweet, wrapped in a colourful paper and hands it to the girl, who grins victoriously before running away again. Both Eloise and John know fairly well that they have been played, but say nothing, just watch with a smile as their guests disappear from their sight, click of the main door as the footman on duty lets them out echoing through the hallway and stairs. Despite knowing she is just as complicit to John being schemed out of the treats, Eloise still teases her friend:
“Sucker.” John pokes her with his elbow in retaliation, but says nothing. He just pats his now empty pocket and mentally reminds himself to stock up on the bonbons for the next little piano playing weasel that comes around.
I know I felt like this before
But I'm feeling it even more
Because it came from you
At age thirty, the pressure to marry that followed Eloise around for over a decade seems to finally dissipate. The urgent whispers and not so gentle nudges are exchanged for sorrowful looks and words of pity, consoling pats on the hand, sighs followed by strained smiles as if she were to crumble to tears over her spinster status any second. Eloise can see her mother genuinely mourns the fate that has befell her, the only child remaining that has to yet taste the sweet nectar provided by marital bliss. She bears it all with a roll of her eyes and patronizing pats of her own, declaring that she has all she ever wanted. Finally.
Sometimes, when she tries hard enough, she even manages to believe it for few moments, before the dark shadows of reality sink back in.
It is not the lack of husband that troubles her. No. That cross she is happy to carry on her back for the rest of her days. After twelve years on marriage mart she had became all but cemented in her belief that no man presented to her could be the life partner she might wish for. No matter how educated or open-minded, the men her family introduce as her options for happiness never quite reach her standards. (Anthony calls her arrogant and mother begs her to give them a chance, her flowery talks of love matches eventually getting buried under words like comfort, patience and humility.) Over time, Eloise gains a reputation of a woman impossible to please, picky and demanding, too much trouble to bother with, no matter the size of her dowry. She would be lying if said that those judgements have not hurt her, but never enough to compromise her principles. (She knew perfection once and she will not settle for anything less.)
Now she walks around the music room of their home, collecting the sheets that found their way on the floor over the last hour. The Parkers' twins are, lets say, spirited boys. Talented, Eloise actually thinks talented enough to warrant a proper piano teacher, but wild and rambunctious and more interested in folding paper birds from the sheets of music than playing it. So far, Eloise manages to find a balance in their lessons, getting them to practise and then play in equal parts. Their mother is all to grateful to have the hour for herself, enjoying the tea and biscuits while listening to her sons duetting and then some enlightening conversation with their teacher when the children are allowed to play. Eloise keeps around a box with playthings passed down from her many nephews and nieces just for that. The items might be tad childish for eight years old, but the boys are one of those who are not allowed to be children while under the eye of their father, so they don't complain and take to playing with wooden blocks, tin soldiers and stuffed animals with gusto. Mrs. Parker watches them with pained smile and over their teas, she listens to Eloise'shushed talk about the legislatives being proposed in the parliament to help women find justice in front of the law, to help them when they need it.
(Every week, Eloise closes their conversation with direct offer to help, somehow, anyhow and every week Mrs. Parker smiles gratefully and shakes her head, packing her boys and going back to the cage she is forced to live in. She always comes back, though, and Eloise hopes that one day, her answer will be different.)
Doorbell rings and Eloise pays it little mind. She is not expecting any more students today nor visitors. It's probably meat or eggs delivery for the kitchens. During the winter, the back entrance to the house gets often blocked, so she “allowed” the servants' dealings to take place through the main entrance. Personally, she couldn't care less, but her mother tends to frown over such things. Thankfully, Violet decided to spend the winter in the countryside this year, so she doesn't get to complain.
Eloise picks up the last paper, smoothing it out, revealing one of the concertos Frannie send her over when she first started with teaching. A piece too advanced for the boys to be playing, so Eloise is not entirely sure how it got to their proximity. Also, there are flowers around the margins, drawn by child's hand with various colours. Curious. She doesn't remember that happening either.
“You have a visitor.” John's voice interrupts her mussing. Eloise is too preoccupied at first to notice the pensive quality in his voice.
“Who?” She asks absently, finally setting the wad of papers on the piano, leaving the pondering over the mysterious artist for another day. She looks up at John and is slightly taken aback by the nervous sheen in his eyes. They know each other well enough by now for her to recognize it immediately.
“A gentleman is here to ask about getting lessons.” That itself is hardly warranting such unease, since requests like this are often and expected. Suddenly cautious as well, Eloise takes few steps closer to John, her voice strained when saying his name, urging him to elaborate.
“It's… Mr. Sharpe.” John reveals and for a second, Eloise feels like the floor under her feet is made of quicksand.
Then I open up and see
The person falling here is me
A different way to be
The pianoforte was always Francesca's domain, her younger sister the only one in the family with real passion for music. Even Daphne, for all the hours she spend caressing the ivory keys, has done so primarily because it was sort of expected of her. One more talent to polish and put on the long list of her accomplishments, making her that much more desirable. She barely touches the piano nowadays, but always stands in the corner, overseeing her daughters are just as fluent in it as she once was. Francesca however still plays, just for the love of it. At least she says so in her letters from Scotland. She is also the one whose support never wavered, fully aware of just what this little project truly means to her older sister.
Eloise's talents are nowhere comparable to Frannie's or Daphne's, or, truly, even Hyacinth's, of course. However, she went through the lessons as well, like every high-born miss. She lacks any real feeling for the music, but she is good enough mechanical player to help others practise. To say her family was shocked when she announced her wish to begin with this endeavour, would be an understatement, but they accepted it surprisingly quickly in the end, with not much comments over the fact she, as a daughter of the noble house, will be for all purposes essentially working. (There were amused chuckles and raised eyebrows and the old well known “oh that Eloise, doing silly things again” and Eloise ignored it all with a tight smile on her face and shoulders held in an uncompromising line.)
It was Cressida of all people who came up with the idea. Before making her exit from the marriage mart, finally securing herself a place she was happy with and that made her happy, she planted the seed in her friend's mind, few well aimed barbs and nudges and Eloise, being the bright woman she is, took care of the rest. Cressida recognized the signs of loneliness and unfulfilled ache in her, something many of her closest and dearest failed to see themselves. She saw how Eloise longs for what she once briefly tasted and told her to do something about it, at least a little bit.
Music lessons for the children of the families that cannot afford a private tutor, seemed positively insane at the time, but Eloise found pleasure in it surprisingly quickly. She still doesn't enjoy babies, but older children, especially once they are capable of independent thought, do prove to be rather delightful on occasion. And then there are their mothers and nannies and maids, all women of different backgrounds than hers, some closer to her standing, some further. Through them, Eloise managed to at least occasionally caress her heart's true desires.
And now, the biggest reminder of what could have been is supposedly standing in the drawing room, waiting for her. Does he even know it is her he came to see? Is he expecting to see her or is he unaware of whom this house belongs to? Did he get the name with the address from whoever it was that steered him this way?
She walks down the stairs and her palms itch to hold onto something, something that she could take with her to the room after the staircase railing will end and the support it lends her ceases to exist. (She should have keep holding onto the music sheets. Nothing better to hide behind than odiously long and sentimental sonata.)
John walks closely at her heels and not even his presence gives her much ease this time. Eloise's mind swarms by all those questions, questions she has no answer too, not yet anyway. Her heart is pounding. It shouldn't be affecting her so, it really shouldn't. He is a memory, sweet, aching memory. Nothing more.
They stop before the door to the salon, John giving her arm a brief squeeze as he walks past her to open the door and announce her to the man inside. The second he utters her name, Eloise has at least one answer she was looking for – Theo Sharpe had no idea who he is about to meet. Eloise wants to greet him, but her throat is suddenly parched and no sound comes out and so she just watches as the things click into place for Theo. She sees him move his eyes on John momentarily, finally recognizing him as well (it's amazing how much can be camouflaged with a uniform and wig), before he looks back at her. He watches her intently, unabashedly, hungrily almost. Normally such scrutiny would make Eloise uncomfortable, either prod her to lash out or on contrary curl into herself. But this time, she welcomes it. For the first time in ages, she feels seen – and in a good way.
“Mr. Sharpe.” She finally breaks the silence, voice soft but sure. Doesn't even have to force a smile on her lips, it comes up naturally. She watches him back with the matching intensity.
“Miss Bridgerton.” His response is so familiar that for a moment, Eloise finds herself back in the brightly lit Assembly Hall of Bloomsbury, eighteen and carefree and unafraid. The girl she was that she thought was lost to time. How pleasant to see her again. There is surge of courage warming her veins now, something she didn't feel in quite some time. Unrestrained confidence. (For she is always restrained these days. Outwardly, she is hard as a stone, but inside, she shivers.) Amazing. Eloise can feel her back straightening and the smile on her lips widening.
“I hear you are interested in piano lessons?” She takes a step closer, her tone light. Peripherally, she can see John resuming his duties, excusing himself out of the room. Her attention is focused on the man before her. He blinks, almost confusedly, before gathering himself enough to respond, somewhat hastily:
“Not for me. For Abigail.”
“Your daughter?”
“Niece! I'm not married.” He rumbles that out with urgency that leaves them both momentarily stunned. The hidden part of Eloise, the part that sometimes wakes up at night and lets her ponder over countless what ifs, should probably be relieved to hear this statement. Maybe it even is, but it's buried under the genuine happiness of seeing him so obviously well, no matter his marital status. Their eyes lock and there is another brief moment of silence before they simultaneously burst out laughing, the sound free and so easy.
“I don't know why I said it like that.” Theo shakes his head, still chuckling. Eloise crosses the remaining distance between them, takes his hand to complete the ritual of greeting and then motions him to sit, ringing for the tea to be brought up. Dropping down on the sofa herself, crossing one leg over another with effortlessness she scarcely expresses any more even among her family, she smiles and then, scandalously, winks:
“That's alright. Quite a welcomed change to hear you fumble over your words for once.”
I want more, impossible to ignore
Impossible to ignore
And they'll come true
Impossible not to do
Possible not to do
Theo took his niece to a science exhibition that bored her to death. To cheer her up (and to keep his “favourite uncle” status), they went for a cake afterwards. The tearoom they visited had a piano in one corner, played by some young girl and Abigail was instantly smitten. Her parents couldn't afford a private tutor or, indeed, a piano itself. However Theo, now owner of his own semi-prosperous business, happily offered to find a solution. A deal with the Assembly Hall owners for Abigail to practise on the piano there few times a week and a teacher that is well known among the lower and middle class of London for having her door opened to anyone regardless their standing.
“So what is the verdict?” The introductory lesson is over, Abigail still sitting by the piano, pressing the keys with one finger, humming to herself, as Eloise joins Theo at the small table under the windows. She keeps watching the girl, the long dark braid sneaking down her back almost to the waist, stark contrast with the softly blue dress. She is quite short for her age, her legs dangling good three inches above the ground as she sits on the piano stool. She didn't complain once while Eloise was showing her the basic hand positions and naming the keys and different parts of the piano in general, admittedly rather boring, if necessary part of learning. Abigail Sharpe, daughter of Theo's older brother, appears to be the best behaved child Eloise ever met, something Theo was quick to point out is not like her at all.
“She is already off to a better start than I ever was.” She doesn't dare to make an assessment of the girl's talent after knowing her for barely an hour, but the truth is, what Abigail might lack in terms of natural predispositions for playing music, she more than makes up for with excitement and enthusiastic attitude.
“I bet you tell that to every child.” Theo's voice is light and teasing and so is his smile as he leans back into his chair to get more comfortable. Somehow, he manages to look like he fits right in, in this fancy room. (With her.) Eloise knows he is joking, the fondness for his niece unmistakable – no doubt he is willing to bring her blue skies and rainbows should the girl demand it. Yet Eloise's tone when answering is a tad too sharp, not harder, but certainly tellingly poignant:
“Every child deserves to hear they are good at something from time to time.” She takes her gaze off the budding pianist and looks directly at Theo. He doesn't shift his eyes as she is used the men in the ton do, in those (now) rare moments she slips and cannot keep her tongue behind her teeth any longer. He doesn't scoff, doesn't roll his eyes or nods patronizingly and Eloise both loves and hates how this makes her feel. (How something so natural and obvious could be so precious.) He just smiles and nods and then completely seriously agrees:
“Quite so.” Door to the room open and John enters with a tray with teapot, four cups and some leftover cake. Both Eloise and Theo start shifting things on the desk to make space for him to put his load down.
“I'm looking for a second hand pianos already, to buy if she decides to stick with it.” Theo keeps talking, pausing only to raise his eyebrows questioningly as if to ask what he is supposed to do with the armful of books that Eloise had scattered around. She motions him to put them on the windowsill. John finally sets the tray down, pours the first cup and with a small plate piled with cake he brings it over to Abigail. All adults need to stifle a laugh at her loftily waving John off to set the treats aside as she continues to concentrate on playing.
“I can help you look, if you wish.” The words are out of Eloise's mouth before she fully thinks them over, so immediate and eager. She starts pouring the rest of the teas, preparing John's cup just the way he likes it as her friend sits down on the remaining free chair and joins them. Makes herself a cup as well, not hesitating when asking Theo how he takes his. She is very aware her defences are down. The walls she build around herself in the last decade are gone. They are not needed in this moment. It makes her almost light-headed. Just as Theo's answer, said so tenderly and carrying way too much meaning than she could ever dare to hope:
“I would like that very much.”
And now I tell you openly
You have my heart so don't hurt me
You're what I couldn't find
“Well, this takes me back.” Says John, part mocking, part wistful as they stand in the door and watch Theo and Abigail walk away. The winter is finally giving to the spring, it's still rather cold, but the snow is gone, freeing the town and its people, allowing them to come and go as they please.
Eloise keeps her eyes on the duo until they disappear behind the corner, only then stepping back inside the house and allowing John to close the door. He is still smirking, but there is no malice in it, that much she knows for sure. (Her and John's relationship goes far beyond the typical lady and her servant bounds. Starting in their youth, deepening in their early adulthood, cementing when Violet finally decided to move out of the Bridgerton house, taking her (then) unmarried children with her. A new butler was needed in the dowager house and Eloise suggested John, despite him being rather young for such position. But he knew, even then, the inner workings of the Bridgerton household and Mrs. Wilson, who remained Violet's faithful shadow and went with her mistress, allowing Kate to bring in her own staff, was rather happy to have someone who she herself knew to share the household duties with.) She knows why is he saying this. The last hour was like a blast from the past for her too.
Theo is bringing Abigail for her lessons for almost two months now. Eloise takes to scheduling their appointments for the end of the afternoon, knowingly putting them last so they could stay longer – and they do. Abigail happy to keep sitting by the pianoforte until her uncle pries her away. And Theo happy to talk. And to listen.
Eloise almost doesn't know what to do with all this undivided attention directed on her person and more importantly, on what she has to say. She starts carefully, the years and years at this point of always censoring herself, always putting on the front, making it difficult at first to open up, to be as carefree as she used to. Many times she catches herself just as she is about to divulge something, things she keeps secret from her family. The first time she does that, cuts herself off, swallows the words already formed on her tongue and hides behind an artificial smile, Theo looks like he's been slapped, blinking at her uncomprehendingly for few moments, before his expression slowly morphs into something else. It's not pity. But there is no denying the sadness that makes way into his eyes.
He keeps listening though and he starts bringing books over, claiming it be to pass the time when Eloise concentrates on Abigail. He conveniently forgets them every time, leaving them behind for Eloise to read and she does. Some she knows, some are new to her and she devours them all with hunger, the yellowed pages and inked letters nourishing her body and mind and she can feel herself getting stronger, feels more like herself with every passing week.
Today is the first time she openly reciprocates the discussion, outright getting into an argument for few glorious minutes before something cold and controlling still living in the deep corners of her mind reaches out and makes her stop as usual. (She stops, yes, but there is a fire in her now that nudges her to fight this, this self-imposed oppression. She stops herself, but it's hardest it has been in ages, the sickening effortlessness with which she learnt to deal with socially unrequited thoughts gone.) There is a struggle to keep silent now and Theo notices and the smile he gives her tells everything even if his lips remain sealed. Eloise abandons the original line of conversation and shifts it away, but even this “safer option” is now more than she would dare in the past. She carefully talks about the bonds she made with the women that bring their children to her door, the secret and concealed exchange of information and ideas, never to be said out loud and in the open, never admitted to her family. She can feel her spine straightening as she finally voices this aloud and Theo beams with pride as she speaks and Eloise knows her cheeks are red and she's sure she is flustered like a debutante on her first ball.
(Hence John's comments. He sees the old Eloise shining through after all and he hopes she's here to stay.)
It somehow only gets better. Theo doesn't push her, but he gives her so much space to be as she wishes that there is really no other option for her but to fill it, fill the heartbreaking vacuum surrounding her with her thoughts and ideas and dreams.
In another fortnight, when she is making good at her promise of helping him look for a cheap piano, they find themselves further east in London than Eloise ever ventures these days. Their appointment with a man trying to sell an old pianoforte after his late mother goes well and they are on their way back when they come across a small square. There are long tables all around, filled with books and prints of various types. People mingling about, talking or silently standing with their noses buried in the pages.
They both delve in without hesitation, walking around the market side by side, stopping every few steps to reach out and pick up a book.
“I haven't been to a book fair in ages.” Eloise hears herself saying, longing lament escaping her without second thought. Her attention is firmly on the table in front of her. She is already holding three tomes, old and battered, evidently living through better days.
“You haven't?” Theo's voice is genuinely surprised. Eloise looks at him – leaning casually against the table next to her, his own book bounty stashed under his arm. Once again, he looks completely at ease and right at home. After years of not feeling comfortable anywhere, Eloise is both a bit jealous and eager to have some of this confidence rub on her. Maybe in time. Yes, it takes time, so for now she just gives a little pained smile and shrugs her shoulders.
“Not in this part of town.” She admits and Theo understands the hidden meaning immediately. Something crosses his face and for a moment, Eloise thinks he will reach for her, takes her hand or maybe even wraps his arms around her. But in the end, he settles for a little smile of his own.
“What happened to you, Eloise?” It's not an accusation. It's not really even a question, more of an acknowledgement of the obvious at last. His voice is full with concern, slight undertones of worry and pain – for her, for her fire being doused.
Another strained smile, the grimace making Eloise's face contort uncomfortably as she repeats the words she told those very few who bothered to ask as well in the past:
“I joined the winning side.” She said it to Colin first, of all people. Back when everything was still raw and hurting. He saw her after months of being away, the facade her present family got already used to in the meantime surprising to him to say the least. Nevertheless, he accepted it without much reservations very quickly, welcoming it even.
(She repeated those words to Benedict years later. He was leaving for the countryside with his wife, bound to stay out of sight despite the fervent declarations of their family that Sophie's background is not bothering them. But just in case, to avoid rumours, you don't want there to be rumours, do you, think of Sophie and your future children. Benedict raged, shouting over and over that he is not ashamed. But then again, it was not him who was followed by judging stares wherever he went. “Think of it as joining the winning side” Eloise told him then, by that time too resigned to put up the fight. “Is that what you did?” her brother asked and Eloise replied with one of her practised smiles, the grimace not reaching her eyes.)
“Did you, truly?” Ben left, resigning himself to the pressure of the circumstances. Theo however, calls her out on it and holds her gaze until Eloise owns up to it, admitting her farce out loud for the first time.
“No. But I made it look like it.” Some weight seems to be lifted from her shoulders. Theo smiles and Eloise wonders how is it possible he is so good at reading her even after all those years.
A totally amazing mind
So understanding and so kind
You're everything to me
There is no stopping the runaway carriage after that.
With their every meeting, Eloise feels life returning to her veins and it gets harder and harder to keep silent. Right now, she doesn't have to worry much. Letter arrived, saying that her mother will be staying in the countryside for some more time, leaving Eloise alone in the dowager house. There are no longer any insistent pleas for her to come and join the family and the country society they surely host. As long as she keeps behaving like the good sad spinster she is ought to be, they will leave her to her own devices.
She's glad, not concerning herself with what will inevitably come after they all descend on London once more. In her heart she already suspects that the change is imminent, that she won't be able to go back to being the way she was. Only question is, how big of a splash her resurrection will cause.
But she doesn't worry about that now. Now she enjoys this newfound thirst for life, enjoys her heart beating wildly. The excitement running through every inch of her body as she reads and talks and listens and lives fully. Enjoys the way her breath hitches ever so slightly in her lungs when Theo unashamedly stands a tad too close, closer than propriety allows. (When their hands touch as she hands him back his books. When they stand side by side and watch Abigail play, full of pride over her accomplishments, even if it's just playing scales.)
When he hands her a wad of papers, some printed, some written on by hand, all of them the products of his brilliant mind.
“Not to clamour for attention, but I would like to hear your thoughts on them.” Theo says. Eloise roves through the pages, reverent astonishment colouring her words as she speaks:
“You have been busy.” She didn't keep up with his work on purpose. Self preservation, she called it in her mind. Over the years, the only times she allows herself to ponder is the hidden moments in the dark, safely shielded from world's prying eyes under her covers. (Only then she remembers the kind brown eyes, tousled hair and lips always ready with a smile and witty remark. She remembers the sharp mind and wonders what has became of it, of him.)
She doesn't have to wonder any more. Now she knows. And there is no describing the amount of pride she has for all his achievements. Theo reacts to her praise with a rather entertaining colour of his cheeks, stumbling over his words for the first time since their initial re-acquaintance. He manages to un-floor her in retaliation rather quickly, however, Eloise's soft admission that she herself has not written anything in nearly a decade is quickly retorted to with a decisive encouragement:
“Never too late to start. I'm not the only one who would like to hear your thoughts.” Theo declares, sure and earnest and Eloise thinks she could cry a little. For in all honesty, it was never just him who she thought about, what she secretly longed for. It was the world he came from as well, the world he invited her to discover once. The endless possibilities of it, of the life she could have had if she didn't give up. (That, maybe, is the real source of her heartbreak.)
The man himself is nothing to scoff at either, of course. The attraction, the pull that was there all those years ago as well, that something she felt, young and wide-eyed, still on the very bring of adulthood, awakens and this time… this time Eloise welcomes it wholeheartedly. (For her heart is once again beating.) Is it love? She thinks she should be able to identify this feeling blooming in her chest, after all, she saw plenty of it among her siblings and their partners. Yet this, this tentative bond between her and Theo seem different somehow.
“Abigail is sick, my sister in law decided to keep her home this time. She sends her apologies.” There is nothing left to do, but allow this feeling take course and lead them both where it decides. Eloise thinks of that when Theo comes one day, alone, excuse for his niece's absence on his lips.
“Of course.” She nods and then steps aside to allow him entrance to the house. (She took to loitering in the hall on the days Sharpes are scheduled to come, beating John or the footman to the door every time.) She watches Theo take off his coat, handing it over to the maid that rushed in with a nod of thanks.
“You could have just send a note.” Eloise adds, a pointless platitude, since she somehow already knows why he didn't. Theo smiles, shrugs his shoulders and openly confirms her suspicions:
“I wanted to see you.”
That day, they spend hours by debate, eventually wearing even John out, who after taking his tea with them scampers away to enjoy some peace a quiet. Eloise barely notices, so deep she is in her passionate monologue about the importance of women education. She also doesn't notice Theo taking out his little notebook and penning down the points she is making. He hands it to her when they say goodbye, several torn out pages covered by his messy handwriting reflecting her words.
“To get you started with your next essay.” He says, pressing the papers into her hand. He doesn't let go immediately, his fingers slipping down to cradle the underside of her hand, raising it up, up until his lips gently brush against her knuckles, barely a whisper of a kiss, yet leaving Eloise short of breath.
He is straightening up in the next second. And had she been someone else, had she been the Eloise that took to curling inside her body and pretending not to exist, she would probably let him go. But she is not that woman any more. She is who she was always supposed to be. And so she quickly stretches out her other hand, stopping him from leaning away completely with a firm clasp on the lapel of his jacket. He follows her lead willingly, angling his body into hers as directed by the tug on his clothing. Doesn't stop until they are standing face to face, chests pressed together, hearts beating as one.
Hand still holding her written thoughts sneaks up, settling behind his neck. His arms circle her waist.
“Kiss me.” Eloise whispers and once more, Theo obeys, erasing the remaining space between them. His lips gently caress her brow first, just a feather-light touch. Flutter of small pecks travelling down her nose, one firmer kiss gracing the very tip. A gesture so sweet and tender that Eloise feels laughter bubbling in her chest. When Theo's lips finally settle against hers, they are both smiling, their happiness turning their first kiss into a messy and graceless thing, the loveliest sensation either of them ever felt.
(There is no stopping the runaway carriage after that.)
“So you and Mister Sharpe?” They try to behave, in the following weeks, but the urge to be in each others orbit, to touch and be close, is too strong. (It's the years of pent-up longing, of unfulfilled desires.) They try to be somewhat discreet with the displays of their physical affection, but fail miserably.
“What about me and Mr. Sharpe?” Eloise tries to fib, but she already know it's useless, John's smirk telling her he knows all there is to know.
“Necking behind the door like couple of teenagers.” He looks very amused, arms crossed over his chest, eyebrows raised as if in challenge for her to deny this. Theo and Abigail just left, the goodbyes exchanged both at the door and in private. Well, not private enough, it seems. For a moment, Eloise expects some shame or panic overpower her, that brutal force that used to control her impulses to come and drag her back into the shell she has been living in for the last decade. But nothing like that happens. There is no shame, no regret.
“Did Abigail see?” Only maybe a bit of worry for scandalising a child, but even that proves to be a non-issue, for John's smirk widens and he all too happily starts to tease her.
“Yep. She's already planning your wedding. Called dibs on being a flower girl before I bribed away.” By now, he's outright beaming and Eloise cannot help but mimic his expression. She thinks of Theo's kisses, of his hands under her skirts, of the way he purrs when she traces her lips along his jaw, whispering dirty little things into his ear. She thinks of feeling safe and valued and alive and welcomes the idea little Abigail is cooking up in her head. The thing that once terrified her now enticing and desired. No doubt there will be stipulations, but as of now, the only person whose opinion on the matter is Eloise interested to hear, is standing right next to her.
“Do you approve?” She asks John, almost timidly. Her friend doesn't leave her in suspense for long. The smile on his face softens and he nods before wrapping an arm around her shoulders, leading them both away from the door at last.
“You haven't been this happy in a very long time.” That's the only thing he says and that is enough.
Oh, my life is changing every day
In every possible way
And oh my dreams
It's never quite as it seems
Spring fully settles over the whole country and a letter arrives announcing that her family will be returning to London in a two weeks time. On the crisp white stationery, her mother instructs Eloise on overseeing the re-opening of the Bridgerton house, directing the staff that will be arriving in advance. On settling down the new governess that shall be arriving for Anthony's and Kate's daughters and showing the new maids that will be starting in the house about. Having the welcoming dinner ready for not only the Viscount and Viscountess, but Violet too, as well Colin and Penelope who returned from their latest continental jaunt and stopped at Aubrey Hall on the way to their own home. Mother's precise and even handwriting lists the tasks Eloise is supposed to do, the “responsibilities” she earned with her spinster status. (Small price to pay for having what she wanted, her refusal to marry must be balanced by something, Eloise was said in the past. And in the past, she accepted it.)
For one more time, Eloise fulfils her duties to the Bridgerton name and her station.
The day of her family's arrival, she stands in front of the Bridgerton house, waiting to welcome its occupants, the overwhelming scent of blooming wisterias filling her nose. She's not alone. Theo stands right next to her and simple silver engagement ring gleams on her finger in the afternoon sun. The carriages arrive, the children spill out from them like a tidal wave, their elders following at a more sedate pace. Servants start transporting the luggages and Eloise is left with nothing else to do, but weather the shocked and initially outraged exclamations that follow her introducing Theo as her fiancée.
But that all calms rather quickly. Children are banished from the drawing room for the adults to talk over refreshments. The surprise over Eloise reassessing her stance on matrimony so abruptly is apparent and she is not very interest on setting the records straight at first, willing to let her family think whatever they wish in order to get this over with. But then Anthony makes a quip, mindless and inconsequential to him, when Theo reveals that his publishing and printing shop is centred about political writings and that is one of the things that drawn him and Eloise together. Anthony doesn't think twice about what he's saying, but to Eloise his words are like a slap to the face, cruel mockery of everything and she no longer can keep quiet.
“Had I know that politics was the way to get you married, I would take you to the rallies myself.” A laughter follows, like that is the most funny or ridiculous thing anyone ever heard. It grates at Eloise's ears and her voice, when she speaks, while calm and measured, could make water freeze:
“How dare you.” The change in the air is immediate. The laughter trickles away. Theo doesn't say anything, only moves on the sofa to sit even closer to her, his knee now brushing hers, hand finding way between their bodies to clasp hers laying on the cushions.
“It was just a joke, Eloise.” Kate tries to control the damage, her duty and responsibility as the boon of her position. Sometimes, Eloise thinks she hates it, but her sister in law never complains. Even so, her scorching reply is not directed at Kate personally, but at all of them together.
“A joke. My life is a joke to you?”
“I only meant to say that after all these years, even a prospect like this is…” Anthony tries to explain himself, inadvertently making things worse. Eloise doesn't even let him finish. She's shaking now, the years of accumulated grievances finally breaking free. Now her voice is cold and sharp, her words her deadliest weapon.
“Prospect like this? What's that supposed to mean?” A rhetorical question, she continues immediately, supplying the reply herself. “That now I'm old and undesirable to the men you consider worthy of this family, even a tradesman will do?”
“Don't put words into my mouth!” Anthony is not one to back out from the fight, that much Eloise knows. But he is visibly ungrounded, not used to Eloise talking back any more. She concedes slightly, re-framing her question.
“Would you permit this? Say ten years ago?”
“That's a moot point. You didn't know him ten years ago.”
“I did.” She knows that Colin long forgot the name of a writer she used to quote so frequently at one time. She knows Penelope did not and Eloise took kind of malicious satisfaction in how uncomfortable Pen looked from the second she recognized Theo's name. (It feels like a payback of sorts. Lady Whistledown is a thing of a past, conveniently ignored by everyone, allowing Penelope to live comfortably among the family she once used to slander. Eloise's feelings on the matter are conveniently ignored as well.)
“What?” It's her mother who breaks the stunned silence that follows her previous statement. Everybody is staring at her. And this time, Eloise doesn't shrink away. Tugging on Theo's hand, she settles their joined hands in her lap, takes a strength from the way his finger traces the ring he gave her. She raises her chin, proudly and unapologetic.
“We met during my first year out in society. And had I been a little bit braver, I would not cut our acquaintance so short. It was with Theo I found my passion, my purpose, the way to expand my mind. It was with him and in his world that I felt right and useful and free.” Things seem to finally click for others as well and Anthony is once again ready with outraged exclamation:
“It was you? The radical? That got Eloise into trouble?” He doubles down on Theo, only Kate's quick hand on his arm keeping him from standing up and hurling himself at the man. Eloise supposes she should be alarmed, but somehow, she only finds it extremely ridiculous.
“No brother, he didn't get me into trouble. That was Colin's wife.” Another stunned silence, the uncomfortable truth making the Bridgertons get shifty. Penelope, not appreciating being singled out like this, starts with her old known song, one that she repeated for so long until those who it was directed at has started to believe it.
“I was only trying to protect…”
“I swear to God, Penelope, if I hear this one more time!” Eloise, however, has no interest in hearing it again.
“There is no need to shout!” That comes from Colin, her brother offended at his wife's behalf. There is no containing the fire now and Eloise stands up, still holding Theo's hand, while he remains seated, steady support by her side, but never trying to impede the crusade she is undertaking, the revelation she kept inside for so, so many years.
“There is every need. I was silent for far too long. I was choking on my words for the last decade. Always silent, always hiding myself. I feel ashamed of it now but I won't go back to the mould you were all so happy to see me in. That of me behaving, maturing out of my rebellion, when I was only trying to make you happy, was protecting the family name as was expected of me…” She starts as fire, but the pain and hurt do make it into her tone eventually and her voice breaks. She doesn't stop, however, continues bravely on, exposing herself fully for the first time.
“But I suppose I cannot put all the blame on your shoulders.” That too, is the undeniable truth. Her eyes turn to her mother, sitting in the chair with heartbreakingly astonished expression in her face. She is still the same, only few grey strands and new wrinkles around her eyes reveal the passage of time. Her mother looks hurt and confused and part of Eloise wants to shake her, bigger part just feels sorry for her. For the first time showing the disappointment back at her. It's a painful thing, for both of them. Eloise's voice softens, subconscious effort to soothe the harsh truth in her words:
“I should have been more callous. I should have taken you at your word when you said that only way I could disappoint you was to start worrying about what others think of me. I wanted to believe it, but you are not a very good actress mother. You tried to hide it, but I saw how relieved you were when I left my opinions behind – or at least to myself. When I pretended to be the daughter you wished for at last. And I so wanted to make you happy.” She craved her mother's approval, like any child. She never quite felt she got it.
“If you just told me…” To her credit, Violet doesn't try to deny any of it. But she doesn't seem to fully grasp what Eloise is saying either. Her chin wobbles, tears appear in her eyes, falling down freely when Eloise replies. She is not trying to be purposely hurtful, not with her mother, but her words still smart with raw and unembellished truth:
“I didn't trust you to understand.” Maybe one day, they will get into a place where they will be able to resolve their relationship fully, but that day is not today. Today is Eloise shaking off the years of self-imposed exile from her true self.
Today is her taking back charge of her own life.
“I was never happier than I was during those few months before I let myself be persuaded to drop everything that made me me. That was my weakness, my failure. No more.”
'Cause you're dream to me
Dream to me
She gave it all up once. In order to protect her family, to protect her siblings so they might fulfil their dreams, she gave up her own. It seems inadequate to say it was all worth it in the end, not when she knows she could have all she desired so much sooner, if only… but there is no point of chasing what ifs. Not any more.
She and Theo are married within six weeks.
Eloise takes over dealing with customers and accounts, allowing Theo to take on second apprentice and expand his business even more. Their business. Her own name now matches the one written in bold letters over their shop and Eloise feels a surge of pride running through her every time her eyes graze the sight.
She writes again. She talks – her speeches at Assembly Hall are always well attended. She listens and supports and is listened and supported in return. Learns every day how to be the best, truest version of herself, without glamour, without pretence, in good times and bad.
She continues giving piano lessons. A beautiful pianoforte arrives to the door of her and Theo's home two months after the wedding, letter given into her hand revealing it being a wedding gift from both Francesca and her Kilmartins and Benedict with Sophie. Her two dearest siblings, who fled their family as well in a way.
The thing takes half of their sitting room and Eloise resumes her acquaintances with the women behind her pupils, no longer slipping the equal rights pamphlets secretly between the music sheets, but talking with them openly, if they wish to. She continues to teach Abigail and when the point arrives the pupil surpasses the teacher, she arranges for her to spend few weeks every summer in Scotland under Frannie's tutelage.
She teaches Theo as well and he proves to be annoyingly good at it.
“Good to know I have a back-up career to fall onto if this publishing shtick doesn't work out.” He jokes, any interest in the music forgotten as he sneak his arms around his wife and brings her down on his lap as he sits on the piano stool.
“I wouldn't want to trample on your dreams.” Eloise always responds, teasing with the ironclad seriousness underneath. Theo always answers with the tone matching hers before he claims her lips for a kiss.
“I'm already living my dreams right now.” And as Eloise's hands gently cradle his face and she returns his kisses one for one, she finds herself silently agreeing.
Yes, he's a dream to her too.