Chapter Text
He reads the news and his first and only thought is to get home. To Eloise. If Tilly is surprised by his sudden urgency to get back to his family, she hides it well, only commenting that “surely engagement is not a scandal to worry about”. Benedict is hard pressed to agree given the track in their family, but says nothing, just kisses her goodbye and is out of the door, sweet-roll he grabbed from the breakfast tray a maid was just bringing up in his hand.
Predictably, his mother and siblings are up already and surprise of surprises, Kate and Anthony are present as well, making way from Aubrey Hall in a record time. Apparently, Ben made it just in time, because their mother greets him with a wide smile on her lips and downright giddiness in her voice:
“Benedict, dear! Here you are at last! There is wonderful news…” She turns to Colin and part of Benedict feels bad for not rejoicing with his brother and cutting his moment short. Another, bigger part, has more urgent concerns.
“Yes, I heard.” He still holds the latest Lady Whistledown issue in his hand and now he gives it over to Kate so she too can read about this wonderful news.
“Where is Eloise?” He asks, taking a look around just in case he overlooked her. She took to keeping to the walls this season, barely talking and trying to appear invisible. However, this time she is not slouching anywhere just out of line of sight.
“Eloise?” Violet stammers, actually looking surprised at the question. She also turns around, only now realising that Eloise is missing. Something akin to fury starts brewing in Benedict's guts. He cannot quite fathom the will keep the acid out of his words when he speaks next:
“Yes. Your daughter?” There is a brief moment of stunned silence, everybody taken aback by their always gentle brother talking this way with their mother. Violet's lower lip wobbles and she looks hurt like she always does when someone dares to point out something she doesn't like.
“Obviously she haven't came down yet.” She says in a clipped tone and then frowns in displeasure before continuing: “And stormed away after the announcement yesterday. I must say…” The potent disappointment about her second daughter's conduct is dripping from her words and for once, Benedict has no interest indulging his mother's laments.
“I can very well imagine what you have to say, mother. Excuse me.” He pushes his way through his siblings and runs up the stairs to his sister's room.
Knock on the door wakes her up. Eloise raises her head, confusedly looking around, realising she fell asleep at her writing desk, still in her frock from the previous night. Another knock and she tries to get up, wincing at the pain in her neck. Her entire back seems stiff, slowing her down. The person at the door keeps knocking insistently, only adding to her annoyance. She is well ready to send whoever it is to hell, but the words of reproach die on her tongue when she finally turns the key and opens the door.
“Oh, it's you.” She only murmurs when seeing Ben. He too, is in yesterday's clothes, though on him it is much less suspicious.
“May I come in?” Her brother asks, achingly soft. Something about his tone makes Eloise irrationally angry, but she still steps aside and lets him in, closing the door behind his back again. Ben moves into the room, takes one look at the obviously not-slept-in bed and turns back to his sister, giving her careful once-over.
“You don't look well.” He says quietly. Eloise rolls her eyes at him stating the obvious.
“Thank you, that's all a girl wants to hear first thing in the morning.” She walks over to the mirror though. There are some red creases on her cheeks from where she rested on her books and some ink splotches, because of course they are. She haven't took a pencil or quill in her hands in months now, but somehow, ink still follows her around, like a long lost friend, like a whisper of a memory of the happier times. She pushes those thoughts aside forcefully, refusing to entertain them now. Her conviction lasts just as long it takes her to walk back to her table and see on what books she fell asleep yesterday.
“I just meant… are you alright?” Benedict sounds hesitant behind her back. The question he asks is frankly absurd, even if uttered with the best intentions. Eloise feels a spark of ire lighting up in her. That ire has nothing to do with her brother, but he ends up being the recipient of it anyway.
“Do you actually care?” It's venomous and the satisfaction of hurting someone with her words and actions is gone the second she turns to face Benedict.
“Of course I care.” He looks like she has slapped him across the face with her accusation. But there is also a good amount of guilt shining through his eyes. Combined with his next words, Eloise lets go of her anger towards him rather quickly:
“I know I haven't been much of a brother to you lately.” No, he wasn't. He gave her an occasional look and half-hearted attempt at asking how she's doing, but went no further, allowing her to stay in the walls she build around herself. And to be completely fair, Eloise haven't reached back to him either, even though she could see clearly how disheartened Benedict became after dropping off the Academy. He buried himself in the duties hoisted at him by Anthony and his hands remained glaringly paint-free, his nails always neat and trimmed and despite his claims of liking the purpose running the estate has gave him, his eyes stayed sorrowful and longing for something.
“It's not your fault. You were busy with other things.” She allows now. Reaching out with her hand, she motions Ben to come closer and he does, squeezing her fingers gently as he walks by and sits himself at the window seat next to her table.
“I was hiding from my own failures.” He admits, for the first time alluding to the turmoil in his heart to her. Somewhat sad smile tugs at Eloise's lips and she says, an offer of friendship, the echo of the promise between them from what now seems like different lifetime:
“Imposter party of two?” Benedict's head snaps up at hearing the familiar words and the smile he gives her is both relieved and sad too.
“Yes.” Silence envelops them and they both relish the balance restored, the promise of companionship coming back to their lives. (It was so very missed by both of them.) Then Eloise is standing up and pacing the room with agitated steps, the respite over and the pent up frustration, the anger she didn't let fully out since the moment it was ignited, bubbling out.
“It's this bloody engagement.” She clasps her hands together, because the urge to start throwing things keeps mounting. Blood rushes into her head, drumming in her ears and she gets so lost in her fury she almost misses Ben speaking:
“Was this what drove you and Penelope apart? Her liking Colin?” Eloise stops dead in her tracks.
“What? No!” Oh, but it definitely doesn't help the matters. “Although, it does make me question whether she ever was truly interested in my friendship or I was just a way for her to get close to him. To this family.” Penelope did meet Colin first, after all.
“I don't believe that was the case.” Benedict tries to stay rational, but it's clear that he as well is starting to doubt everything he ever knew about this family friend. Admittedly, he personally never saw Pen as anything but Eloise's companion, but thinking back, he cannot help and look at all interactions between Pen and Colin through new lenses. It seems nearly inconceivable, the idea of little Penelope playing them all along. Nearly.
“Maybe. I don't care any more.” Eloise fairly growls, jerking Ben from his musings.
“Seems like you do.” She's fuming, the very opposite of not caring. He doesn't mean to goad her even more, for now that the veil is lifted, Eloise's fury is unparalleled and unstoppable. She hardly pays him any mind anyway.
“It's her lies. She lied and lied and she keeps lying. She hurt people, she hurt me and all I ever hear from her is how she did what she did to protect me, to help me!” Benedict is honestly lost now.
“Are we still talking about Penelope? What did she do?” There must be some vital information he's missing, a hint of desperation making it into his voice now and only that brings Eloise back to her senses a little. She stops her stomping around and turns back to him.
“Never mind what she did.” It might be the last shed of lingering childhood affection, it might be the desperate attempt to be the bigger person and not sink to her level, revealing secrets that are not hers. Either way, Eloise holds off telling Benedict the sordid truth, at least for now. (She honestly cannot say she will be able to stick to this decision for long.)
Getting hold of herself, Eloise takes few deep breaths to calm down and then says, as evenly as she can:
“There are things she needs to tell Colin before marrying him and I will make sure she does that, but afterwards… I wash my hands over it.” If her brother still insists on marrying her then, well, that is his problem. One way or another the truth will out and as much as the family is now rejoicing at the prospect of Penelope becoming a Bridgerton, the tide might turn just as easily.
She listens to Eloise rambling, tries to keep up with her hurried words and she genuinely feels for her friend. But try as she might, her heart cannot give her the attention she craves, not with her own doomsday hanging over her head. So Cressida barks out, telling Eloise off. She already expects her to storm away afterwards, after all, that is what mother taught her women do, leave you in the dust when you don't cater to their needs. (“That is why it is always everyone for themselves, Cressida. Friendships are fantasies for children.” She remembers her mother saying as she twists her hair into painful knots and braids.)
But Eloise doesn't leave. She stops, she turns her attention on her and listens when she reveals what plagues her. And then she apologizes and tries to offer comfort. As insufficient as it might be, Cressida appreciates the gesture nevertheless. Kind words, gentle hand pressing her knee. The friendship she was told doesn't exist.
“If you think of anything that I could do to help, let me know.” Eloise whispers into her ear as they embrace goodbye, the motion initiated by Cressida in spite of her father, who coming across them in the drawing room, basically threw Eloise out. Her friend reciprocates the hug firmly, keeping it going just a tad longer than strictly necessary just to spite the old man as well and Cressida is giddy at this joined show of rebelliousness at first. But then Eloise leaves and she is left alone with her father and the defiant bravery she felt at her friend's side is gone immediately. (She never was brave enough on her own. Not like her brother or sister, who severed their ties with the family the first chance they got, freeing themselves.)
She is not brave. But she is desperate. And desperation proves to be far greater motivator than anything else.
“I am her.” She declares loudly and boldly in the Bridgerton's sitting room, the shocked gasps quickly turning away from her as Penelope steals her thunder by honest to god fainting in the middle of the floor. (Cressida is impressed. She was the one who came up with the art of the swoon after all.)
The room is in chaos. She sees Eloise being send out for a cold towel and then her friend is walking back, hovering near the centre stage long enough to see Penelope is being taken care of, before turning to her and stomping towards her. She was rather distracted the entire evening, dismissing Cressida several times and there is no denying that hurt. But the storm in Eloise's eyes as she marches towards her, grabbing her hand and dragging her away is maybe more attention than Cressida wished for.
No words are exchanged during the short walk, not until they slip into a linen cupboard in the hall. Eloise grabbed a candle from the hallway on the way, so they are not submerged in a complete darkness and she can see every flicker of emotion in Cressida's eyes now. But there is too many of them to make sense of what just happen, so Eloise resigns at trying to comprehend the hidden meanings and asks directly:
“What are you playing at?” She hisses, voice low enough not to be heard beyond the closed door, but still sharp and demanding. She sees Cressida wince a little at her tone, but her friend straightens herself rather quickly. Her face gets shrouded in the air of arrogance and superiority, something Eloise now knows is a mask Cressida reverts to when feeling the most vulnerable. She is still furious and confused… but her hard edges are softening already.
“I'm sorry for not telling you, but…” Cressida tries to spin the tale, but Eloise has no patience for games at the moment.
“You are not Lady Whistledown.”
“Why? You think I'm not clever enough to be?” Genuine offence leaks into her words, actually shocking Eloise. She's not quite sure where that came from, because one thing she would never accuse Cressida of is being stupid.
“Oh, you are much smarter than you let on.” She drawls, touch of amused irony in her tone. She sees Cressida smile for a second, pleased and maybe a bit moved. Absently, Eloise wonders if anyone ever paid compliment to what lurks behind Cressida's elaborate up-dos. (She will have to get back to this, but now is not the time.)
“But you are not Whistledown.” Her voice allows not protests, yet Cressida still tries to argue.
“How can you be so sure?” It's a challenge and in the end, it takes Eloise remarkably little time to make her decision. She could lie, she could make something up. But as quick as she was to accuse Cressida few weeks ago for outing Colin's and Penelope's agreement, she is now secure in her trust in her friend.
“Because I know who she is.” Predictably, Cressida shrieks in shock.
“What?!”
“Quiet!”
“You know her identity?” Cressida obeys and whispers her question, keeping her voice low, her face now bearing signs of wonder and well as shock. And maybe a tiniest bit of admiration.
“I knew for a while.” Eloise admits with a sigh. She slumps against the shelves, the hard edges digging into her bare arm. Yes, the determination she felt when refraining from telling Ben the whole truth, is crumbling as predicted. She suddenly feels so tired and the temptation to share this burden with someone, anyone, is too great to ignore much longer.
“Is it…” Cressida sounds almost giddy and even though she doesn't even finish her question, the eager way she looks at her tells Eloise enough. Rolling her eyes, she pokes Cressida gently into the shoulder, not really as much annoyed as strangely amused.
“It's not me! Honestly, don't make take the you are clever back.” Amazingly, they both giggle at that, despite the situation calling for the very opposite. There is a brief moment of quiet companionship, something so soft and strangely natural that it makes Eloise almost choke on her breath. Then Cressida speaks again, curious and relentless, so much like Eloise herself that it really makes her gasp.
“Who is it?” She asks. And Eloise feels her lips forming a grim smirk in response:
“Think. Think very hard about all that just happened and make a guess.” It doesn't take long. Five seconds later, Cressida is reaching out to grasp Eloise's arm while her other hand shoots up to cover her mouth and stifle the gasp escaping as the realisation sets in.
They emerge from their hiding spot eventually and almost immediately, she's abducted by her mother and dragged home. Now that Penelope and her fainting escapade has been apparently dealt with, the attention has turned back to her own performance and Cressida can feel the looks following them all the way to the door and beyond.
The realization starts to set in, the fact she might have bitten more than she can chew. After Eloise revealed her the truth in the cupboard, Cressida had just enough time to repeat her reasoning, now that her friend was properly listening. And while Eloise is deeply sympathetic to her need to get out of the arranged marriage and finding the prospect of not marrying anyone out of necessity more than appealing, she rightly points out that claiming to be Whistledown might bring her more trouble than anything else. The fact that is all the more pertinent as she walks through the Palace with her mother by her side. The queen doesn't keep her long, yet the interaction leaves Cressida shivering, the not so subtle threat of damming consequences should she fail to prove she is in fact Whistledown, tightening around her neck like a noose.
She barely pays any attention to her father, his disparaging words and curses all too familiar to her ears to elicit any violent reaction by now. (But oh, they still hurt. They always hurt, tearing into her like knives and daggers and her mother just stands by, too scared to intervene.) Her head is aching, the fear mounting in her. A footman interrupts Lord Cowper's tirade, saying Miss Bridgerton is here to call on the daughter of the house and for a second Cressida's heart lightens, until her father shouts to send Eloise away and orders her into her chambers, forbidding her to leave. She is locked in like a thief, the turning of the key ominous in the desperate stillness of her room, her father's raging still echoing through the house for hours afterwards, his promises to send Cressida away for ruining the family name ringing loud and clear and terrifying.
She spends entire day alone, the solitude broken only when she's brought food. Her mother stops by, lamenting her actions, but doesn't help either. Cressida sits at her vanity, quill and paper with several lines already scratched out in front of her and she tries to come up with something believable enough to pass as Whistledown's writings. By the time sun sets in and darkness spreads behind the windows, she is near tears. Her mother comes again, chastising her for her foolish actions before leaving with a feeble promise to try to bring her back to London when the time comes. It's a fool's hope, they both know it. She leaves and Cressida never felt more alone.
But then, like a miracle, there is a rattle against her window, first one, then two, gentle clinking of the stones thrown at the glass. Bewildered, she opens it and looks out. Her windows overlook the gardens and there, in the grass already moist from the evening dew, stands Eloise with her brother Benedict.
“Can you let us in?” Eloise shout-whispers, motioning to the back door to the house, the servants' entrance Cressida never used in her life. (Ironically, her sister ever only used that one. Up till the very end, when she left through the main door, without single look back to anyone but then fifteen year old Cressida herself.)
“I'm locked in my room, I cannot get out!” She responds now, sorrow and anger grasping at her. She sees Eloise exchanging a look with her brother and for a second, Cressida thinks Eloise is seriously considering climbing up the wall. But then Benedict says something, too quiet for Cressida to hear and shakes his head and Eloise sighs before turning her face up again.
“Come to the church on Sunday, we will talk then!” Cressida has only time to nod and promise she will try, before an unexpected light washes over Bridgertons' faces as someone lights up candles in one of the rooms on the ground floor. Not waiting around to be caught, Eloise and Benedict start running away, getting lost in the darkness of the garden and Cressida is alone again. (But somehow less lonely.)
Colin has the gall to shout at her for her friendship with Cressida. Penelope took ill, avoiding fulfilling the promise she made of informing her husband-to-be about her secret identity and Eloise is almost ready to do the honours herself. She wants to reach out over the table and slap her brother hard to wake him up. He keeps droning on and on about what Whistledown has done to her, to him, to this family, like if she weren't aware. She wants to tell him the truth only to make him shut up and choke on his own words and she almost does – but stops at the last second because an idea strikes her.
She excuses herself soon after and walks across the street, only a second time in months. She knocks on the Featherington's door and asks to see Miss Penelope. She's send up without any escort, as she has numerous times in the past. Finds Penelope sitting on her bed, writing board and papers all around her, also a familiar sight.
Penelope doesn't hesitate, starts spilling excuses for not telling Colin yet, slight wobble in her voice and eyes big and round and glossy with unshed tears. It's all so artificial that Eloise has trouble believing there was a time she actually fell for it.
“I'm not here to listen to your fairy tales, Penelope. And I'm done with being in the middle of you and Colin, someone you can both use as a lighting rod for your own frustrations.” She might like to tell her more, but cannot afford to antagonize her more than necessary, not until she secures what she came for. Taking a deep breath, Eloise starts:
“I have a proposition for you. You want your happily ever after with my brother and I want to protect my friend.” The way Penelope's face lights up at her words is almost comical and Eloise takes a certain pleasure in wiping that off:
“No, not you.” Penelope understands right away and frowns in disbelief:
“Cressida?” Eloise doesn't give her a chance to disparage the girl and quickly lays out her terms:
“You will take this opportunity. You will let go of Whistledown, you will promise never to spew gossip again and you can marry Colin without telling him the truth.” To say that Penelope is now shocked would be an understatement and Eloise has to force herself from taking her words back immediately.
“You wouldn't mind?” Pen throws her writing aside and stands, no malady in sight as she rushes over to Eloise and tries to take her hand in gratitude. Eloise recoils from the touch, crossing her arms over her chest for the good measure. Her voice is ice, it is the winter storm and cold hand of death, so withering that it makes Penelope step back.
“I don't care any more. Colin is an idiot and since you already made sure he cannot back off the engagement by reporting it so quickly, he will marry you no matter what. Why should he be miserable as well. It's enough you will be, knowing you trapped him into marriage.” Part of her rages, because she knows Penelope will not be repenting even before she exclaims her “I didn't trap him!”. It is glaringly unfair, for she knows she is giving Penelope all she wants, but she has no other choice. In order to help Cressida, not only with the trouble she got into with the Queen (and god, Eloise remembers well how terrifying it is to have the Queen of England threaten you with ruin), but also with the situation in her home, she must let go of her own hurt feelings and grievances. It's a good trade-off, Eloise repeats to herself. Penelope will be plied with her desired happiness, rendered (hopefully) harmless and Cressida will be free of her forced marriage or living among the sheep in Wales, both prospects equally daunting to her and with her head still attached to her neck. With Eloise's help, she will be able to produce a proper issue of Lady Whistledown, collect her reward and live in peace as she sees fit. If the worst outcome is that Eloise will be forced to play nice with Penelope on family holidays, well, she can handle that.
Eloise schools her features, holds off tearing into Penelope for her hypocrisy and continues on her mission.
“This is your perfect way out. You know just as well as I do that you cannot possible keep being Whistledown and expect Colin not to notice. He is stupid, but not this much. And since you don't want him to know… You will allow Cressida to take Whistledown on herself and nobody will ever even suspect you.” Predictably, Penelope is outraged.
“Cressida? You expect me to give up my life's work and all the credit to Cressida of all people?” The way she talks about policing the ton with reporting on them as if it were worthy of such accolades, irks Eloise on entirely different level. She thinks of all the nameless women she met during the last year, women who actually fought and spoke for important things, of things benefiting others and bringing a positive change into their society, and wants shake Penelope. It is a terrible thing to have this kind of power and misuse it so horribly. She wants to call her out on this, but before she can, Penelope continues, her gaze narrowing in sudden thought.
“Are you really friends with her. Or are you doing this to spite me.” She now looks at Eloise with knowing smirk on her lips, like she uncovered a great secret, unearthed Eloise's deepest motivations and this time, Eloise cannot prevent herself from actually snapping back at her.
“I might be shocking to hear, but my life doesn't revolve around you. Something you proved you don't agree with last year already.” They haven't addressed their fall-out properly, what it cost Eloise outside her friendship with Pen. The sadness she felt, still feels, sadness that prompted her to urge Colin into continuing his association with Pen, that urged her to go and check on her herself, that is starting to disappear and turn into anger. She was heartbroken and like a fool, wanted to ease at least someone else's suffering since there was nothing she could do about her own. Eloise mentally scoffs. She's done with all that. Dangerous smile forms on her lips, all teeth and venom under the sweetness. Her words are poised to hurt, but that doesn't make them any less true.
“Cressida might not be everyone's cup of tea, but she has one trait I truly value in her.” Penelope recoils a bit from her.
“And what is that?” She asks, still mocking, but much less sure now.
“She doesn't speak about my private matters to the entire world and she doesn't sits on her jealousy, pretending to like me. She tells me when I annoy her right into my face.
Somehow, he finds himself covering for Eloise as she slips away from the family after the church service. Given what he is getting up to lately, Benedict was a bit worried he might burst into flames when stepping into the house of the Lord, but no higher power has outed him and prevented him from allowing his sister sneak away to speak with Cressida, who was fruitlessly trying to blend into her surrounding while wearing brightly pink dress. Thankfully, mother is too much preoccupied with being overjoyed by seeing Penelope up and about and still snubbing Frannie's John, so all Ben needs to do is keep watch and intercept anyone who might like to head the direction where Eloise got lost moments ago.
He would be lying if he said that Eloise's friendship with Cressida doesn't baffle him. And for a few moments, he considers an option that it is not a friendship at all. He knew the true nature of Henry Granville years ago, but it isn't until he finds himself in the arms of another man that he even considers the option that he might not be the only one in their family who feels things the laws of god and men forbids them from feeling.
(After all, if he didn't stop her from going alone, Eloise would slip out of the house in the middle of the night to go and see Cressida and that seems a bit too much to him for a mere friendship. And he tries to ask, as delicately as he is able, following on the promise they made to each other to be there for one another. He asks Eloise if she by chance feels more than just friendship for Cressida, assuring her with the same breath that it is alright if she does. She stares at him uncomprehendingly for few moments, before blushing, but the answer she gives is not one Benedict expected based on her reaction.
“No, I don't hold any tender feelings of this kind for her.” Eloise says and the way she stretches the last word makes Ben wonder.
“But you do for someone else?” He inquires, patiently waiting for the reply that seems to take ages to arrive. That old known melancholy, the spleen that got buried under the simmering anger lately, peeks out momentarily.
“I might had. Once. But that is gone now.” And that is all she says, refusing to elaborate. He doesn't push, just silently extends the offer to listen should she wish to talk.)
“Are you busy tonight?” Eloise's voice startles him now, his sister appearing behind his back without him noticing her approaching. Benedict turns and sees only a smudge of pink, Cressida already hurrying away, whatever business she and Eloise had apparently settled. He looks down at his sister, taking in her eager face.
“Why, are you planning another midnight visit?” He murmurs, careful not to be overheard by anyone. Eloise flashes him a smile and nods, but then her expression turns sober.
“I know you think you are protecting me by insisting on going out with me, but you need to know the full extent of the situation before getting into this.” She's very serious, just as she used to be when talking about women rights and quoting political commentary she read in Anthony's newspaper. And despite the ominousness of her words now, Benedict is happy to see this side of Eloise finally returning as well.
“Bigger extent than Cressida being Lady Whistledown?” He asks, trying for a light tone. Eloise responds with a slight smile.
“So much bigger.” She says and then she drags him away, starting their promenade ahead of everybody else, allowing them privacy. Eloise talks and Benedict listens in awe.
Since Cressida's pin money have been seized, Eloise gives her some of her own so she can bribe her maid to open the back door for them, guiding them through the house, secretly sneaking along the corridors until they reach Cressida's room. She is no longer locked in, but still not allowed to leave it without permission. The maid doesn't knock when opening the door, just pushes both Eloise and Benedict in without a word and then scampers away.
They don't waste time with pointless chitchat and get right to work. Eloise writes and both Cressida and Ben keep coming up with morsels of gossip they heard around. It doesn't sit well with her, doing the very thing she grew to despise Penelope for, but she knows it is the only way to end this once and for all. They need to produce just one good issue, filled with enough gossip to be credible and declaring Cressida as the author. Then the game will be over, the Queen will emerge victorious and Whistledown will turn into a memory, before even that will be swept away by someone new taking her place. So Eloise bites her lip and writes, picking the most insipid and harmless notices of the bunch and wrapping them into flowery words and phrases, gilding them into sounding more important than they actually are. She mimics Penelope's writing style with surprising ease, since she used to spend hours meticulously studying every little detail of her gossip rag.
“It's amazing. I wouldn't be able to tell the difference!” Exclaims Cressida, relief radiating from her in waves as she finishes reading the final draft of their work. The clock in the house stroke one in the morning few moments ago, they are all tired and Eloise more than little smudged by ink, her fingers stained. Despite the content of her writing, she feels the old know rush of excitement. (Her mind slips to a different dimly lit room and the different company that she engaged with over anything related to Whistleedown.)
“Now we have to get it printed. And quick.” Benedict finishes reading as well, leaning over Cressida's shoulder. And of course, he is completely right, but the mere mention of the word print makes Eloise's heart clench painfully.
“I might know a person.” However, she hears herself saying those words despite the pain in her chest. The thoughts she kept suppressing for months and months now, too scared they would overwhelm her, force their way to the front of her mind. Ben and Cressida both look at her, surprise and curiosity written all over their faces.
“He… works at the print shop where Whistledown used to print. I met him last year when I was searching for her.” Eloise admits. Half of her hopes they will not ask any more questions. Half of her hopes they will.
“Well you've certainly been holding out on us, sister.” Benedict drawls and when Eloise looks directly at him, she knows he put two and two together and for once came up with four instead fourteen.
“A lady is allowed her secrets.” She tries to deflect. Mercifully, Ben doesn't keep digging and allows her the easy exit. At least for now.
“Of course. Can you get in touch with him?” He asks and Eloise forces herself to nod. There is a curious battle raging inside her, the combination of dread at the prospect of seeing him and heartbreak over the opposite. Oh, she tried to not indulge in fantasies, keeping her wishes and dreams at bay, but now she cannot stop them filling her head. Her heart is racing and with horror, Eloise realises her inner turmoil must be visible on the outside as well, for both Ben and Cressida suddenly switch from looking curious to concerned. Her brother is already heading her way, but Eloise is saved from any potential inquiries by her friend, who stops Ben in his tracks with her declaration. Cressida's voice is surprisingly gentle, like she somehow understands the full toll this undertaking would take on her friend.
“You are very kind, Eloise, but the printing is the one thing I actually can supply on my own.” There is a certain amount of pride in her voice, not slipping away even after Eloise's rather rude question:
“How? Do you have a printing press somewhere in this mausoleum?” Thankfully, what once would prompt Cressida to take offence, now makes her only smirk, since she knows Eloise and grew accustomed to her brusque way of speaking over time.
“No. But my brother is a printer. Well, apprentice. But he's almost done.”
“I had no idea you had a brother!” Eloise exclaims. Benedict shares the sentiment.
“And a working one, no less!” Only now Cressida turns a bit unsure, shame and some anger taking hold of her, before she speaks again, revealing the truth neither Eloise or Benedict or indeed the society knew:
“He's technically my half brother. Our father… has several children. I'm the only legitimate one.” Eloise can see she is already expecting the backlash for this, for something she or her siblings had no control over and Eloise doesn't hesitate with showing her support, stepping closer and taking Cressida's hand. No words are exchanged, but the message is clear and it is corroborated by Benedict as well when her brother finally speaks too, his tone teasing, but sincere:
“You are full of surprises, Miss Cowper.” If Eloise didn't know better, she would think he is flirting. She scrunches her brows together at the thought, the frown deepening when Cressida, relieved over being accepted, responds in kind:
“One tries, Mr. Bridgerton.” She flutters her eyelashes and then both she and Ben laugh as Eloise lets out involuntary disgruntled sound. Seeing they are making fun of her, Eloise rolls her eyes and turns back to the business at hand:
“Will you be able to get him the manuscript in time?” She cannot deny there is certain relief in her as well. Her heart might hope for reconciliation, her mind too, if she's being honest, but she would rather it be on her own time and not under the duress. Yes. There is plenty more wrongs to right, thinks Eloise, and she will right them, this friendship that was destroyed. If the other end of it wishes, of course. She will be brave and do it, but when she feels ready. She would go to him, for Cressida, but she is glad she doesn't have to do it right now.
(Oh, the universe has a funny way of working, she thinks only minutes later, as she stares into the eyes of the one person she just thought she avoided meeting.)
“I've actually send him a note to come here tonight. He should be here every…” Cressida speaks, explaining her plan. Her sentence is cut short by the sound of the door opening and closing, someone slipping into the room before either of the people present can fully turn. Eloise distantly hears Cressida finishing speaking, the “… minute” getting almost lost in the sudden buzz of blood sounding in her ears.
She watches like from behind the glass as Cressida rushes to her brother and clasps him in a tight hug. The ease and quietness with which he was able to get in and through the house clearly suggest that this is not the first time he done so, probably visiting his half sister on previous occasions. He looks so at ease here, the very last place Eloise would ever expect to meet him. He's smiling until Cressida steps aside and clears his line of vision, allowing him to see she is not alone.
And later, Benedict will tell her they both went completely white, standing in trance-like state for excruciating amount of time, so motionless that both he and Cressida started to worry their respective siblings have turned to stone. Ben will tell her there was a tear escaping her eye even, but Eloise will not recollect any of it. Just the way it felt to finally speak, to say the name she only dared to dream for months now.
“Theo.”