Chapter Text
Eloise stood frozen in place, unable to avert her eyes from the scene before her. She had been unable to sleep, and had come to the kitchens looking for a cup of tea to calm her mind. She had not expected anyone else to be awake at this late hour. When she had asked to accompany Francesca to Scotland, she had promised her sister privacy, and thus far had been steadfast in keeping that promise. That is, until now, for before her stood her sister, locked in a passionate embrace with Michaela Stirling.
Eloise did not know what to do. She felt dizzy and her heart was beating something fierce in her chest. She knew she ought to leave before she was noticed, but she felt rooted to the ground, unable to move as though she were entranced. The sight of her sister so thoroughly lost in another woman had unlocked something within her that caused her heart to clench and her head to spin. She stumbled slightly, knocking into a chair as she did so.
Francesca jumped apart from Michaela and let out a startled, “Oh.”
“Apologies, I –” Eloise began, failing to finish her thought as she suddenly found use of her legs again, hastily using them to flee. Her heart pounded loudly in her ears, making her feel as though she were under water as she ran blindly down a corridor. She had a sick feeling in her stomach and her breath alluded her as a panic exponentially worse than that which she felt when making her debut began to set in.
“Eloise! Eloise, wait!”
Francesca’s frantic pleas fell on deaf ears as Eloise continued down the long hall. She did not know where she was going, exactly, only that she needed to get away. As she reached the end of the corridor, she flung herself through a set of doors and found herself on a large balcony overlooking the grounds. She lunged forward, grasping at the marble railing and leaning over the side of the balcony as she gulped in shallow breaths of desperately needed fresh air. Her mind was racing and her knees felt weak, as though she might collapse at any moment. The scene she had just witnessed replayed in her mind’s eye over and over, and one word – a name – echoed in her mind. How could she have been so blind?
“Eloise, please!” Francesca’s desperate voice sounded from behind her, echoing through the night as she caught up with Eloise on the balcony.
Eloise gripped the railing tighter, willing her sister to leave her to parse out her thoughts in private. “Francesca, I cannot do this –”
“But, if you would just let me explain! Michaela and I –”
“There is no need!” Eloise cut her off, heaving out a great sigh in an attempt to compose herself before turning to face her sister. The fear she found reflected on Francesca’s face softened her previously sharp tone. “I understand.”
Francesca looked back at Eloise with dazed confusion. “You… you what?”
“I, too, have similar… inclinations.” Eloise swayed slightly, dizzy with the weight of her admission. “I have long tried to ignore these… feelings, distracting myself with various plights. But, seeing you and Miss Stirling now, I –” Much to her horror, it was at that moment her body decided to betray her, losing her composure and letting out a hysterical sob. Her knees gave out and she crumpled to the ground, overcome by emotions she had long been bottling.
Francesca stood for a moment in stunned silence, before rushing to her sister’s side as Eloise began to sob in earnest. Francesca cradled the older girl in her arms as she continued to weep, softly soothing her even as her own tears began to spill down her cheeks.
“It is alright,” Francesca whispered after their sobs had quieted. “We will be okay.”
“It is not alright,” Eloise choked out, sitting up and turning to look at her sister. She did not know how to put into words everything she was feeling. Francesca was doing her best to comfort her, but all she could think about was how horribly she had mucked everything up.
“For so long, I have allowed myself to be blind to my feelings. I threw myself into the pursuit of Lady Whistledown as a means of distraction from my own emotions. Even once I learned her true identity, I continued to fixate on it because I was frightened by my growing attachment towards –” Another sob caught in Eloise’s throat and she turned away from her sister, looking down at her hands in shame.
“And now it is too late. She is gone, I pushed her away. Worse than that, I was selfish and cruel, and I abandoned her when she most needed me.”
Eloise furrowed her brow, her face flushing with shame at the remembrance of how she had acted last season.
“Miss Cowper?” Francesca asked quietly, and that was all it took for Eloise’s tears to begin flowing again. Francesca moved to hold Eloise once more, allowing her sister to sob into her shoulder.
“I fear I have made a terrible mistake.”
~
Dearest Cressida,
I wrote to your mother, and after a bit of persuasion she agreed to give me your new address so that I may write to you.
How are you?
I hope you are well.
It seems there is nothing I can write that would appropriately convey the sincerity and weight of my thoughts, so allow me to be blunt. I have severely mistreated you, and I am truly sorry.
I know no amount of apologies can make up for the hardships you have suffered at my hands, however I still feel the need to express my deepest regrets for the way I treated you last season when you asked for my help. I acted selfishly and cowardly. You needed me, and instead of assisting you I cast you aside. It is no wonder to me now why you did what you did.
When you first falsely revealed yourself as Whistledown, I viewed it as a selfish ploy for attention – something I would have expected from the girl I thought I knew you to be before I befriended you. It is not until recently, after having had time to reflect on the situation, that I have come to realize you did not do this out of selfishness, but in a desperate last attempt to prevent your unhappy marriage to a man thrice your age. I only wish I had come to this realization sooner. Perhaps I could have prevented the unfortunate events that transpired as a result, or at the very least I could have convinced Colin and Penelope to grant you your payment and restore your reputation.
In that regard, and in the interest of full transparency, I must tell you that I have known Penelope to be Whistledown since the end of my first season out. It is, in fact, the reason her and I were not friends for the better part of last year, and, at first, my reason for befriending you. In truth, I knew our closeness would hurt Penelope greatly, as she has never been your biggest fan. For using you in that way, I must also apologize. Please know that while our friendship may have begun from a place of deceit, I truly grew to care for you more than I ever thought possible – which only makes my actions toward you all the more reprehensible.
When I discovered Penelope’s secret, I wanted nothing to do with her. She had written such horrible things about me and my family, I was nearly ruined due to her words. I vowed no longer to engage with things that could bring shame and scandal on my family, instead choosing to befriend you and attempt to fit in with the rest of society. For a while, it seemed my plan was working. I still had no interest in the ridiculous courting rituals the rest of our peers seem to delight in, but I found that I quite enjoyed keeping your company. Balls became less tedious with you by my side, and the other young ladies became more bearable. Due to your influence, the latest fashions began to interest me, and I even enjoyed reading Emma at your recommendation.
Alas, once my brother became involved with Penelope, my focus was diverted, once again being swept up by the dramatics surrounding Whistledown. I would like to say my actions in the latter half of the season resulted entirely from a place of trying to protect Colin, but that would be untrue. In truth, despite my previous assertions to the contrary, it would seem I am no better than the rest of the ton when it comes to their appetite for scandal and gossip. I allowed myself to be consumed by it all, and in so doing allowed my opinions of you to be influenced by those who do not know you as I do. I shall add that to my ever growing list of apologies I must make to you.
I write all of this to you in the hopes that you may have it in your heart to forgive me. Please write back, I would love to hear from you. Perhaps I could even arrange a visit to you, or you could come visit here! Scotland is beautiful and serene, but rather dull without your company.
I miss you.
Yours,
Eloise
~
Dearest Cressida,
Many weeks have passed since my last letter, and I am no longer harboring any notions that I will receive a response. In truth, I never really expected one, though I had hoped to receive one even if it was just you telling me off. I know I have wronged you, and those wrongs cannot be made right with simple words.
In my last letter, I asked you for forgiveness, but I do not deserve it. I hope that though you may not have it in your heart to forgive me, you might allow me a chance at redemption. Let me do whatever I can to make things up to you. I will apologize a thousand times over, I will grovel at your feet, I will travel to Wales and act as your maid for the rest of my days if it will make things right between us! If your wish is to rejoin society, I will do everything in my power to restore your good name, if only you will let me. If none of these things will satisfy you, tell me what will – or at the very least write back to me so I may be assured of your well-being; I cannot help but fear the worst in the face of your silence.
The days here grow shorter, and there is a chill in the air that tells me winter is nearly upon us. I cannot help but reminisce on last winter in the country and our time spent together, huddled by the fireplace as I read Austen novels aloud for us to pass the time. I long for your company now. This castle is large and dreary, and I have no friends here apart from my sister, who is herself preoccupied with her duties as a Lady.
Please write back.
Yours,
Eloise
~
Dearest Cressida,
After sending multiple letters enquiring as to your well-being, I finally received a response from your Mama in the form of a single sentence: “She is alive.”
Worry not, I will not be writing to her again now I have knowledge of your continued life. I know your parents do not esteem me, and I wish not to cause any more harm to you should they be irritated by my pestering them.
It is clear now you do not write me back because you are still, rightfully, angry with me. As I said before, I do not deserve your forgiveness. I do, however, miss you dearly. So, if it is all the same to you I will continue writing you in the hopes that I may one day earn your forgiveness.
Yours,
Eloise
~
Dearest Cressida,
Today is Christmas Eve. This time of year usually brings me such happiness and merriment, but all I can feel today is the lonely ache that your departure from my life has left. Perhaps I would feel differently were I at home, surrounded by my family. But, as it stands, my sister and her husband have gone to visit a relative for the holiday, leaving me only with the company of Lord Kilmartin’s cousin, Michaela Stirling.
I will say, she is rather lively company, but even her liveliness is not enough to lift my spirits when the knowledge of your hatred toward me weighs so heavily on my heart.
But, as I said, it is Christmastime, and I would be loath to write to you without also sending along a gift. In the attached parcel you will find a necklace that caught my eye when I was out shopping at the local market earlier this week. The snowflake pendant reminded me of the time last Christmas season when you and I were caught in that unexpected snow squall, and had to hide out in a gazebo of all things until it passed. The gazebo, of course, provided no real shelter from the snow, and we laughed so hard at the absurdity of it all! The snowflakes had caught in your hair, glittering golden in the setting sunlight, even brighter than the necklace I now send you. You looked up at me and smiled, and I remember thinking how lucky I was to have found your friendship.
It is a happy memory, for me at least, and I wanted to commemorate it.
Yours always,
Eloise
~
Dearest Cressida,
My apologies that my letters have become fewer in recent months. I am unsure what news of the ton you are receiving where you are, but Lord Kilmartin passed away unexpectedly several weeks ago. Francesca has been distraught, and myself and Miss Stirling have been consumed with the task of helping her through her grief.
We will be returning to Mayfair in just over a month. Francesca needs to be with our family. Plus, my Mama will be hosting a masquerade ball at the start of the season which she would be furious if I missed.
If you should choose to write me back, it would be best you post the letter to London.
Yours always,
Eloise
~
Dearest Cressida,
I know it has only been a fortnight since I last wrote you, so I hope I do not seem too forward by writing again so quickly.
I once rejected your suit of friendship for petty, snobbish reasons. You now reject my suit for completely legitimate reasons. Yet, it hurts all the same – so add to my list of apologies one for rejecting your friendship when it was proffered in my first season out.
It is clear no amount of apologies can make up for what I have done. I know I talk well, and write even better, but what use are words when she whom I write them to cares not for them? It got me thinking, perhaps the old adage that actions speak louder than words is true.
You will recall in my last letter I mentioned my Mama’s masquerade ball. Enclosed you will find an invitation to the ball, a mask I had made for you, as well as 500 pounds to assist you in your travels should you decide to attend. I know it is not much, it is not nearly the amount you deserve, but it is the most I could get Anthony to allow without his becoming suspicious as to my intentions for the money.
I would very much like you to attend the ball. Given that it is a masquerade, you need not worry about the ton gossiping about you, as no one will know who you are behind the mask. And perhaps, once you are here, we can find a way to restore your reputation. I am not sure what can be done, but I will try my absolute damnedest to see it done. And if I do not succeed, we can run away to the Welsh countryside and live out our days as spinsters together!
All joking aside, please do attend. Allow me the opportunity to make things up to you in person. Let me show you, not just tell you, how very much you mean to me.
Love,
Eloise
~
Cressida stood in her bedroom, staring down at Eloise’s letters to her, laid out atop her bed. She held the latest letter in her hands, fingers softly tracing over the signature.
Love
It was strange how one word managed to set her whole body ablaze when it wasn’t even spoken aloud. When she had been banished to her aunt’s cottage months ago, she had decided wholeheartedly that Eloise Bridgerton was dead to her. She had vowed never to even think of the other girl again, so hurt was she by the way she had been treated, and she had stuck to that vow for about two months. Then, Eloise’s first letter arrived.
At first, Cressida had been furious. How dare Eloise write to her after everything that had transpired! How dare she speak of apologies, as if anything she could say could undo the damage that had been done! She had almost torn that first letter to shreds, but the signature at the bottom had given her pause.
Yours
A most intimate valediction, and one which had softened Cressida’s heart just enough that she had chosen to store the letter in a drawer in her writing desk, resolving not to look at it again. That resolve had not lasted long, for with each new letter Cressida received, she could feel the walls she had crafted around her heart break down a bit more. She began to pore over Eloise’s letters every evening by candlelight after her aunt had gone to sleep, until she had practically memorized the damn things.
When her Christmas letter had arrived, Cressida felt one of those walls around her heart crumble completely, leaving her heart exposed to the raw emotion she felt upon seeing the change in Eloise’s signature.
Yours always
She had quietly donned her new necklace and awaited Eloise’s next letter with something akin to eagerness. She still was not ready to reply, but she no longer felt dread at the prospect of hearing from the younger girl.
But then, the letters had stopped, and Cressida’s heart had begun to grow cold once more. After a while, the letters went back into the drawer of her writing desk, with Cressida resolving to forget about Eloise since the other girl had clearly forgotten about her. She had all but managed to do so when Eloise’s last letter had arrived two weeks ago, baring the awful reason for her silence, and cracking Cressida’s heart right back open.
She had been debating how to respond after so long a silence, and not being one for words as Eloise was, when today’s mail had arrived with another package from Eloise.
Now, as she gently picked up the ornate pink and gold mask that had accompanied Eloise’s letter, she knew no mere words would suffice as a response. Could she really return to London, though? Did she really want to risk the ire of the ton, of her parents?
She gathered the letters up quickly, along with the mask and the money Eloise had sent her, and hurried down the stairs, making her way into the kitchen where she knew her aunt would be.
“Aunt Jo?” she asked tentatively, as she approached the other woman where she sat at the kitchen table. When Cressida had first arrived at her aunt’s cottage, she had been frightened at the prospect of living with this tall, imposing woman, who was essentially a complete stranger to her. Her father had always depicted his younger sister as the family disappointment. An aging spinster who he had generously gifted a small cottage in the Welsh countryside when she was unable to find a husband.
The truth, as she had quickly learned, is that Joanna had chosen this life. She wanted not a husband or children, and in fact enjoyed the privacy her quiet life provided her. Even the idea that her brother had gifted her this cottage had been false. In actuality, it had been bequeathed to her in their late father’s will, along with a sizable dowry she had used to make her life here quite comfortable.
“Yes, dear?” Her aunt looked up from where she was sitting, a warm smile on her face and Cressida felt her heart swell with affection toward the older woman. In some ways, being banished to Wales had been the best thing to ever happen to her. It was the first time she had felt kindness and love from a parental figure in her entire life.
Slowly, Cressida laid out the letters in order on the table in front of her aunt, setting the money and the mask to the side of the final letter. Her aunt cocked an eyebrow at her, but said nothing as she began reading. Cressida watched with bated breath as her aunt’s eyes flicked over the private words Eloise had written her. Occasionally she would murmur a noise of surprise or amusement, probably reading some of the more forward lines Eloise had written, or perhaps noting the change in her signatures just as Cressida had. After what seemed like forever, her aunt set aside the last letter. She glanced down at the money, the mask, and finally looked up to stare at the snowflake pendant situated at the hollow of Cressida’s throat.
“She’s very generous, your lady,” Aunt Jo said, nodding to Cressida’s neck.
“Aunt Jo! She’s not – she is not my lady.” Cressida sputtered, heat rising up the side of her neck at her aunt’s implication.
This was another thing that had surprised her about her aunt. About one week after Cressida had arrived, her aunt had found her crying late at night, lamenting the loss of her old life. They had talked for a while as her aunt soothed her. Cressida must have done or said something that resonated with the older woman, because she was soon revealing to Cressida that Mariah, the woman who lived at the cottage with her and who Cressida had previously thought was her maid, was in fact, her lover.
Cressida had sat in stunned silence, staring at her aunt as she processed this revelation, before quietly admitting, “I should quite like a life like yours.”
They hadn’t discussed the topic any further, until now. Now, her aunt sat staring back at her, stifling a bemused grin that threatened to take over her face. Cressida sighed and slumped down in the chair opposite her.
“Even if I harbor certain… feelings for Eloise, I cannot be certain she feels the same way. How could I risk my reputation even further for a girl who has already scorned me once?”
“My sweet girl,” her aunt replied, chuckling. “These letters, these gifts? She does not write anything incriminating, that is sure, but… these are love letters!”
“I cannot be certain!” Cressida stood from her chair and began pacing. “I must be sure of her intentions, but that is impossible. Not without –”
“Without speaking to her. In person,” her aunt finished for her, stalling Cressida’s pacing and causing her to stare at her aunt in bewilderment.
“Aunt Jo, are you suggesting I actually attend this masquerade?”
“Yes, sweet child!” Her aunt stood and made her way around the table to grasp Cressida’s hands in her own. “You must always pursue your happiness, or what is the point of life?”
Cressida shook her head even as a smile began to take over her features. “How would that even work? I have nowhere to stay. Five hundred pounds is enough to secure travel to and from Mayfair, sure, and perhaps even enough to have a gown made for the ball as well, but it is certainly not enough to procure lodging too. And, it is not as if my father would welcome me back with open arms.”
“Worry not,” her aunt responded. “I have an old friend in Mayfair who I knew long ago. I am sure if I write to him he will allow you to stay for a fortnight, at least.”
“This friend,” Cressida began, nervousness settling into her stomach. “Is he –”
“He is an older gentleman who married for companionship rather than for love,” her aunt replied carefully. When she took in Cressida’s confused expression she sighed and tried again. “How shall I put this? His footman attends him, and his wife’s chambermaid attends her. They will be discreet.”
“Oh,” Cressida breathed, surprise showing on her face. How many more people of the ton were like her? She had assumed it to be a relatively rare affliction, but it was starting to seem that was not the case.
“They do have a son a bit older than you,” her aunt continued. “But, from what I understand his eye will not turn toward you, so you need not worry.”
Cressida could not believe her luck. Her eyes began to tear up, overwhelmed as she was. For the first time in her life she had someone who loved her as she was, and encouraged her to follow her heart in a way her own parents never had. She surged forward, wrapping her aunt in a tight embrace as tears began to fall down her cheeks.
They broke apart after a few moments, her aunt cupping her face in her hands and whispering to her, “Go get your girl.”