Chapter Text
“You are lying!” Eloise held up an accusatory finger at her brother-in-law in the middle of the drawing room, vanilla biscuit crumbs still smeared around her lips. “Do not mock me John, I swear if you-”
“Eloise, I would never. Finlay taught both Michaela and I when we were younger, my parents never cared for the formalities. Michaela asked to join and that was that.”
“That, and I threatened to throw a constant tantrum if they did not agree,” Michaela added with the teasing shrug of a shoulder. This earned a giggle from Francesca.
Upon realizing her finger was still in the air, Eloise slowly retracted it and sat with the feeling of her pulse dancing irregularly.
She was partly joking when she asked if she could learn to fence in the grounds of the castle. When she brought up how she wanted to fence with Penelope when they were younger, it was meant to be a passing comment to John discussing a recent victory with his sparring partner.
So you only got to watch? Michaela had queried sympathetically.
Don’t I always, she’d replied, with little heat to the words. Then in jest, she added, Would you let me partake? Or do I only get to watch here as well, my lord?
By some miracle, he shared a quick look with his cousin and followed this look to ask if she would be genuinely interested in learning.
And so it began.
Finlay was a simple man. It seemed he cared for little except the art of the sport, and that one respected it. Eloise did so, and in turn, he respected her for doing so. He guided her through rocky beginnings, spoke to her firmly, yet compassionately, not hesitating to give her accurate critiques and corrections only when necessary. And when she in turn spoke or suggested efforts that made her more comfortable, he listened.
It was a bit surprising initially, and she observed these moments with the knowledge that he’d had to teach Michaela for years. Perhaps she wasn’t the first outspoken woman he had to teach.
The first few weeks began with learning the correct stances, getting used to them and the foil. She became familiar with the silver handle on her right hand, pushing it like an extension of herself, allowing her body to feel lighter, as though she could float with it despite its initial heaviness.
It helped that she could borrow actual fencing attire that had not been used in a while. Doing all of this in one of her dresses would have been inane.
After a while of the repeated routine, she became somewhat impatient. She’d ask Finlay to spar with her and not just be a doll for her to poke once in a while, which was often met with prompt refusal.
Then, during one afternoon practice of particularly pestering requests, he suddenly walked away. She shifted upright from her position and mildly panicked for a moment, thinking she may have crossed a line, maybe gotten too comfortable. Too confused at the time to ask where he was going, she stood silent and wondered if she should have followed him.
After a few beats he waltzed back with an oddly satisfied expression. It made her skin prickly, but only slightly. Excitement, she attached to the feeling.
With a raise of one of her brows, she asked, “are you… well?”
He returned her curious look with a small shrug, standing at ease at her side. His usual position.
“Miss Sterling will be joining us in a moment, you may return to your routine till then.” At this she produces something akin to both a scoff and a laugh. She could only feel as though she was about to start hopping on her toes to float.
“And why is that, Fin?” She knew the answer. She still wanted to hear it.
And for the first time since she met the man, though mischievously, he smiled with his answer. “You wanted a sparring partner, did you not?”
***
Michaela looked ravishing in her cousin’s old fencing uniform. For some breaths Eloise almost found it a disturbance to her practice in advancing.
She approached them elegantly, cheeks perked up from her friendly smile. Eloise put a pause to her movements to return it.
“Eloise. Fin.”
Finlay gave a quick bow of the head as Eloise moved closer, unable to hide her excitement.
“Will you truly be sparing with me?”
“Of course. Though, I admit, it has been a year or two since I practiced. So I would appreciate patience.”
Eloise giggled. “Michaela, I am only three weeks into this, and can barely call myself a beginner, patience is what I should be asking of you.”
Michaela began to laugh with her at this point, but still took a moment to consider a thought. She leaned towards Eloise, clearly wanting to say something only for her ears.
“Well, John tells me Finlay has been speaking highly of your progress.”
She made an effort to hide the pride she felt upon hearing that. Likely failing at it. Still, she pulled up a side of her mouth in reply, “ been talking behind my back has he?”
This earned a teasing shove from Michaela as they shared a glance back at the teacher they could now both say they learned under. He simply raised a thick brow.
***
If asked to describe it, Eloise would say the first spar with Michaela was a successful failure.
By the end of it she was heaving almost animalistically, she had to call for time out multiple times throughout. Her calluses and thighs were aching more than they had after her first few lessons. She felt aches throughout her lower body, sensing light bruises come morning.
She didn’t get a single hit in.
But it was so thrilling.
With her hair tied up, Eloise could notice that the air felt more crisp. The loose shirts allowed for more breeze in her undergarments.
Michaela, being such an agile and adept opponent, asked for quick response times and a fervent effort in the recollection of her lessons. When jabbed for the third time she’d let out a surprised chortle.
A blend of frustration and determination swirled in her. Her grunts got louder by the sixth jab, and she’d fully embraced the fact that she was no longer aware of her surroundings.
Light metal chimed irregularly, and light laughter from both ladies swam in the air as evening approached. Eloise had lost count of how many times she’d been cleverly attacked.
Once finished, Finlay had gone to return the equipment as the two sat on a stone bench to drink water a maid had brought them.
In the middle of stretch, Michaela stared down at her curiously. “You look so happy, one would hardly tell you lost terribly.”
“It’s a tentative happiness,” she said after a gulp of the liquid. “It was amazing and annoying at the same time. Parts of my body I wasn’t aware of ache badly, but it is delightful that I get to choose to experience these aches. I wasn’t allowed to before, which I find… ” Another gulp. “Frustrating.”
Michaela gave her an understanding nod and offered her a hand in getting on her feet. They had already been getting friendly, but Eloise felt this session brought them closer. It gave her the confidence to ask if they could spar again.
“Oh, of course. I’d almost forgotten how fun it was. John is always the same!”
“What? Does he not like losing?” Michaela tilted her head, acknowledging the subtle compliment.
“No, he’s calm as always. Which can get very vexing. You are not that, so getting caught up was easy. It was fun.”
Just as they are about to walk back into the building, Francesca is who catches them at the door. For a moment, she didn’t say anything, an indecipherable look on her face as she accessed them both. Mostly Michaela.
“I-I was going to tell you both it is almost time for dinner, so it would be best if you, well, freshen up.” And with that she was gone, a soft and anxious hum in the wind.
Eloise glanced between herself and Michaela and released a small laugh.
“We do look a mess don’t we? I think I’ve perspired more this past few weeks than I ever have in my life. Can you believe that?”
It wasn’t exactly a question Michaela needed to answer, but it was clear she didn’t because she wasn’t paying full attention. Her eyes were where Francesca had just been, countenance just as unclear to Eloise. Eventually, she looked back at her with an obvious strained smile.
“Yes, but don’t worry. It’ll happen more often now. Which is good because I need more of a distraction.
***
Many months passed and Eloise’s improvements were something even she was proud of. Her movements, now more fluid and second nature, came in hand to best even Finlay when he didn’t expect it.
It was common to have conversations with Michaela or even John,-when he had the time-during the spars just like she’d watch her brothers do. Sometimes she or Michaela would suggest a spar to get things off each other's minds. This particular session was one of them.
A letter had come in from Wales, sent forward from London, as she was not around. In the letter, her former friend Cressida Cowper expressed regret for what her mother wrote about her family and also wished her well.
My aunt has many books, and surprisingly she allows me to read them in my free time, unlike my domineering father.
Reading all of them reminded me of you, tenderly, and I felt compelled to get it off my conscience and have you know my true feelings from last season.
I know I did not act it towards the end, but your friendship meant a lot to me, and I apologize for letting my mother ruin further what was already broken at the time.
I will not ask you to respond. In fact, it might be best not to. It took some efforts to even ensure I could send this, so I cannot be confident that I will receive your letter if you do respond.
I am satisfied just knowing you will receive it.
Eloise had read the letter multiple times. Then she’d shove it in a drawer, go to sleep and wake up to read it all over again. Rinse and repeat. And after every read, she could not stop the gnawing feeling of guilt beneath her chest. A constant, growing ache.
It was perplexing. She couldn’t make sense of it. And she hoped speaking with Michaela with some adrenaline rushing would make things more transparent in her head.
But her opponent was just as confused, if not more. “Eloise, my dear, I’m going to need you to give me the full picture. Speaking out the context might help us both.”
And so she did, as though a tap had been turned, she let herself speak out everything from the beginning. Whistledown, Colin, the secret, Cressida’s devastating betrothal, and the mess that spawned thereafter.
Hints of bitter feelings returned during the recollection and they made Eloise’s attacks more sporadic. She was losing focus on the session.
She hadn’t noticed that during the conclusion, there was less fire in the scrap.
At some point she jabbed Michaela and hopped back with an oh in surprise to see that the other woman had actually stopped moving completely. She had her hands on the handle of the foil, its blunt tip to the ground. Her brown eyes were unexpectedly piercing.
She looked almost… upset?
“Eloise Bridgerton. You treated Miss Cowper quite terribly towards the end there, don't you think?”
“I- Sorry?”
“That poor girl sought you out for help from a desperate situation. Understandably yes, you were occupied, but how could you not realize the choices she made were due to feeling alone and desperate?”
Eloise’s mouth felt dry, it was different from being exhausted after a session. That gnawing guilt in her chest was growing. It was reaching out through her skin.
Michaela’s tone wasn’t harsh at all. In fact, she was calm, likely from connecting the dots herself in the moment, she was speaking carefully and somehow that made Eloise feel worse. The realization like a slow stab with an unsharpened knife.
“Were you truly so engrossed with Penelope that you didn’t realize another friend’s plight? Or did you really not see her as a friend?”
She could tell that Michaela was searching her face for an answer. One which she didn’t know how to give.
She suddenly felt restless and dropped her weapon to the floor in favour of rubbing her hands over her face. Her throat felt scratchy.
“Eloise, I’m not trying to… reprimand you. But you must know now that the guilt you kept talking about did not appear out of nowhere. Especially with the new information she added in the letter.” All Eloise could do was nod in her hands as a response.
After a few soft beats, she hears steps on grass, each closer than the last. Then a hand on her back.
“Let’s call it a day.”
…
It wasn’t that Eloise hadn’t thought of Cressida at all till the letter. In fact, the tower of a woman would so occasionally cross her mind that she related immediately when Michaela said the fencing could be used as a distraction.
Her soft eyes and smile would appear at the back of her mind, in sudden bursts, something to eventually forget. She almost did,-she wants to tell herself- but the letter caused a setback.
Cressida Cowper was now at the forefront of her mind nearly everyday. She’d written and torn up response letters, never sending any, the act feeling futile.
It was nauseating. Nauseating because within the wracking guilt was a growing fondness, an aching. She was realizing she missed Cressida’s company, her laughter. Eloise wondered if it was some form of punishment for her questionable choices.
On a particular night, she was rereading the dreaded letter and traced her fingers over the word tenderly. How unfair of her to relate that word to Eloise.
She thought of what sort of state Cressida must have been in when she wrote it. Was she frowning? Were her nose and finely cut brows scrunched up thinking about how to convey her thoughts? In a sleeping gown, maybe? Her hair down?
After a few blinks, Eloise found herself taking the letter to her nose and inhaled.
No. Just paper and long dried ink.
Eloise put the it down and shook her head.
Lovely.
She missed her scent too.
***
Eloise dropped the foil to the ground. At this, Michaela landed a teasing jab to her left abdomen, her famously mischievous smirk on display.
“Did you just say you once courted a lady?”
Eloise wasn’t sure why she tried to keep her voice low. Michaela had announced it for all five of them to hear. Behind the woman in question, seated on an outside chaise, Francesca had momentarily stopped her embroidery. John, on the other hand, still focused on the contents of his book beside her.
Finlay, who was beside the sparring partners, also remained unfazed, like this was not riveting news in the slightest. He just picked up her weapon and put it back in her palm.
In a mock manner, Michaela whispered back with a laugh, “yes.”
Eloise replicated the laugh, though it was more dry and without permission.
This must have thrown Michaela off because her expression had lost its comic.
“Surely, it is not a problem, Eloise. We can pause-”
“No! No. I just- I didn’t know that was-” She returned to her stance and the metal sang again. “It never occurred to me that such could happen.” She was thankful that the exercise could be used as an excuse for her faltering breaths.
“No surprise there, some would say it is not exactly common.” Eloise successfully parrys three of her attacks in a row and laughs victoriously. Michaela shakes her head.
“We’ve come to know each other nearly a year now, so I felt it was something about myself I did not need to dance around anymore during our chats.” The smile this time was genuine. Elosie could not help but return it.
Despite the turmoil in her heart and mind, she truly did feel at home here. She’d come to appreciate her sister's need for silence. In this space, she didn’t need to fight to get a word in, so she had time to think her words through and there was always enough time to listen.
She pushed away the image of a specific blonde making their way through her thoughts.
“I’m glad you felt comfortable telling me-ow!” Eloise rubs her waist dramatically. “I am still upset that none of you are coming back to London with me. You will miss mama’s masquerade ball!”
“You want to miss it, silly. You’re just jealous that we can.”
Eloise sticks her tongue out at her Francesca’s rude retort which she did not hesitate to copy.
“I will be packing this attire with me, my lord brother!” She gestures to herself.
John, finally looking up from his book, gives her a humorous expression. “As long as you lie to Violet saying that you stole it, dear sister.”
***
After almost a year away, Eloise can already tell from the first day what she truthfully missed and what she did not.
She missed her family, every single one of them. Their voices, their hugs. Eloise missed the comfort of the Bridgerton drawing room. She missed her personal shelf of books (of course she was glad she had new ones to add to her collection). She missed her best friend, whose child and nieces seemed to grow at an alarming speed.
She did not miss the visits to the modiste, and the slight prick of uncomfortable fabric in rotation on her skin. Eloise did not miss preparing for balls. The Kilmartins blessed her with not feeling the need to accept every invite sent their way.
She most definitely did not miss taking strategic efforts to avoid dancing with eligible bachelors.
Barely a week back in London and the thought of the season made dread seep into her from her toes. Of course, she was being ostentatious as she’d practically missed most of the season and this was the final month of balls, but it was the principal of things.
By the end of the second ball she’d attended, she’d agreed with herself that it would be the last till her mother’s masquerade ball, which to her surprise, her mother did not argue against.
So, for a good week, she was able to breathe.
***
“Were you out in the sun a lot back in Scotland, Eloise?”
Eloise put down the pamphlet in her hand to look at Penelope, who also had a book occupying hers.
“Well yes, I believe I recall writing to you about that in my letters, Pen.” This time the shorter girl put her book down.
“You wrote that you had begun participating in some ‘outdoor activities’ like it was some offhand thought. But Eloise, when you returned you were somewhat glowing and you now have this sort of confident bounce in your step.”
Eloise looked down at her hands, the back of her hand having a very slight different tone to the rest of her arm. It had been fading quickly with her return to staying indoors more often.
Already, she wanted to walk up to Benedict and demand they have a go at it in their back garden. She was getting worried that her muscles would lose their familiarity with the foil in her hand, with the thrumming aches from the stances.
Maybe she would practice in her room?
“I fence now.” A few moments after processing the words, Penelope’s eyes light up, mouth slightly agape.
“Truly?”
“The Kilmartins, for some reason, did not care for the decorum of having a lady partake in the sport. I was taught by a teacher, a strange grumpy fella named Finlay. I’d spar with Michaela every week, more than once a week most of the time.”
With each word, the awe in her friend’s eyes grew, same with her smile. She initially felt foolish keeping the fencing to herself in her letters. She wanted to see the surprise on her loved one’s faces for herself. Now it felt worth it.
“My word, what else did you do?”
The question made her halt. She had answers of course. She’d spend time with her sister and in-laws, sometimes Michaela would have them go on trips out of the castle for scenery change. She’d read.
But for Eloise, the activities that had a prominence in her mind so close to fencing was things only relating to Cressida Cowper.
She’d wasted piles of paper on unsent letters. Before she could stop herself, during practice she’d reminisce about the times they’d spent together with each parry and lunge. It became so much of a habit that even Francesca pointed it out while they were having tea one evening.
And Eloise definitely could not mention Michaela’s subtle reveal about herself. Thankfully, it saved her the time of explaining to the woman across from her why she could barely sleep a wink that same night because she was thinking of how women could possibly court one another. How Cressida effortlessly slid her way into those thoughts as well, making her heart want to break out of her ribs.
No she would not mention that part.
Eloise cleared her throat.
“I learnt a lot from spending time with them, Pen, but um, seeing as you’re the best person to ask, I’m curious do you have any news that could be of interest to me?” Dark red eyebrows furrowed.
“What sort of news?”
Have you heard anything about Cressida?
Have the Cowpers spoken about their daughter recently?
She wrote to me, Pen. I still have the letter, and I hold onto it for long hours of the night.
She didn’t say any of that. Instead, Eloise managed something short of a smile.
“What kind of mask are you wearing for my mother’s ball?”
***
As she stood with a glass of lemonade with Benedict by her side, she felt less weary.
In a way it was somewhat enticing. The guests were creative with the masks and attire for the event. Apart from the Bridgertons, who were there from the beginning to greet guests, Eloise realized anyone could get away with pretending to be someone else if they wished. All one needed was a stray from their usual colours and the confidence to disguise their voice.
She stared at the scene before her. She could appreciate her mother’s hand in design. The thick folds of flowers in every corner brought a welcoming scent wherever one walked.
She did not shy away from the use of feathers for it, and the guests followed suit. From blue to purple to vermillion, extravagant masks of different colours constantly crossed her view. And nearly every one had the staple of one or two comically large feathers.
“More full face coverings than I expected,” she said as she noticed it. The deep sigh he responded with caused her to look up at him.
“Yes. And it is terrifying.”
“I’m quite surprised you are not shaking-”
“Sister, a group of ladies will be coming to chat with you and when that happens you have to forgive me for vanishing.”
Eloise chokes out a short laugh at this confession.
The betrayal.
“You coward! What happened to hiding together?”
“Staying with you is like coming to the spotlight in the middle of a stage. You may not want to admit it, but the ladies are curious about you and your recent Scottish exploits and being with you might lead them to be curious about me and…” He let it all out in a rush and he grimaced at her mocking expression. Tongue in cheek with her arms crossed. His shoulder sank apologetically.
“I will make it up to you, and Colin is just around the corner.”
“He has not taken his eyes off Penelope for a single second”
“The gentlemen will not ask you to dance while you are occupied.” It was a nail accurately hit. She pursed her lips and cocked her head to the side. From the corner of her eye she could see some ladies gathering, likely her age. Huh.
She held her gaze on him, small fire crackling under her from the small power he’d given her. “Fence with me tomorrow.”
He opened his mouth, but for a beat, it seemed nothing was able to come out, then, “I beg your pardon?”
“To make it up to me. Fence with me. I have the attire and everything. I practiced all the time at Kilmartin, even with John at times. I’ve honestly been feeling somewhat restless, so, I need a partner”
A new panic seemed to overcome him, one clearly overpowered by confusion. It was very fun to watch.
The ladies began walking towards them.
“Ah, I believe that is your sign. Tomorrow before noon, dear brother,” and with that she spun him like a light ball and pushed him out of her sight.
***
After the early signs of overwhelm had passed, she was able to place most of the voices and mannerisms of the few ladies before her.
All except one. A familiar figure she could not quite place. She’d have come up with an excuse to escape the questions about Scottish eye candy she came across in her time away, but something about this obscure blonde…
She was the only one with a mask that fully covered her face, and she had not spoken a single word since they began the conversation.
This lady with the black and white frowning mask wore a dark brown dress with soft white flowers embroidered at the flowy ends. She chose to not tie her hair up, and the tips were curled just so.
She’d been fidgeting with her gloved hands all evening. It was extremely distracting-
“Miss Bridgerton?” It was a much shorter girl that pulled her from the daze. She bit the inside of her cheek and hoped the mystery woman across from her did not notice her near obsessive stares.
“Ah, apologies. You were saying?”
“We wanted to know more about this Finlay you mentioned. It sounds like you spent much time together, surely you can give us more juicy details.” An echo of giggles promptly filled their little crowd and Eloise joined them awkwardly.
Finlay, bless his heart, was probably older than her mother. She’d come to see him as a reliable friend, so of course they’d spent time together. She half-truthfully brought him up in stories with her family because he was always there, and skillfully, she left out that he was teaching her a skill unrefined for a lady.
Eloise began to question her decision in bringing him at all, a familiar pit in her stomach. She could not mention that he was someone they would consider lower class as it might stir opinions of her from her first season. She also did not want to deny it, it felt disrespectful and like giving in to the ridiculous idea that she shouldn’t. It was ridiculous that it mattered at all.
Before she could piece words for an excuse together, the lady in soft brown suddenly walked away with a stiff stride. Eloise once again could not stop herself from watching. Ah, the lemonade table.
She also could not stop herself from asking, “Do any of you know who that is?” She winced as it came out, but she was also thankful since her departure was surprising enough to cause distraction and pull their attention away from her.
Multiple heads shook as they stared. It was a bit rude, she observed.
“I haven’t a clue,” said a debutante with a curious tone. She turned mischievously to the rest. “Should we make a game of it and guess who it is? Could they purposefully be hiding?”
This made the group start discussing excitedly among themselves. It made her skin bristle.
Shamelessly, she was still staring at their mystery guest. She wanted to leave this crowd and go over to her. The main reason she was putting up with the charade was to remain in her presence after all.
“I think it’s best if we not do that. It is rather pointless. For all we know, she could be new to the city,” was what Eloise said when asked to give her guess.
One of the ladies scoffed. “Pointless maybe, but it could be fun! I think it could be Miss Cowper.”
They had her full attention back now.
“What? That is not possible, is she not in Wales?”
She expected immediate agreement, but the looks she was given made her realize she wasn’t in the loop.
“Lord Cowper has passed. My mama says it is likely that she was asked to return for his funeral.”
Eloise takes hold of her dress, she squeezes. She takes great effort to steady her breathing and to not return to staring at the subject of discussion.
The urge to go to her had increased tenfold.
“That makes it less likely to be her, does it not? The mourning period is not close to being over,” someone to her side brought up.
“Yes, but what if she is here in disguise because it is not over.”
She hears a rather dramatic gasp. “Such scandal!”
No. She had to stop this.
“Do you really think she would risk ruining her reputation more? Especially after what occurred last season?”
It was a desperate attempt and she did her best to sound uncaring. Thankfully, it was enough to sway suspicions on her former friend.
The girls bounced around names and reasons she did not even want to fathom. Of course she missed so much only in a year, but the only topic she cared for was Cressida.
Multiple forlorn thoughts written in unsent letters began to make way into her mind.
The group was so occupied and did not even realize they had entered a new realm of gossip all together. And they were so immersed they did not notice Eloise slip away.
She latched herself to the walls and carefully directed herself towards the table where a certain sullen looking guest was standing alone.
The lady seemed to be staring intently at the glass in her hand. In the next moment she brought her hand up to her mask, and as though realizing a mistake, placed it back on the table.
Once noticeably close enough, delicate and soft blue eyes suddenly came up to meet hers, and they grew wide. Eloise immediately knew then that she was foolish for not recognizing her immediately.
It was her.
Not realizing she’d been holding her breath, she lets it all out in a huge heave.
They stood like that for some seconds, and Eloise realized her mind was blank. All the different combinations of words she’d spent months putting together and nothing was coming to her.
But the sight before her wasn’t saying anything either, she realized. Maybe their distance welcomed people to listen in on them.
Though, before she could walk closer, the lady she felt sure was Cressida turned on her heels and walked away, very quickly.
Eloise’s jaw dropped at the reaction, but she quickly caught herself and followed.
It did not take long for her to realize that she’d have to run to catch up with the taller woman, which she could not do without attracting attention.
It also did not take long for her to realize that said woman was clearly heading for the entrance, likely intent on leaving.
By the times she’d caught her, she was in front of a footman, asking for her carriage to be called. Eloise was very confused.
Cressida, surely it was Cressida, stood waiting, back turned to Eloise. She wanted to grab onto her, remove the mask and take in the face that she’d spend so many nights thinking of before being stolen by sleep.
Eloise wanted to call her name, but she was fully aware of the fact that some guests were around, still arriving.
Cressida was not meant to be here.
Was that why she turned away? Or did she not want to speak to her all?
She shoved away the latter thought.
The silence was beginning to feel thick. She wasn’t sure what to say that would be enough to keep Cressida’s identity, but still let her know that she knew and that it was okay.
The carriage would soon come to take her away, and she could not with leave, her mother would be furious.This all felt unfair.
Vague then, but something she would understand.
“I wanted to apologize. For not listening to you.”
A brief pause.
Finally, she turned. Subtle confusion in her eyes.
“With the other ladies, I mean, I noticed you were not able to get a word in.” A couple with full gray attire and masks passed them.
“I have to admit, it seems to be a bad habit of mine. I even lost someone I cared for because of it, and I realized far too late; when I could no longer reach her.”
The blue eyes before her began to look glossy, and Eloise pinched her dress again for the nth time that evening. She had to steel herself. It was a small, yet painful distance. And she had to keep it.
“All this to say, I will not let it happen again. And I hope that mistake you witnessed inside does not sway your opinion of me towards a negative light.” She let out a shaky breath.
”Because I would like to see and speak with you again, if that is alright.”
Silence.
Eloise squeezed her eyes shut and willed away a wetness.
“Please.”
It was the last thing she could say before a carriage arrived briskly. A driver, down from his seat, stood waiting with the door open. But the passenger still stood in front of Eloise, eyes never leaving hers.
After a cough, he asked, “shall we be leaving, my lady?”
As if pulled from a trance, the soft blue eyes turn down from hers. And as if meeting for each other for first time, she curtsies. Eloise does the same.
She is about to ask, almost beg, if she could see her again. She was wondering if the message was missed, but before she walked into the carriage, she returned her eyes to Eloise’s and gave a gentle nod.