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Ballroom, Bridgerton House
Beneath the chandelier’s glitter, amid the whispering ladies and the soft strains of the orchestra, Theo watched Eloise from a quieter corner of the room. She hadn’t changed much since the last time he’d seen her — still radiant, but with that unmistakable expression of boredom and disdain that made him smile every time he saw her duck behind a potted fern to avoid some eager suitor.
She looked so wonderful in her gown. Her hair —oh, how he adored the way! The way it falls over her neck, down her shoulder and back.
Then their eyes met across the crowd of silk and tailcoats: blue in amber. Like the clear sea reflecting the flames of a fierce fire. The surprise on her face was immediate; seeing him there entirely disarmed her, leaving her frozen in place.
He crossed the room with quiet confidence. Each step brought him closer; her heart quickened. At last they stood face to face, not exchanging a word. The orchestra shifted as the musicians prepared a new waltz.
“Miss Bridgerton, would you do me the honour of this dance?” he asked without hesitation.
“Yes,” she answered, a single word, still dazzled.
He offered his hand and she let him lead her to the centre of the floor. Eloise had never liked dancing—never willingly, and never with anyone. But Theo was different. He simply was himself.
The music began, and their steps were careful and sure. She had expected to stumble; instead, he made her move as if she had known the steps all along.
“We are surrounded by so many lies,” he broke the silence, voice low. “People that speak too much — too often.”
“What are you doing here?” she asked, cautious and curious.
“I wanted to see you again. I know—” he admitted, “you asked us to end our…arrangement. I did not mean for our parting to be our last memory. I reacted poorly that night; I said cruel things. I was utterly shattered at the thought of losing someone so remarkable as you.”
A turn drew them nearer. She felt a déjà vu of the night everything had ended: the same breath against her skin, the same impulse to step away. Around them a few curious glances turned their way. The sight was novel — Eloise Bridgerton dancing with a stranger. Who was he?
“You got the kind of look in your eyes,” he said, finding her eyes again. “As if no one else in the room knows anything but us. We will be the talk of the ton, and I apologise for any trouble my selfishness brings.”
“Theo… I’m sorry about that night,” she answered. “I had a voice in my head that told me a falsehood. I only wanted to protect you.”
He saw the light in her eyes, the tears she kept from falling. He wanted nothing more than to take her into his arms, to smooth her cheek, but the scandal would be larger for that embrace than for his mere presence.
“If this were the last thing I ever saw,” he said as the song wound down, “it would be enough. Because all that you are is all I would ever need. I am so in love with you, Eloise… I only wish for your happiness.”
The music ended and they parted from the dance. Before she could answer, he slipped away. This time, the memory he left her with was gentler—just as he had hoped.
Garden, Bridgerton Estate — Days Later
The evening light warmed the Bridgerton garden. Theo watched Eloise curl her fingers together and then interlace them, tenderly tucking a stray curl behind her ear so he could drink in the sight of her.
He had never imagined that trespassing an assembly at her family’s ball would lead here. The next day she stood on the threshold of his print shop, wanting to speak. She finally told him everything she’d been carrying alone: discovering her best friend as Lady Whistledown, the family’s fuss over seeing her dance, the sting of rumours.
Surprisingly, it was she who kissed him first. Awkward and tentative at first, then with growing confidence — until the kiss became the passionate thing they had both been dreaming of. From that day, her visits never ceased: to share readings, to attend small meetings, or simply to lose themselves in a dusty corner of the press and keep kissing by candlelight.
Not long after, Benedict had found out—and nearly kept the secret—only for Colin to overhear and blurt it out at dinner. The household erupted. Eloise silenced them with one argument: “Mother always wanted us to marry for love, and this is what I will do—only with him.”
That confession stilled her siblings’ surprise. From then on, many visits were arranged so they could judge for themselves whether Theo could provide for her. The closeness between Eloise and Theo remained scandalous, and Violet stepped in more than once—gentle corrections that never quite changed the truth of Eloise’s heart.
“You look so beautiful in this light,” he said softly.
“Oh? Mr. Sharpe?” she teased, sliding closer and resting across him, sharing breaths and lingering looks as they lay on the grass.
“Your silhouette over me—the way it makes the blue of your eyes shine,” he murmured, cupping her cheek. “Is the Tenerife sea. Have you heard of it? They say the water is blindingly clear.”
“I’ve heard only stories of how bright the waters are,” she replied.
“One day we will go,” he promised. “I will see your eyes against the vastness of the ocean.”
She smiled and kissed him briefly. From a distance, some younger siblings peered like gossiping sparrows.
“All the chatter around here fades when you breathe,” he said. “You have that power over me.”
“Just say the word and I will vanish into the wildness of this garden,” she replied.
“I would never let you go—never again.”
She kissed him more fiercely now, heedless of who might spy on them. He tumbled with her on the grass; they laughed through the tumbles.
“I am so in love,” he said, braced above her, holding himself up on his forearms.
“And I with you,” she returned, arms around his neck.
“Lumière, darling —light my life with your smile, your thoughts, your touch…”
“Is this an official marriage proposal?” she teased.
“Do I need to kneel? To ask your brother for your hand? If those are the rules, I shall do it.”
She looked at him, surprised, then laughed. “Are you truly asking?”
“Will you make me beg?” he countered, feigning offence.
“My god, Theo, you fool! Of course I will marry you,” she answered, kissing him.
“You make me the happiest man alive—thank you for choosing me.”
“There was never any competition,” she said solemnly. “You were always my only choice.”
As the sun dipped toward night, they lay planning a future, side by side, whispering vows only they could hear. He brushed a lock of hair from her face.
“Remember when you appeared at that assembly behind me?” he asked.
“Obviously. I’ll never forget.”
“That was when we first spoke properly. I felt, in that instant, that I truly knew you, El.”
She kissed him then—thinking, with a fierce contentment, that this was the feeling she would chase for the rest of her life: being understood, being seen, being loved.