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Dearest gentle reader,
They say when you meet the love of your life, time stops, and that’s true. Perhaps reason also stops, which may explain why so many young people make perplexing choices when it comes to choosing their partners. News of one such match has reached my ears, and I suspect that it would not be long before the discerning eyes of the ton noticed the absence of the lady.
Miss Eloise Bridgerton, it seems, has finally decided to throw off her family name and align herself with another. Perhaps it will not come as a great shock to those that knew that the young girl, who is so outspoken and radical herself, that her choice in husband is not entirely suitable. Miss Bridgerton, or perhaps now Mrs Sharpe, has followed the only course available for such a match – a trip to Gretna Green.
Mrs Wilson sped through the house at an unseemly pace, too preoccupied with the news to care about decorum. On this occasion, she rather thought that the lady of the house would forgive her for any scene she might cause, not that anyone was around to observe her but the other members of the staff. She paused for only the briefest of moments outside the door to the sitting room, trying to steady her breath before she raised her hand and knocked, pushing the door open without waiting for a reply.
Lady Bridgerton was sitting on one of the settees with her youngest daughter. Both women looked up in alarm at the intrusion, which Mrs Wilson knew to be most uncommon indeed.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, my lady, but this is critical…” she said, stepping forward with purpose and offering up the pamphlet.
Violet Bridgerton frowned, clearly concerned at the urgency expressed by her head housekeeper. She graciously accepted the pamphlet, her eyes scanning quickly over the pages as she read the story that dominated the issue. Her eyebrows lifted further and further on her forehead as she progressed, defying physical ability, and then all the colour drained from her cheeks as she reached the climax of the story.
“Mrs Wilson, fetch my carriage at once,” she commanded, “and have Clara pack enough of my things to travel for a few days. I am going to visit my son.”
She swept out of the room, ignoring Hyacinth’s curious entreaties until the girl had no choice but to hurry after her mother if she wanted to learn what was going on. Violet marched straight to the Viscount’s office, bursting through the door without any kind of warning.
“Anthony, it is a disaster,” she said, dropping Lady Whistledown’s pamphlet on the table and pressing one hand to her ribs as she tried to ease the clenching pain in her heart. Why must her children all insist on being so difficult? “She was supposed to be visiting Benedict!”
Her eldest son was quiet for a moment as he read through the article. Then he straightened, his expression as stern as ever, looking almost like the Anthony who had declared that he had no interest in a love match several seasons ago.
“Perhaps Lady Whistledown is mistaken,” he said. “She has merely become apprised of a set of coincidences and come to the wrong conclusion. The gossip will be difficult to manage, but once the ton learns how incorrect it is –”
“Lady Whistledown is never wrong,” Violet contradicted.
“If it will satisfy you, I will write to Benedict and have the letter posted immediately –”
“Write to Benedict?” his mother snapped, looking at him as though he’d grown a second head. “Anthony, this matter requires more delicacy and immediacy than a letter can provide. No, I shall be setting out for My Cottage just as soon as the carriage is ready. You will have to mind Hyacinth until I return.”
“But mama!” Hyacinth protested from behind her, finally drawing her mother’s attention. “He will not know which engagements we were meant to attend! Surely Anthony can go to My Cottage…”
“Hyacinth, I pray that you will not have to understand this, but there are some matters that can only be managed by a mother,” Violet replied, perhaps a little more sharply than was strictly necessary. “Mrs Wilson can help manage the calendar and I’m sure you’ll get on just fine for a few days.”
As if on cue, Mrs Wilson appeared in the doorway to summon Violet for her journey.
Benedict was by the lake, an easel set up on its shore so that he might paint. Beside him, Sophie lounged on a picnic blanket with a book discarded at her side and she soaked up the warm sun of a bright summer day. She was becoming more accustomed to leisure in the months since her marriage to Benedict, but it was only on days like this that she truly enjoyed it.
Though it had to be said, she enjoyed it less when Mrs Crabtree hurried over, calling for the couple as though the world were about to crash down around them.
“Mr Bridgerton! Mrs Bridgerton!” she called, still out of sight.
“What is it?” Benedict replied, a half-amused smirk twisting his lips as he looked first at Sophie and then expectantly up the path that led back to My Cottage.
Mrs Crabtree arrived, chest heaving as she attempted to catch her breath, hands on her hips. “Mr Bridgerton, your mother is here!”
Benedict seemed confused for a moment, but then a grin spread across his face as he scoffed. “You must be mistaken, my mother is in London.”
“I think you might rely on me to know your mother, Mr Bridgerton,” she replied crossly. “I have yet to misname a single visitor to this house, nor shall I.”
“But… Why would my mother be here?” he asked, utterly dumbfounded.
“I did not feel it was my place to ask, sir,” Mrs Crabtree replied curtly.
Benedict sighed deeply. “Oh very well then. Sophie, do you wish to remain here?”
She rolled her eyes at the suggestion. “I believe your mother would think me quite rude if I did not greet her. No, I shall return with you.”
They took their time returning to the house, chatting idly about what could have prompted Lady Bridgerton to make such an unprompted visit, but neither of them could conceive of anything more interesting than she was on her way to Aubrey Hall and decided to check on her second son. Most likely being nosy, trying to discern if Sophie was with child yet.
It was therefore a surprise to them when they reached the house only to find Lady Bridgerton pacing in the foyer in a state of considerable anxiety.
“Mother?” Benedict asked, his voice pitched with surprise. “To what do we owe –?”
“Where is your sister?” Violet Bridgerton demanded, cutting off his pleasantries.
“My sister?” he repeated dumbly. “I imagine they are all in London, save Daphne, but in truth, mother, I would not know.”
“Eloise!” Violet called out loudly before turning to hiss at her son once more. “Where is she? Where is Eloise?”
“Why on earth would Eloise be here?” Benedict asked, as confused as ever.
“She told me she was visiting you,” his mother answered, her expression rapidly shifting between baffled and enraged. “She said she was going to spend a month here at least. She even produced a letter from you!”
“Well, yes, I did write to her to invite her to stay,” Benedict admitted, feeling sheepish for reasons he could not identify. He had every right to invite his sister for a visit. “It seemed as though she was having a miserable season again and I thought that some time here might be a bit of a respite for her.”
Sophie cleared her throat. “Do you know where she might be, Lady Bridgerton, since Eloise is plainly not here? And when did she depart London?”
“She left nearly a fortnight ago!” Violet answered in some dismay. “I fear the worst… she has gone to Scotland.”
“But Francesca is not in Scotland…” Benedict protested.
Sophie took a deep breath, rolling her eyes at her husband’s naivete. She often found it to be an endearing trait of his, but given the seriousness of the situation, she did not have as much patience for it as usual.
“She means Gretna Green,” Sophie explained. “But who would she have gone with?”
“There was a young man, but I thought it was all in the past,” Violet confessed, one hand fluttering across her chest and pressing to her ribs. “He was most unsuitable, a tradesman I believe, or an apprentice. I do not know, she would not speak of him to me. But he is named here.”
She brandished a pamphlet that neither Sophie nor Benedict had noticed before. He took it from her and held it so they both might read. They were quiet until they reached the end and then for a moment after, as neither seemed to know what to say. Running away with a member of the working class was a scandal to be sure, and yet neither of them felt in much position to criticise Eloise for it. They knew all too well that love recognised no social classes.
Good for her, Benedict thought to himself.
He had meant what he said earlier – Eloise had been miserable throughout the season, just as she had been every season before. She simply was not built to live in polite society and pass her days embroidering pillows or whatever it was ladies were supposed to do. Benedict knew that the life led by his mother, by his other sisters, would stifle Eloise, suffocating her spirit slowly until it killed her. But now, with this decision, she would live. It might be difficult for her, and there would be any number of consequences, but she would not die in the cage she had so despised. He was happy for her.
Penelope picked up the envelope that had been addressed to her, sitting down on the settee while Elliot was upstairs napping. She had not anticipated how loud motherhood would be, the baby squealing or screaming any time that he was not sleeping. Perhaps it was because her own mother had not been nearly as hands on as Lady Bridgerton, and Colin seemed to expect a familial dynamic more in line with his own. And truly, Penelope was glad of it. She had always idolised the Bridgerton family, so she had no qualms about replicating that style of upbringing. She merely thought that perhaps she did not have the energy to raise eight children. She could not fathom how Lady Bridgerton had managed it.
With an exhausted sigh, Penelope slipped her finger under the seal, popping open the letter without looking at the address. She was greatly surprised to find Eloise’s untidy scrawl unfolding over the page in her hand.
Dear Penelope,
I have done something which I’m sure you will believe to be quite rash and I hope you will forgive me for it. I know you would have offered sensible counsel had I asked, and perhaps that is exactly why I did not. I have spent my entire life trying to be sensible, even when all of society wished me to be less so, and I have had my fill of it.
Well, that is not strictly true. There are a great many things in the world which I believe would benefit from the application of more sense, but I am coming to understand that perhaps love and marriage are not among them. I suppose none of this will make sense until I share my news.
Theo Sharpe and I have married.
I am sure you will not approve – I doubt you could find a single person in all of London who would – but I ask you to be happy for me anyway. Theo is the only person in my life lately who truly makes me feel like I can be myself all the time. I won’t waste the paper trying to make this seem like a rational choice. It does not make sense, but it feels right. Please trust me in this. There is no one else with whom I could have consented to a union.
I am sorry that this will most likely mean that we cannot see each other for some time. I will miss your friendship.
With love,
Eloise
Penelope sighed, her last hopes that perhaps Lady Whistledown had been mistaken taking flight.
Several emotions were swirling inside her mind all at once. There was a modicum of hurt that Eloise had not even told her that she was speaking to Theo again. Penelope had thought they were past the days of secrets and distance, but it appeared not. That thought brought with it a feeling of guilt, because if there had been a distance between them, Penelope had not noticed it, which was rather terrible for a best friend. And had she contributed to the distance? She could think of more than one occasion when she had dismissed Eloise for not understanding “married things.” Perhaps she had made Eloise feel even more isolated.
It was not all dour and dreary though. Penelope could tell from the way that Eloise was writing that she did indeed love Theo, and what more could she want for her best friend? For so long, Penelope had worried that her friend would not even allow for the possibility of love and marriage, and in truth, she knew that the kind of marriage she herself had sought would never work for Eloise. So if her friend had found love and a way to make the relationship work, Penelope truly was happy for her.
“Penelope dear, have you seen the news?” Lady Featherington said as she swept into the sitting room.
“What news is that, mama?” she replied, feigning innocence. Penelope was very much looking forward to the day when her mother might choose to live with Philippa or Prudence, but for now she seemed intent on denying her anything resembling peace and quiet.
“Eloise Bridgerton has eloped,” she answered, lowering her voice as though she might be infected with scandal just for discussing it.
“I see,” Penelope said noncommittally. Her mother was not yet done discussing the situation and there was little point in saying anything until she had had her fill.
“I’ve always known that girl was trouble,” Lady Featherington continued. “I’m only glad you were married before she could influence you too much.”
Penelope remained silent on that front, unwilling to dignify the statement with a response.
“And Lady Bridgerton must be in an absolute state,” her mother continued, all false concern and very real superiority. “I cannot imagine the pain. And the shame! Really, even for Eloise it is shocking that she should be so selfish.”
“It’s not selfish to want to be happy, mama,” Penelope said, compelled to defend her friend.
“And poor little Hyacinth, I’m sure this will ruin her prospects…” Lady Featherington bemoaned, ignoring her youngest daughter’s interruption.
“I would hope that the right suitor would judge Hyacinth on her own merits, not those of her sister, since Hyacinth would be the one they were courting,” Penelope observed, even though she knew it would do little good. She would not change her mother’s mind, no matter how logical her words.
“You know that is not how the world works,” Lady Featherington sighed. “Ladies are judged on their relations. That is how it always has been.”
“Then perhaps they might overlook Eloise in favour of Hyacinth’s other sister, who is a duchess,” Penelope pointed out.
This, it appeared, stumped her mother, who could do nothing but hum thoughtfully in response. In truth, Penelope knew that her mother was not wrong. Hyacinth’s prospects might not be ruined now, but there were certainly plenty in society who would penalise her for her sister’s scandal. Still, Penelope believed in a love match as much, perhaps, as Lady Bridgerton, and she believed that Hyacinth’s true love would not only be willing to overlook Eloise’s unconventional relationship but would see the beauty and strength in it.
Anthony did not often visit the club anymore, since he would much rather spend his time with his wife or the rest of his family. Still, on occasion he did enjoy an evening of friendship, particularly when he had been tasked with minding his youngest sister.
Hyacinth Bridgerton was driving Anthony to madness.
He had thought that Daphne’s season was difficult, having to contend with her high expectations and firm opinions. But if he had believed Daphne to be opinionated about her suitors, it was nothing compared to Hyacinth. Not to mention that Hyacinth, who was accustomed to speaking up so that she might be heard over the noise of her family, somewhat lacked Daphne’s demure nature. Anthony was quite sure that there was more than one gentleman who had overheard her opinions about them.
His headache had only been exacerbated when he had received a letter from his mother confirming that rumours about Eloise appeared to be true. She had forsaken her family and run away. He had immediately gone into problem-solving mode, trying to figure out how they might salvage this situation and preserve their family dignity even a little bit. But no obvious solution presented itself, and after hours of contemplation, Anthony deemed himself in need of a stiff drink.
He should have anticipated that the club would be a hazardous place. The moment he walked in, he was met with stares and quiet whispers. It was not as hostile as a pack of mamas might have been, but enough to make his skin crawl.
Anthony made his way to his usual table in the corner, not surprised to find it empty. The odds were good that before long, either Colin or Mr Mondrich would make an appearance, since he had sent word to them that he would be here. But for the moment he was on his own. He waved over the barkeep, ordering a glass of whiskey for himself.
After a moment, the club grew loud and boisterous again, exactly what Anthony needed in order to achieve a few minutes free from the constant buzz of thoughts through his mind. He let himself sink into the sound, the cacophony enveloping him like a down blanket. It was comfortable. Soothing.
Until the words penetrated the haze like knives tearing through fabric.
“She must have been compromised,” a gentleman – though Anthony hardly thought he deserved the term – said. “Why else would a lady – and a Bridgerton no less – ruin herself in such a way?”
“She is likely as corrupted as the whores who solicit us,” another agreed.
Anthony felt himself standing before he was conscious of deciding to do so, compelled by the rage that coursed through his veins. He towered over the gentlemen’s table, his expression undoubtedly feral.
“Talk about my sister like that again,” he hissed, “and I will end you.”
His threat was met with shocked silence, which was just as he preferred it, for it meant they knew he was serious. He turned abruptly, downing his drink as he decided that perhaps he didn’t feel like a night at the club after all.
Anthony nearly collided with a startled Colin in the doorway, Will not far behind.
“Leaving already, brother?” Colin asked, perplexed.
“Come, we shall drink at home tonight,” Anthony said to both men. “I don’t much feel like being in the company offered here.”
Colin and Will exchanged curious glances, but both merely shrugged and followed Anthony back out onto the street.
Violet dismounted from the carriage, looking around her. She was not sure she had ever been to this part of the city and she found it hard to imagine any of her daughters here. It had taken her a considerable amount of time to locate Eloise, since she had no idea where to start asking about Theo Sharpe, but now she stood outside of the dingy building she had been told was his address. The whole thing was so ludicrous that Violet almost expected to knock on the door only to find that the resident inside had never heard of Eloise Bridgerton.
But in reality, when she did work up the courage to knock, the door was opened to reveal Eloise’s smiling face. She was dressed in a simple dress of dove grey linen and there was ink smudged on her hands and even a little on her cheek. And yet, Violet was forced to admit that she had never seen Eloise so radiant, not in all the fine gowns and jewels she had worn.
“Mama!” Eloise exclaimed, eyes widening. “I did not expect you.”
“No, I’m sure you did not,” Violet agreed, looking back and forth at the street around her. “May I come in?”
“Yes, of course,” Eloise answered, springing into action as though she had just remembered what it meant to host a guest. “I’m afraid I don’t have much to offer you, but there is tea and Theo’s mother has been teaching me to make scones and jam.”
“You – You cook?” Violet stammered as she followed her daughter into her house.
“Not very well, but I am learning,” she shrugged, setting the kettle on the stove.
“And you find that… fulfilling?” Violet asked. It seemed odd that Eloise, who had always been so independent-minded and non-traditional, would now be cast into the role as homemaker.
“It is temporary. Theo and I have a plan,” Eloise stated, her matter-of-fact tone as familiar to Violet as anything.
She did not seem inclined to elaborate on this plan, which sent a pang of sadness through Violet’s heart. When had she stopped being a confidant to her own daughter?
“What if this plan does not come to fruition?” she asked, unable to let go of this line of questioning for reasons she did not quite understand. She simply knew that she would hate to see her bright, bold Eloise shackled in the exact cage she had fought so hard to avoid.
Eloise’s expression drooped for a fleeting moment, but then she regained her composure. “Then Theo and I will think of a different plan. Everything does not have to be perfect right away. We will build our life together, as partners.”
Violet still felt the weight of uncertainty in her chest but she did not press the issue anymore. After all, what point could there be in it? It was not as if the marriage could be undone now.
“I’m afraid you will not see much of your family,” Violet said as she accepted a cup of tea from her daughter.
“You are cutting me off?” There was a sadness in Eloise’s voice that sounded so childlike it nearly broke Violet’s heart.
“No, darling Eloise, I could never cut off one of my children,” she said, reaching out to take her hand. “Still, it will be different than with your siblings. I doubt we shall see each other as often.”
“I know, mama,” Eloise admitted with a sad smile. “I shall miss you, and my siblings, and all my nieces and nephews tremendously. But I must live my life in my own way. And I will be alright.”
Violet nodded, unable to find words for the emotions coursing through her. Instead she tried to swallow them all down and focus on what she knew to be true: Eloise was remarkably strong, capable, and determined. And as of right now, she was happy.
“Well, I should be going,” Violet said, setting her cup of tea on the table. “There is a ball tonight and I must prepare Hyacinth.”
“Of course.”
Eloise stood to see her mother out of the house, but Lady Bridgerton paused on the doorstep, turning back to look at her daughter and the life she was making for herself.
"I am sorry, Eloise. I wish things could be different," she said, reaching out to cradle her daughter’s cheek.
“Perhaps in time, things will change,” Eloise answered. “Perhaps we might make them different.”
“Do you know,” Violet replied with a soft laugh, “if anyone might achieve such a lofty goal, I do think it might be you.”