Chapter Text
Eloise Bridgerton had never been made for balls, or love, or any of the polite performances her mother insisted upon.
She thought society a carefully dressed lie a system designed to convince women they were only ever meant to be chosen, married, and quietly consumed by domesticity. To be wives. To be mothers. To be grateful.
She loathed it.
And yet here she was, arm in arm with her mother, Violet Bridgerton, circling the edge of the dance floor beneath chandeliers and expectations alike. Violet surveyed the room with hopeful precision, while Eloise searched instead for exits doors, windows, anything that promised escape.
“Must you be so restless, my dear?” Violet said at last, her tone gentle but pointed.
Eloise forced a smile and tilted her head, adopting a voice far sweeter than her own. “Mama, do you not think these gentlemen would have approached by now if they were truly interested?” she said, glancing around theatrically. “I should think a woman who walks and speaks with such grace would be irresistible.”
The words sounded suspiciously like Daphne.
That, Eloise realised, was the point. If she could pretend well enough if she could appear agreeable, compliant, interested perhaps her mother would finally let her go.
Lady Bridgerton blinked, clearly startled by Eloise’s sudden affection.
“Well…” she paused, choosing her words carefully. “That is encouraging.”
Eloise almost immediately regretted the Daphne act. She straightened her shoulders; eyes fixed on the floor as it passed beneath her feet.
“I have been the most agreeable this evening, Mama,” she said.
Violet gave her a look only a mother could the sort reserved for children behaving a little too well.
“You do not seem surprised by the notion,” she observed quietly.
Eloise offered a small, condescending smile before replying sweetly, “I believe they all know better than to try and marry me off. Apparently, I intimidate them according to Pen.”
Violet exhaled, a flicker of frustration crossing her face. “You must stop speaking as though marriage is a punishment, Eloise.”
“No,” Eloise agreed calmly. “Only a lifelong commitment entered into by sixteen-year-old girls who are expected to smile throughout.”
Violet came to a sudden halt.
“Eloise Bridgerton,” she said quiet, but sharp enough that a few heads nearby turned. “People can hear us.”
Eloise lowered her gaze. “That is precisely my concern, Mama.”
Violet’s expression softened at the sight. “You will not always feel this way.”
Eloise looked up to meet her eyes. “I fear I shall.”
“Very well,” Violet said at last. “You may sit out the next dance. But do try, for once, not to look as though you are planning an escape.”
Eloise smiled real this time.
“I make no promises.”