Chapter Text
A Murder of Flowers
Chapter 1: Crushed petunias
It wasn’t loneliness, Eloise decided. It was the irksome sensation that she was being left behind—everyone was walking off into the sun, taking their suitcases out of Mother’s house and leaving her there—stuck. Now she could only share her half-empty nest with the youngest siblings—children, the two of them. It made her feel as if her own adulthood was being eternally delayed. She didn’t want to marry; she didn’t, but she was starting to forget the reasons behind that decision. Well, maybe it wasn’t marriage itself that she disliked, but what came before: she hated the courting rituals and the obligation to smile and curtsy in front of those gentlemen that were so in name only. If she could just dance and drink and eat without men trying to add their names to her dance card... She wouldn’t mind a smart life companion, she supposed—someone with whom she could share affection and true intellectual compatibility, if such a man existed. After all, she wasn’t Daphne; she wasn’t the diamond of any season… And she had, in the past, reveled in that distinction.
Maybe it made her feel powerful to choose a life of spinsterhood, or maybe she didn’t want marriage simply because she didn’t think she could get it—not the real thing, the love her mother kept talking about. She just couldn’t imagine a man being enraptured by her, not like it had happened to her sisters. She wasn’t as feminine and ethereal as Daphne and Francesca; she wasn’t a delicate English rose…
These depressing thoughts filtered into her mind at the worst moment—when Mr. Whitbread gathered the courage to propose. There were very good reasons to say no, but right now her brain was finding those quite insufficient: was it really such a horrible thing that he didn’t have any academic pursuits? Was it really so bad that he was a persistent flirt? Did it really matter that they hadn’t exchanged more than five short and trivial conversations and that he seemed more interested in her family name than in her character? Something inside her prevented her from accepting his offer, but she was very surprised when a hesitant “I will need time to think about it” came out of her mouth.
And now Mr. Whitbread was waiting anxiously for an answer. No, not waiting—hunting for an answer. He was currently looking in every direction in the small park where Eloise used to do her matutine walks (it had been such a mistake to confess this favorite spot to him!), no doubt he was looking for her—but Eloise didn’t want to be found.
To save herself, she took the rash decision of jumping behind a tall bush—nobody walking in the main path could see her now, not even someone with such good eyesight as Mr. Whitbread.
“Miss, please. Step out of there right now.” A male voice said behind her in quite a firm tone, without the need to raise his voice.
Eloise didn’t even bother to turn around, more focused on the figure of Mr. Whitbread, who was now walking away. “I will, but I need a second to—"
“Miss, you’re killing them!”
These words froze Eloise. She couldn’t help but raise a brow as she turned around, even when her mother always reminded her that it wasn’t a ladylike expression. “Who am I killing exactly?”
The man pointed at Eloise’s feet. She looked down—and found a flowerbed crushed under her new walking shoes. She looked up.
“Okay. The flowers. I assure you it wasn’t my intention—.“
“Petunias”. He corrected her, looking as if he had just witnessed a murder.
“Petunias, then. As I was saying, it wasn’t my intention to step on them.”
“You’re still crushing them.” He said, quite calmly, although it was obvious that, inside, he wasn’t calm at all. He approached her and offered his hand, hesitantly, as if he were debating with himself if saving those petunias was worth the risk of doing the improper act of touching the hand of a lady he hadn’t been introduced to yet.
“Oh, shoot.” She muttered, trying to finally get out of there, but her dress skirts were tangled with the bush’s branches, impeding her movement.
The gentleman held her hand, helping her out of her predicament—but his eyes didn’t leave the flowers, and Eloise was offended by the fact that this stranger found the flowers more interesting—and deserving of more care—than her.
When her feet finally touched the dirt road at the other side of the bush, Eloise looked up at the gentleman, taking in his appearance. He was nothing special: ordinary in the only way a man that’s not ugly nor very handsome can be. His clothes looked well-tailored but quite old-fashioned and dull in color. The only remarkable thing was his blue eyes, intense and too serious for Eloise’s liking. Their eyes met, and Eloise immediately felt the awkwardness of their situation.
“In my defense, I will say it was not murder. Flower-slaughter at most.” Eloise always used humor to diffuse a tense conversation, but he didn’t seem to appreciate the effort: he only blinked.
The man bent down suddenly to inspect the crushed petunias. Eloise rolled her eyes—this man was absolutely ridiculous. “There are many similar flowers in this park. It’s not such a great loss, in my opinion. You can admire the petunias… well, everywhere else, really.” Eloise said, pointing at the many petunia flowerbeds.
The man breathed through his nose as an answer and didn’t move. Eloise stared at him, not knowing what to do. Should she just leave, or maybe introduce herself? This latter option wasn’t one society would agree with—every lady in the ton had to be introduced to new people by a common acquaintance (because what a horrible thing it would be to introduce yourself by mistake to someone below your station!), but Eloise had never really followed those rules—at least, not thoroughly.
“Sir, I suppose—"
He looked up, and Eloise was rendered speechless by the steel in his stare. She was going to say that ‘introductions are in order,’ but those words got stuck in her throat.
“Miss, you can continue promenading, but please, look where you step.”
Eloise scoffed, surprised by these words. Was he dismissing her?
“You say that as if I am in the habit of stepping on every flower I see during my walks.”
“I wouldn’t know.” He muttered under his breath, still tending to the flowers.
“Oh, please! The flowers are dead; you can’t do anything to bring them back to life. Now, do me the favor of actually looking at me while I talk to you; it’s only polite.”
This seemed to do the trick, because he sighed, stood up, and looked at her. “You’re right, Miss. Excuse me. What were you saying?”
What was she saying? Eloise wondered, suddenly lost for words. “Well… I just wanted to explain that… I didn’t want to damage those flowers. I was being clumsy. Well, not clumsy, I was actually hiding from… Ah, that’s a long story, and I can’t imagine you being interested in it, but just know that—"
“Hmm.”
“You’re not listening.”
“I am listening. Continue.”
“Well, I don’t want to continue.” Eloise talked back, quite childishly.
“Then, don’t. Can I go back to my flowers now?” He asked.
Eloise scoffed, “They aren’t your flowers. This park is for everyone; these flowers are as much mine as they’re yours.”
“Yours to kill?”
“Oh. Good day, Sir!” She shouted, turning around and walking away. She expected him to shout back, to continue their argument, but he simply went back to the flowers. Insufferable man!
+++
Eloise entered her house, bypassing the butler, with her usual lazy movements. She walked between some boxes and suitcases without paying much attention to them and stopped at the living room’s door, where her mother and her youngest sister were present.
“I just ran into the most ridiculous man!” Eloise exclaimed with a big smile that contradicted the horribleness of the encounter.
“Does that mean Mr. Whitbread found you as you feared?” Her mother asked, from her spot on her settee, where she was reading the latest Lady Whistledown’s gossip sheet.
“Oh, no. This man was ridiculous in a very different manner.”
“How so?” Hyacinth asked.
“Well, I was minding my own business when I saw Mr. Whitbread at the other end of the path, so before he could actually spot me, I jumped behind a bush—and on top of some flowers. An accident, I assure you! And then, this man—he came out of nowhere—and started accusing me of killing those flowers….” In her animated interpretation of the facts, Eloise turned around, noticing the suitcases for the first time. She stopped in her tracks. “Who’s moving out of the house now?”
“Nobody, dear,” Violet answered. “Edwina is visiting us for the season, remember?”
“Is Kate still trying to find her a husband?”
“Kate decided it’s better she doesn’t interfere this time. Also, she’s pregnant, so she won’t be attending many balls this year; but your situation is similar to Miss Sharma’s and…”.
“She means you both have rejected too many suitors and are still wretchedly single.” Hyacinth translated helpfully—and earned a stern look from both her mother and Eloise.
“Thank you, Hyacinth. I think it was quite clear.” Eloise muttered.
“Now, you’ve an unmarried friend who’s also in search of a husband and…” Violet said.
“I’m not in search of a husband.”
“You will keep each other company, at least.” Violet said, ignoring Eloise’s proclamation. So her mother wanted Edwina to substitute Penelope, now that her best friend was happily married—to Colin, of all people! She liked Edwina enough, but she wasn’t Penelope. Although…
“Good! She will catch the attention of every male in the room, and they will leave me alone,” said Eloise. In the previous years, that declaration would’ve been completely devoid of sarcasm, but now… she wasn’t so sure. Edwina’s perfection was very similar to Daphne’s, and that made her uncomfortable.
Her mother ignored her and continued. “Ah, I miss chaperoning and guiding a young lady that actually wants to find a husband.”
“Edwina will play the role of perfect daughter beautifully. If she’s so excited about the idea of marrying, why does she keep rejecting so many proposals?”
“She’s looking for love, the real kind.” Violet answered.
“Or she’s so traumatized by almost marrying Anthony that now she can’t trust any man who swears eternal love to her.” Hyacinth said.
“Hyacinth!” Violet exclaimed, and Eloise thought the reprimand quite useless: Hyacinth was probably right, and the youngest Bridgerton knew it, so she simply shrugged.
“Does Lady Whistledown mention Edwina, then?” Eloise asked, pointing at the gossip sheet her mother was reading.
“She does, and she has the good taste to remind everyone that the queen called her a diamond of the first water. She also reports about the arrival of many good families for the season… even mentions some men by name… Oh, I wonder if the man you encountered is one of them. What’s his name?”
“I don’t know; he didn’t say.” Eloise took the sheet from her mother without asking for permission and started reading. “Let’s see: ‘Mr. Milton comes to town to impress us with his long golden blond mane.’ He wasn’t that blond or had a mane. ‘Lord Wescott’s love for Scotch dilutes his good manners.’ I wouldn’t say he had good manners or a love for Scotch. ‘Sir George Crane returned from the war, and although he was missing an arm, he made up for it with charm—as his beautiful wife well knows.’ Oh, he didn’t have only one arm, or charm, for that matter. And I don’t think he’s married; I didn’t see a ring.” Eloise folded the sheet, uninterested by whatever else it said.
“How’s this mysterious man, then? Describe him.” Hyacinth asked.
Eloise fidgeted, uncomfortable with that simple task. “Of good station, if his clothes can be trusted. Ah… Tall. Slender. Wide shoulders. Light brown hair. Blue eyes.”
“He sounds handsome,” said Hyacinth, dreamily.
“And that tells you how deceitful a vague general description can be. He wasn’t handsome; he was quite unremarkable.”
“Oh. But maybe Edwina will like him! Was he nice?” Violet exclaimed excitedly.
Eloise was surprised to feel annoyed by that comment; she wasn’t sure if she disliked the idea of pairing Edwina with the mysterious gentleman or if it was just the fact that her mother seemed so immersed in Miss Sharma’s love affairs, or lack of them.
“No, and didn’t you hear what I just said? He wasn’t handsome!”
“I don’t care about that.” A sweet voice said from Eloise’s back. “Well, I hope my future husband is not horrid-looking, but I do believe handsomeness is very subjective. Your opinion of who’s handsome or ugly can even change after further acquaintance.” It was, of course, Edwina, dressed in a beautiful coral dress that lit up her even more beautiful countenance.
Eloise smiled at Edwina. “Oh, but you do deserve a handsome man, besides clever and gentle, of course.” Her words were sincere, although Eloise couldn’t help but feel some irritation at Edwina’s comment. Did she just criticize her for her superficial observation of the man’s attributes?
Edwina smiled. “Don’t we all?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Cressida can have the ugly and stupid ones. Not the cruel ones, though; not even she deserves that.”
“I’m dying of intrigue; I need to know the name of this man, handsome or not.” Hyacinth said, quite frustrated that the conversation had moved on from that mystery.
Violet smiled. “I know someone who will be able to tell us.”
+++
Eloise always felt an odd mix of intimidation and admiration when she was in the presence of Lady Danbury. She terrified her, just because she seemed to be able to read thoughts, but she also admired her deeply. Her house was as splendid as the woman herself and also as grandiose. Eloise did feel quite small in that gigantic living room, but every time they went for tea, the biscuits were delicious. Nobody could deny that.
“Ah. He does sound like Mr. Crane. The younger brother, a botanist,” Lady Danbury stated. Her knowledge of everyone who mattered, in the ton and outside of it, seemed limitless, to the point where Eloise had even suspected in the past that she was Lady Whistledown.
“That does explain his love for flowers.” Eloise said.
“He likes flowers? Quite unusual in a man, and very romantic!” Hyacinth said, smiling. “Oh, then, I am sure he will like my name very much.”
Eloise looked at her quite severely. “You’re not out yet, so you aren’t allowed to fall in love. Especially not with boring men who care too much about flowers.”
“They’re an odd family.” Lady Danbury said, “But that’s the norm with most rural gents. Too much fresh air, I think. In this case in particular, Sir George Crane was thought to be dead in the war; his brother Phillip Crane almost married his beloved to honor his duty, but they received a letter just in time that rectified the previous one: Sir George was gravely wounded but very much alive. The arm had to be amputated, but it could’ve been so much worse, so that’s a victory in my book. A lucky escape by the bride and the brother too; they didn’t have to marry—and thank God for that: it wouldn’t have been a good marriage. They’re too different. And now everyone seems happy enough; Lord and Lady Crane had twins, who are rumored to be little devils.”
“The family name sounds familiar to me, but I can’t pinpoint why.” Violet said.
“Of course, it does. Don’t you remember Marina Thompson?”
“Oh, the girl Colin almost…” Violet didn’t end the phrase, not wanting to remember that almost disastrous event.
Lady Danbury nodded. “She’s Lady Crane.”
“Well, I am glad she’s happy now.” Violet said.
“Yes, a good match—but...” Lady Danbury bent over her skirts, as if she wanted to share a secret. “A pity for us too. Sir George is a baronet, a very charming one, very lively and humorous, and doesn’t take society too seriously—at least, that’s what I heard. He would have done very well for Miss Bridgerton here. But, alas, he’s married.” She said, looking meaningfully at Eloise.
Eloise tried to drown in her couch. Having Mother select possible husbands for her was one thing, but Lady Danbury… She wasn’t sure she would be able to say no to her.
“Does he have a cousin?” Eloise joked.
“He probably has several, but he also has a brother, doesn’t he?” Edwina said, talking for the first time. Lady Danbury smiled at her, approving her comment. Eloise, however, wrinkled her nose. No, thank you.
“Is the brother single?” Violet asked.
“He is. A serious-minded man, very focused on his studies on botany, quite shy, a proficient reader, but he tends to isolate himself from society… He may not be as promising as his brother, but… who knows? Love can be quite capricious.” Lady Danbury said with a sly smile.
“A proficient reader? Does he read anything besides books of plants and flowers?” Eloise asked, still feeling quite angry with the man.
“Well, dear, you will need to ask him when you see him again—only he can answer that.” Violet told her, and she rushed to rectify herself: “Only after being properly introduced, of course.”
“Maybe he doesn’t want to marry.” Edwina said, “Or not yet.”
“Men always say they don’t want to marry, but then… they always do.” Lady Danbury said, with a smile that suggested this extraordinary circumstance only happened because of her. “Now, I expect Lady Crane will want to make a visit to Bridgerton House soon. She has already gone to see the Featheringtons, so when she comes to leave her card, make sure to invite her whole family—men and children included!”
“You think she will want to come? Even after what happened with Colin?” Violet asked, feeling very uncertain.
“Of course. You’re the Bridgertons! She will want to clear the air. Besides, Colin is happily married, and Marina is happily married—happy endings for everyone, and no room for resentment. Lady Whistledown will surely find this very boring, but I assure you there won’t be unnecessary drama. At least, until the next scandal knocks on our doors.”
+++
As always, Lady Danbury was right. Lady Crane visited Bridgerton House with her brood: a charming one-armed husband, a shy brother-in-law, and a pair of eight-year-old twins that were too clever for their own good (or anyone else’s).
Upon seeing Eloise, Mr. Crane’s surprised blink was the only sign that he remembered the encounter, but as he didn’t refer to it, Eloise decided to follow his lead. Violet Bridgerton guided the party to the drawing room and made Mr. Crane sit between Eloise and Edwina. If he found something underhanded in that sitting arragememt, he didn’t mention it—or anything else, really. Eloise, however, decided to rebel in the only way she could think of: facing towards Amanda and Oliver—the children—who were sitting on top of the carpet, playing with their toys. In this way, she wasn’t exactly turning her back on Mr. Crane, but she wasn’t looking his way either.
“We’ve been far away from London for too long, and now we’re too ruralized and too set in our own ways. We can even say that we’ve grown accustomed to big open spaces and fresh air, so in order to remedy it as soon as possible, here we are.” Sir George answered when Violet asked him why they had decided to come to London.
Marina patted her husband lightly on his arm, reproaching him for his humor. “As you can see, Lady Bridgerton, my husband despairs every time I take him out of Gloucestershire, and that accounts for why we don’t come more often. This year, though, I was so melancholic—missing London’s attractions—that my husband grew tired of my sighs and gifted me this trip.”
Edwina turned towards Mr. Crane. “Did you come in search of London’s attractions as well, Mr. Crane?”
“Ah. Yes, I suppose.”
“Any in particular?” Eloise asked, concealing quite badly her mocking tone.
“Kew Gardens,” Mr. Crane answered.
Eloise scoffed discreetly: another very brief answer! They were starting to irritate her. Edwina didn’t seem to care, though.
“I love Kew Gardens too! I go every time I come to London!”
“Do you not live here in London then, Miss Sharma?”
“Oh, no. I live in India, but I come very often—as my only sister, Viscountess Bridgerton, lives here.”
“Good. Family is important.” He answered, and apparently—that was the end of that conversation.
“What about you two? What brought you to London?” Eloise asked the children.
Oliver’s face lit up; he loved being treated as an adult and being asked the same questions, so he showed his cheeky smile and answered. “I am here in search of a wife.”
The room filled up with surprised gasps and amused smiles. Amanda was the only one who didn’t find that answer funny or interesting, and she took a deep breath before talking. “He means a wife for Uncle Phillip! And London is the best place for it!”.
“Kids!” Mr. Crane exclaimed, surprised at hearing his name involved in such a plot.
“Dad said so. Well, he said London was the best place for it, but the idea was ours!”
Mr. Crane looked at his brother with silent promises of torture and retribution, and for the first time, Eloise believed that they were actually brothers.
Marina smiled at the room and explained, “Oliver and Amanda discovered quite recently that the only way they will ever have cousins is through Phillip, and now they’re quite anxious to see him married.”
Eloise noticed Violet’s satisfied smile, and although she knew that continuing in this topic was dangerous, Mr. Crane’s embarrassment was worth it, so Eloise smiled at the children and asked, “And how’s the search going?” She felt Mr. Crane glaring at her, and that filled her with unexpected delight.
“Well, you and Miss Sharma are the first unmarried ladies we’ve met. So… will you marry my uncle, Miss Bridgerton?” Oliver asked, his eyes shining with hope.
“Oliver!” Phillip exclaimed, embarrassed. He turned to Eloise. “Miss Bridgerton, I’m really sorry. I assure you… I didn’t… This isn’t… They…”.
“That’s fine, Mr. Crane. It’s actually not the worst proposal I’ve received. And I am sure many men would happily have their nephews and nieces doing their proposals for them.”
“Not I, Miss Bridgerton, I assure you. Whenever I find the right woman to marry, I will do my own proposal.”
Eloise felt that his mention of the right woman was a direct insult; his eyes were too heavy on her to mean anything else. “You make something so commonplace sound like a brave feat, Mr. Crane.” Eloise said, forcing a smile.
“Oh, but proposing does seem like a daunting task—I’m happy to be a woman if that means I won’t have to propose to anyone and thus, avoid the possibility of cruel rejections,” Edwina commented.
Mr. Crane smiled at Edwina, agreeing with her. A relaxed authentic smile that was very different from the ones he had been bestowing upon Eloise—and that, she felt, was another direct insult.
“Being proposed to is not easy either!” Eloise exclaimed. “Most of the time men do it without establishing first a solid friendship or even acquaintanceship, and when they propose, some of them don’t have the decency to accept a very clear rejection; instead, they decide to repeat their proposal over and over again! And it’s exhausting having to reject them over and over again!”
“Ah, Oliver, did you hear Miss Bridgerton? Don’t embarrass her with a second proposal, at least not on my behalf. Or better yet, leave the search for my own wife to me.” Mr. Crane subtly reprimanded his nephew.
“I’m sorry, Uncle.” Oliver muttered, quite saddened. He turned to Eloise, and with a serious tone, he said. “I swear I won’t propose to you again, Miss Bridgerton.”
Eloise pressed her lips together to try to contain her laugh.
“Thank you, Oliver. I think it will be for the best: I am afraid your uncle and I won’t suit.”
She could hear Mr. Crane agreeing at her side with a very sharp “Hmm.”
Oliver sighed, and Amanda put her hand on his shoulder. “What she means is that they don’t love each other. They have to love each other to marry… And that’s why Miss Sharma can’t marry him either. It’s too soon for love; it takes time. Right?” Amanda looked at Eloise and Edwina, and they both nodded. There was no point in explaining to her that some people married for other reasons that had nothing to do with love.
“Yes, indeed. If it weren’t so, I would be very tempted to accept his suit.” She noticed through the corner of her eye how Mr. Crane gave a small jump, startled. She smiled, devilishly. “Only because having you two as my nephew and niece would’ve been a pleasure!” Eloise answered.
This answer seemed to make them quite happy, and they returned to their toys with big smiles. Edwina turned to Mr. Crane with a smile of her own.
“Mr. Crane, I heard you’re a botanist.” In this way, Edwina started a conversation about plants and leaves and flowers and fertilizers that lasted too long, in Eloise’s opinion—although she didn’t miss a word: Mr. Crane’s face changed completely when he talked about his passion. He looked almost handsome.
+++
Violet always liked to say that a ball was the place to turn a simple infatuation into something long-lasting—Eloise believed it, and that was exactly why she was once again looking for a spot where she could hide from the persistent Mr. Whitbread.
She was walking in the gardens, away from the multitude, when she recognized the familiar silhouette of Mr. Crane. For some odd reason, she didn’t feel the urge to hide from him.
“Mr. Crane, why am I not surprised to see you here, among plants instead of among people?”
“Oh. They’re a better company most of the time.” He muttered but smiled, making her know that it was only a joke. “Are you here in search of your next victim?”
Eloise smiled. Another joke? She felt quite fortunate to witness it. “Oh, I will be more careful with the vegetation this time.” She promised, but he didn’t seem relieved. “You’re the expert, so can I ask you what’s the best bush or tree to hide behind?”.
“Why are you hiding?” He asked, surprised and even worried.
“Mr. Whitbread is looking for me—he asked me to marry him.”
He blinked, probably not expecting such an honest answer. Usually, both parties would keep a proposal in secret until an answer had been procured, but Mr. Whitbread was being so obvious that Eloise didn’t feel compelled to discretion to protect his dignity.
“And you don’t know how to answer him yet?”
“Oh, I know it’s a ‘no,’” Eloise said, quite determined.
“Won’t it be faster and easier to just tell him so and rid him of the misery of uncertainty?”
“Maybe, but that means I will have to talk to him,” Eloise explained. Mr. Crane stared at her, and she felt immediately judged. She knew delaying the rejection of Mr. Whitbread’s suit wasn’t doing any good to anyone involved, but she really didn’t have the energy right now to face the man.
After a long silence, he finally spoke. “I think the London Plane then.”
“Excuse me?” She asked, very confused.
“That’s the tree with the thickest trunk here, so it’s the best place to hide behind.”
“Oh, isn’t that the variety of tree whose hybridization may have happened in Spain or here in London, in the Vauxhall Gardens?”
Mr. Crane looked at her, surprised. “Exactly. Experts can’t agree on one theory or the other. You… You were listening... to me… that day, in your drawing room.”
Eloise smiled. “It’s only polite.”
Mr. Crane nodded, and, pointing at the tree, he muttered, “Well, I leave you in good company. Please, be nice to the tree.”
Eloise was surprised by such an abrupt farewell, so she could only nod. She was frozen in place while she watched him go—and didn’t wake from her stupor until he crossed the doors that lead to the ballroom. Then, she moved towards the London Plane and sat behind it, leaning against its trunk—not really caring about possible stains on the back of her dress.
She stayed around fifteen minutes in that position, fighting her boredom and wondering if dances and canapés were worth the risk of running into Mr. Whitbread. Then, she heard steps approaching, and when she looked around the tree, she saw that it was Mr. Crane, returning with a glass of lemonade in one hand.
“You must be parched, so I fetched you a glass of lemonade.”
Mr. Crane bent down to hand her the lemonade; she took it in her hands and drank it urgently to satiate her thirst. “Thank you, very thoughtful of you.”
“I think you would also like to know that Mr. Whitbread vacated the party. He and some of his friends decided that their time was better occupied drinking in the club.”
“Oh, I am very happy to hear that! Now I can finally dance.”
“Do you like to dance?” He asked, surprised.
“Why are you so surprised?”
He simply shrugged and helped her to stand up. They both stood awkwardly in front of each other. Not knowing what else to say… while Eloise finished her lemonade. She expected him to ask to add his name to her dance card; that’s how the conversation would have gone with any other man, but Mr. Crane seemed… different, at least in that regard.
Instead of offering a dance, he said, “I think it will be best if you come back inside first… alone, so it doesn’t look like we were here… together.” She nodded, not bothering to point out that they were actually here together, unchaperoned. She understood the reasons behind his suggestion; a lady’s reputation was a fragile thing, and it was better not to risk it.
Eloise gave him back the lemonade glass, now empty. “Thank you for the lemonade and for the hiding spot.” Mr. Crane only nodded, so she—feeling oddly nervous—started to walk towards the door.
“Miss Bridgerton.”
Eloise turned around brusquely. Was he going to ask her to dance? “Yes?”
“There’s some… bark in your back.” He said…
“Oh.” She tried to touch her back but couldn’t. “Can you…? ”.
“Of course.” He walked towards her, and his hand caressed her back—or that’s how it felt to Eloise. Mr. Crane showed her the small pieces of bark that were now on his hand. “See? It doesn’t look so bad now.”
“Good. Thanks…” She didn’t know what to say, so she turned around to leave once again, but she stopped in her tracks. “Mr. Crane, I will see you inside. Won’t I?” Maybe, once they were both inside, he would ask her for a dance, in front of her mother and siblings, as it was proper.
Mr. Crane looked very surprised by that question. “Of course. The room is not big enough to lose sight of each other. I will see you inside.”
Eloise nodded—and once they were both back in the ballroom, she couldn’t take her eyes off him. Every time it looked like Mr. Crane was walking in her direction, she felt nervous—which was absurd; she loved dancing, and she was good at it. Other men asked her to dance, from old Mr. Roberts to handsome Mr. Milton. Edwina was equally lucky, or unlucky, in her dancing partners—but she seemed to enjoy the evening much more than Eloise.
“I admit I expected Mr. Crane to ask me for a dance; we had such a charming conversation the other day,” Edwina said, joining Eloise after her last dance.
“It looks like Mr. Crane doesn’t dance—maybe he has a tendency to step on toes.” Eloise commented.
Edwina hid a laugh behind her hand. Her eyes looked around the room, and she noticed that Mr. Crane was approaching them. “Oh, he’s coming.”
He stood in front of them and did the typical greetings. “Miss Bridgerton, Miss Sharma. How do you do?”
Eloise smiled; of course, he needed to act as if this was the first time they saw each other at the ball, as their encounter in the garden was very much a secret.
“We’re doing very well, Mr. Crane. We were appreciating the… statues, quite an original way of dressing the room,” Edwina commented.
“Mmm. In an effort to transport us to Greece, I imagine.” Mr. Crane mentioned.
“Your tone reveals that you consider the effort to be in vain,” Eloise commented.
“Oh. I… Yes, I suppose the statues are Greek-looking enough, but the flowers around the room aren’t reminiscent of the Mediterranean landscape.” He winced immediately. “I’m sorry. Let’s not talk about plants again; I already gave you a tedious lesson the other day. Even my friends from university would complain after so much unrequired information.”
“I wouldn’t call it tedious, Sir.” Edwina rushed to reassure him.
“And the world would be a better place if more men shared their knowledge with women. There are too many books forbidden to us. Apparently, our delicate minds wouldn’t survive the shock of reading them.” Eloise added.
“What do you like to read?” Mr. Crane asked.
“Romance books in my case. I admit it’s not very original,” Edwina answered.
Eloise bit her lip, wondering if she should be honest about her preferences. The kind of books she enjoyed were not the kind of books a lady was supposed to read—or was allowed to. “Oh, I… I enjoy the books that cast a light on the world we live in: travelling and adventure books, and…” She looked around, making sure nobody was listening—not her mother nor any other unwanted ear. “And prepare to hear something very scandalous: I’ve enjoyed, from time to time, books of science. Not as many as I would like. My brother Benedict prefers books about art, my brother Anthony likes those about economy, Colin enjoys travel books and Gregory is too young for any interesting reading material. Those books are not easy to find or purchase, Mr. Crane. Not if you’re a woman.”
“Have you read The Scientific World by Lord Aldworth? If not, I recommend it very much. If you would like my own copy…” Mr. Crane said. It was the first time a man recommended her a book of science, and Eloise could only nod, too surprised to utter any word. Mr. Crane turned towards Edwina. “And in regard to romantic books, I would recommend Jane Austen. Her books are romantic but very sensible too.”
“Oh, Mr. Crane, thank you so much. I’ve heard of her, but I haven’t read any of her books yet,” Edwina said.
“You seem quite… well-read.” Eloise muttered.
“Although it may not seem so, I dedicate my time to other endeavors besides plants.”
Edwina laughed quite charmingly, and Eloise tried to find something witty to say, but for the first time, she found herself… witless. When she opened her mouth to offer another topic of conversation, someone coughed at her back. Eloise turned around—already annoyed by the interruption—and found herself face-to-face with Lord Wescott.
“Miss Bridgerton, would you give me the honor of your hand for the next dance?”
“I…” She looked at Mr. Crane, her eyes begging for an escape, but he didn’t seem to understand the meaning behind them.
“Don’t worry about us, Miss Bridgerton. Have your dance. You don’t need to sacrifice your enjoyment for us, we will keep talking about books, and if anyone says something very interesting, I am sure Miss Sharma will share it with you later.”
“Of course!” Edwina exclaimed politely.
Eloise nodded, feeling dismissed, and grabbed Lord Wescott’s hand. She also danced with other gentlemen afterwards—but Mr. Crane never asked her for a dance, and Eloise told herself that she didn’t want to dance with him anyway.
+++
The next day, Mr. Whitbread came to visit to whine about not having seen her in the ballroom. She explained (lied) that she had arrived late and, unfortunately, he had already left. Nevertheless, she was happy to see him now, because she finally had her answer: she couldn’t marry him, simply because she didn’t love him—and Bridgertons only married for love.
Mr. Whitbread left the house muttering that he had thought her more intelligent and practical. Eloise simply smiled, feeling relieved.