Chapter Text
1803 (Eloise age 7, Phillip age 9)
It was the wind that started it.
The day was not merely breezy. No, the wind pulled ferociously at the leaves on the trees and bent the fragile stems of grasses to its command. It was the kind of day that drove the children inside to swordfight and wrestle in the drawing room, making Violet want to tear her hair out with the noise and the maids despondent at the mess that would be left behind.
All the children except one.
The wind whipped Eloise’s hair into a tangle as she stepped outside and threatened to tear the kite from her fingers. But she clung to it stubbornly as she carefully made her way across the broad expanse of lawn. Stubborn was Eloise’s modus operandi. Colin had called her that after she refused to heed his advice that flying a kite in this weather was a bad idea. Her mother simply shook her head and sighed at Eloise’s intractable nature while her father only smiled with amused indulgence. The girl herself wore the word like a badge of pride.
In the center of the lawn, she turned and faced into the wind, her eyes watering, as she unspooled the kite string. It immediately yanked against her fingers like a startled horse, and she nearly lost it, but tightened her grip on the wooden handle just in time. With a shriek of triumph, she watched as the wind pulled the kite higher and higher into the blue sky, the lavender fabric pulling taut and snapping as it was tossed to and fro. The string unwound rapidly and she carefully held the ends of the handle to keep her fingers from being caught. She had never flown her kite completely unwound before, and it grew alarmingly small until it was so high that it was merely a dark speck against the sky. Before she quite realized it, it had unspooled completely and jerked her arms so hard that her elbows ached when it reached the end of the line. It was pulling so hard that she certainly couldn’t run with it or wind it back in. It was taking all her strength and concentration just to hold her small body steady as it whipped like a sail at sea.
And then, surprisingly silently, the line snapped.
Eloise stumbled backwards as the pressure on her arms was relieved, and looked up just in time to see her kite whirl away into the distance.
A sense of dismay filled her. Nevermind the grass stains that surely marred the back of her dress; the kite was her birthday gift from only a few months ago, specially stitched just for her in her favorite color with her name embroidered along one edge. Violet would be irritated, and tsk in that way that Eloise knew meant she would be receiving a lecture on responsibility and respect for one’s possessions.
Huffing, Eloise stood and brushed the grass from her dress. Squinting, she peered in the direction her kite had gone. It looked as if it had sank just beyond a copse of trees on the western edge of their property. She’d never gone that far, and certainly not alone, but surely it would not take too long to walk? And besides, she’d never give Colin the satisfaction of admitting that he was right. Squaring her thin shoulders and raising her chin, Eloise set off in search of her lost kite.
Twenty minutes later, she had managed to pick her way through the copse of trees. The undergrowth had been thankfully sparse, though once she caught her dress in a bramble and ripped a jagged tear in the skirt. She sighed, and doubled down on the necessity of finding her kite. She could not return home having lost her new toy and ripped her dress. She’d never be allowed out to play alone again.
She was staring upwards, hoping to catch any glimpse of purple fabric caught in the branches overhead, and was so intent on her search that she scarcely noticed when the trees opened up ahead and a brick wall covered in ivy loomed in front of her. She stopped short and blinked. What was this? She didn’t know of any other buildings on the Aubrey Hall property that she and her siblings hadn’t already explored. And this clearly wasn’t a building at all, because the wall was only about twice her height. She could see the ivy disappearing over the top. Hesitantly, she stepped forward and placed her palms on the brick. It was rough and pitted and uneven, clearly old. The ivy was dry and raspy as the wind blew it across the wall face. Experimentally, she grabbed a handful and gave it a tug. It seemed to hold quite firmly. Glancing from side to side, she could see the wall extended quite far in either direction without an opening in sight. Planting her hands on her hips, she looked up again. The brickwork was uneven enough that she could find small footholds, especially if she was able to hold onto the ivy for support. And even if she fell, it wouldn’t be terrible. She’d once fallen out of a tree much taller than this and had only sprained her wrist. Resolutely, she grabbed a double handful of ivy, gave it a mighty pull to confirm its strength, then used it to haul herself up the wall, her toes at the end of her slippers curling like a monkey’s to find purchase.
It was surprisingly easy. Only once did she have to scuttle sideways like a spider to find a better toehold before she reached the top. Holding on to the ivy and using her elbows for leverage, she managed to drag herself up to the top of the wall and only sat for a moment, catching her breath before she crouched and jumped down the other side, landing with a grunted “Oof” on the spongy ground.
She straightened and brushed the dirt from her hands, looking around curiously. The ground here, though covered in a thick layer of soft, decaying leaves, was mostly barren, with only a few scraggly looking rose bushes dotting the landscape. She stepped forward, glancing around for any sign of her kite, when she heard a loud, but slightly hesitant voice behind her.
“Stop!”
Startled, she turned to find a boy, perhaps a little older than her but not so old as Colin, watching her from some paces away. He was kneeling on the ground, his dirty hands clutching a small trowel. Hair the color of honey fell in unruly curls across his forehead. He was staring at her like a skittish cat.
“Who are you?” He asked, once again in a voice that was overly loud but held a hint of a tremble.
Eloise turned fully, and raised her chin like she’d seen her mother do when addressing the footmen. She hoped it made her look imperious. “I’m Eloise Bridgerton,” she said, as if it were obvious. “Who are you?”
The boy didn’t answer, but dropped his trowel on the ground and stood. He was long-legged and gangly, like a colt, and his knees were covered in dirt. Absently, he wiped his hands on his trousers, which only succeeded in smearing them into more of a mess.
“You’re trespassing,” he said, ignoring her question.
Eloise’s eyes and mouth widened at the accusation, before she snapped her jaw shut and raised her chin even higher. “Am not,” she said. “I live here.”
His glare shifted into disbelief. “What? No, you certainly do not. This is Romney Hall.”
Eloise scrunched up her nose at him. “I live at Aubrey Hall.”
“Well,” he said, and pointed eastward. “Aubrey Hall is that way. Or didn’t the wall give you an indication that you are trespassing?”
Crossing her arms across her chest, Eloise narrowed her eyes. Her tongue found the tender gap where her front tooth had fallen out only yesterday, making her jaw jut out obstenately. “You’re our neighbors, then. My mama said something about calling at Romney Hall. But you’re not very neighborly, are you?” She shot him her best accusing glare.
The boy blinked at her. When he did that he looked rather owlish, Eloise thought. A startled owl.
“I’m sorry,” he said slowly. “I did not mean to be rude. It’s only that I wasn’t expecting someone to fall over the wall.”
Eloise marched up to him. Up close, he got even taller. She only came up to his shoulder. He looked down at her, slightly startled. With her torn dress and hair in a tangled cloud around her head, she looked like a tiny tornado.
“I didn’t fall. I jumped. And anyway, I lost my kite,” she announced. “It’s purple. Have you seen it?”
He shook his head. “No, but I was busy.” He pointed to where the trowel lay forgotten on the ground. “Planting seeds.”
“Seeds?” That piqued Eloise’s interest, and for a moment she forgot about her kite. “Are you a gardener?”
He shook his head again. “No. But one day I want to be a botanist.”
She frowned at him. “What’s that?”
“A botanist is a scientist who catalogues plants.” He stood a little straighter then, and puffed out his chest. “I should like to discover a new species that no one has ever seen before. Maybe in the wilds of the Americas. Then I will name it after myself, and I will be famous.”
Eloise grinned widely at him, and the raw looking gap in her gums made him recoil a bit. But he caught himself, and smiled back, albeit a little hesitantly.
“That sounds like great fun,” she chirped, and walked over to the dropped trowel. Falling on her knees, she picked it up and began to stab at the ground with it. “I should like to go on an adventure in the Americas. Maybe I would see a bear.” She paused in her stabbing, thoughtful. “Aren’t you afraid of being eaten by a bear?”
He walked over and sat down beside her, folding his long legs underneath him. “I haven’t thought of that,” he confessed. “I suppose I would carry a knife just in case I encountered one.”
Eloise shook her head at him solemnly. “Bears are very big. And they have very sharp teeth and claws. I’m sure you would only have time to say ‘oh dear’ and poke it once before it ate you for supper.”
Phillip frowned at her. He had never met anyone who spoke of his hypothetical demise with such cheerful certainty. “Well, what would you do if you met a bear?”
She looked thoughtful for a moment. “I would climb a tree. And then I’d say a prayer for you when you’re laying on the ground holding your very tiny knife and being extremely dead.”
He stared at her. “You’re very blunt.”
She nodded in agreement and resumed her vigorous attack on the dirt. “That’s what my governess always says. She says I ought to be more polite. But it’s only because I think of everything. I don’t see why I should worry about being polite when it’s everyone else who should worry about being stupid.”
He stared at her again, fascinated. Most girls he knew (not that he knew very many) were quiet and prim and sat with their ankles crossed and their hands folded neatly in their laps. But this Eloise was sprawled in the dirt, her knobby knees poking up on either side of her like tiny mountains, brows furrowed in concentration as she hacked at the ground. She certainly did not act like a girl should.
“I want to be a writer,” she said, then smiled at him brightly, gums and all. “I can write about your adventures in the Americas!” she exclaimed, suddenly excited. “Don’t worry, when I get to the part about the bear, I shall say that you were very brave before you were eaten.”
He honestly didn’t know what to say to that, so he blurted the first thought that came to his mind. “Girls can’t be writers.”
The trowel suddenly stopped moving, its tip buried an inch in the soil. She looked up at him with narrowed eyes, and he suddenly felt cold.
“My governess says girls can’t climb, either,” she said in a low, growly voice that might have been funny if the look in her eyes wasn’t murderous, “But I did that, didn’t I?”
He looked at her uncertainly, “Yes,” he admitted. “You did.” He paused, and swallowed, suddenly feeling chagrined for hurting her feelings. “I’m sorry. I was rude again. It’s just my father says that girls can’t be writers. But I think he’s wrong.”
“Your father is a dolt,” Eloise sneered. “I will be a famous writer,” she declared, her voice suddenly loud. “And I’ll write adventure stories about pirates and explorers that everyone will want to read. And then I’ll be rich and famous and maybe even meet the King!”
He nodded in agreement, somewhat afraid that if he did anything else, she would skewer him with his own trowel. Watching her for a moment longer, he spoke up hesitantly. “Why are you stabbing the ground like that?”
The look she gave him made him doubt his own sanity. “I’m helping you plant seeds, of course.”
“But you’re not supposed to poke deep holes in the soil,” he explained, trying to be helpful. “Most seeds want to see the sunlight before they’ll sprout. So they need to be right at the top, or just underneath. Well, flowers, anyway. Acorns need to be deep, which is why the squirrels bury them.”
She frowned, but paused in her efforts. “Oh,” she said, sounding mildly disappointed. “What kinds of seeds are you planting?”
He sat up straighter, happy to have her attention and curiosity. No one really ever asked him about his interests, or wanted to be a part of them. “These are foxgloves,” he said. “Yesterday I planted irises. And, see that?” He pointed to the edge of the area, where a small tree grew next to the brick wall. “That’s a lilac tree. The gardener had to help me lift it in, but I dug the hole for it all by myself.” He glanced at her sideways, hoping to see her approval.
But instead, she only looked perplexed. “Why?” She asked, her nose scrunching again.
His face fell. “Why, what?”
“Why are you planting flowers and trees if you’re not the gardener? Wouldn’t you rather be having fun?”
He looked affronted. “This is fun. To me. I want a garden, and father said I could as long as I kept up with my other lessons.” He didn’t bother to mention that his father secretly hoped the physical labor would build some muscle in his scrawny son, as he didn’t particularly enjoy riding or fencing or the other physical pursuits that George preferred.
“Oh,” she said again, but she looked doubtful. “You’re a very strange boy.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “And you’re a very strange girl.”
She only shrugged at that. “My papa says that wood sprites bring flowers. Their magic makes all the different colors and helps the seeds grow and makes them smell like perfume.”
He scoffed. “Well, that’s very silly. Sunlight and water and soil is what makes seeds grow.”
Her hands clenched into fists. “Don’t call my papa silly. He’s the smartest man in the whole world.”
“No, he’s not, if he thinks wood sprites grow flowers. He sounds rather stupid.”
Eloise scrambled to her feet and stood over him, her face blazing in fury. “Take that back!” She yelled, stamping one foot.
Phillip stood too, and wondered what he would do if she hit him. He’d been told very plainly that he must never hit a girl, but this one seemed determined to lose her temper on him. But before he could retort, the sharp, booming voice of his father cut across the landscape.
“Phillip!”
He turned towards the house, his face suddenly fearful.
“Phillip!” his father yelled again, his voice coming closer, and clearly impatient. “Where are you, boy?”
Phillip swallowed hard, then called back, willing his voice to be steady. “I’m in the garden, father.”
Eloise had gone silent as well, though her face certainly didn’t look contrite. She also turned towards the voice, but didn’t move when his father appeared between the trees, his steward following closely behind. Instead, she crossed her arms across her chest and stuck out her chin again in that obstinate way of hers. Phillip almost opened his mouth to tell her to stop, that his father did not tolerate willful children, but it was too late. His father stalked up, already berating Phillip before he reached them.
“Didn’t you hear me calling for you? Why didn’t you answer me? You made me come all the way out here just to find you?” Thomas’ voice was harsh and unyielding, and brooked no nonsense. His cold blue eyes swept over his son. Phillip hid his hands behind his back, surreptitiously trying to brush the dirt from his fingers. But his hawk-eyed father had not missed a thing.
“Mud,” he said, flatly. “You are meant to be a gentleman, not a groundskeeper.”
Phillip kept his eyes trained on his boots. “I was only–”
“Wasting time,” his father interrupted. “I told you to be back inside in time for your Latin lesson. George is already doing his recitations. And yet, here you are, playing in dirt.”
Phillip nodded. “I’m sorry, father. I’ll go right away.”
Eloise, standing behind him, could see him trembling slightly, and could not bite her tongue at this injustice. “He was not wasting time,” she said, scowling. “He was planting seeds, which is very important.”
Thomas whipped his eyes around to see, possibly for the first time, the dirty little girl standing behind his son. His eyebrow rose so high it nearly got lost in his hairline. “And who might you be?”
“Eloise Bridgerton,” she answered, with an air of so much self-importance that Phillip might have laughed if he hadn’t been terrified of the consequences.
Thomas’ face and tone smoothed nearly instantly at her words. “Ah. From Aubrey Hall, yes? How did you get all the way out here by yourself?”
Eloise scoffed. “I walked, of course. And I climbed the wall. I’m looking for my kite.” The last sentence was almost an afterthought, if she had only just remembered why she was there in the first place.
“I see,” said Thomas. “Well then, we must certainly make sure to get you home safely.” He turned to his steward. “Have one of the footmen take Miss Bridgerton home.” The steward nodded, then beckoned for Eloise to follow him back to the house. She took a few steps, then turned back, catching Phillip’s eye. He glanced at her briefly, offering a small, sad smile before returning his gaze to his feet, his thin shoulders drawing inward like he was trying to make himself disappear.
Eloise practically had to jog to keep up with the steward, but she was still close enough to hear when the berating began again.
“Soft boys make soft men,” she heard Thomas say, angrily. “I generously allow you to indulge in this useless hobby of yours, but it will not be at the expense of your lessons, do you understand?”
Eloise could not hear Phillip’s answer.
“Go inside and wash,” Thomas continued. “And from now on you will find something worthy to occupy your time with.”
Anger flared hot inside her, but even Eloise knew better than to yell at a grown-up, and a gentleman at that. Her mother would never allow such impertinence. And so, she kept her mouth closed and her temper contained. For now.
The next day, Phillip returned with her kite in hand.
Actually, all three Cranes dropped in for an afternoon call. When the butler presented their calling card, both Violet and Edmund had looked perplexed, but accepted their visitors with grace. It was highly unusual for a man and his sons to call, but as there was currently no Lady Crane, Violet supposed it was just as well. And besides, out here in the country, rules were a bit more relaxed than in London.
After they had been ushered into the parlor and exchanged cordial pleasantries, Violet turned to Sir Crane with a pleasant smile. “Thank you again, Sir Thomas, for ensuring my Eloise made it home safely yesterday. And I do apologize again for her unexpected and… disheveled appearance in your garden.”
Thomas waved his hand dismissively. “Pray think nothing of it, Lady Bridgerton. Children are apt to wander. At least Miss Eloise’s expedition proved productive.” His gaze shifted. “She appears to have formed an acquaintance with my younger son.” He nodded towards Phillip, who sat stiffly upright, the kite resting across his knees. Violet smiled gently at him, but he kept his eyes trained on the carpet.
“Oh, she will be delighted that you’ve found her kite,” Violet said. “In fact, my children are in the sitting room. Perhaps your sons would like to join them? I would imagine your boys would find social calls as tedious as mine do.”
“A very proper suggestion,” Sir Thomas replied. “George, Phillip, you may attend the young ladies and gentlemen.”
The boys rose at once and silently followed a maid out of the sitting room.
Sir Thomas then returned his attention to Violet with measured civility. “I have long intended to pay my respects to Viscount Bridgerton. I trust he is in good health?”
“Indeed he is,” Violet answered smoothly. “He will be pleased to make your acquaintance. In fact, I will ring for him to join us now.”
“Excellent,” Sir Thomas said. “It is always agreeable to cultivate relations among families of standing.”
Meanwhile, in the sitting room, there was an ungodly amount of noise as Benedict and Colin engaged in a fencing match with wooden swords, jabbing at each other hard enough to leave real bruises. Daphne and Francesca sat primly at the pianoforte, Daphne showing Francesca how to play a new song she’d just learned, while Eloise was engrossed in a book, nearly swallowed in an oversized armchair. Phillip marveled silently at the chaos and abandon with which the children behaved. No wonder Eloise was so fearless and forthright, if she’d grown up like this. There was no staid silence and formality, as was so common in the Crane household. Only shrieks and laughter and the occasional yell of indignation, but all of it was in good fun.
George immediately joined the older boys, but Phillip hesitated nervously in the doorway, clutching the kite to his chest. The long ribbon tails pooled around his feet. He was so used to entertaining himself that he wasn’t quite sure how to integrate himself into such a boisterous group. But then, Eloise spotted him, and her face lit up. He’d been worried she was still angry with him after their argument yesterday, but apparently she’d forgotten all about that as she leapt up from her chair, practically running to him.
“You found my kite!” She beamed, and grabbed for it, examining along its edges for any tears.
“It was stuck in a currant bush,” he said stiffly. The truth was, after his dressing down by his father, he’d returned to his tutor and finished his lessons for the day silently. But as soon as they were done, he rushed back outside and searched the grounds for an hour, all while trying to avoid the gaze of his father through the window. Finding it had been like discovering a secret treasure. After he’d carefully extracted it from the shrubbery, he studied her name embroidered in a curling script and methodically memorized the letters. E-L-O-I-S-E. He didn’t know why it meant so much when he stumbled across it. It was not as if he wanted or needed the little girl next door to like him.
But seeing her beaming, gap-toothed smile made him think that it had been worth risking his father’s wrath.
It turned out, he needn’t have worried. Thomas seemed pleased to have an excuse to visit the Bridgertons, and later that night had instructed both of his sons to be on their best behavior, and to make friends with the Bridgerton children if possible.
Apparently satisfied as to the integrity of the kite, Eloise unceremoniously dumped it in the corner of the room before grabbing his hand and dragging him back to her chair, scooting over so there was enough room for him to sit next to her. She promptly plopped the enormous book across both their laps and flipped through the pages. It appeared to be a richly detailed compendium of animals. “Look,” she said, pointing to a page of detailed engravings. Phillip leaned in despite himself.
“There are ever so many bears in the Americas,” she said. “I only thought there was one type. But this one climbs trees.” She glanced at him meaningfully. “So I suppose that means we’d both be dead together.”
He considered her comment with due seriousness. “Yes,” he said at last. “That appears likely.”
“And this one lives by the sea and eats seals!” She pointed to a large, white bear poised on a slab of ice.
He straightened. “If it’s near the sea, I can swim.”
“So can the bear,” she returned triumphantly, “So you’d still be dead.”
She said it with such finality that he couldn’t help himself. He started giggling at the absurdity of the topic. George never had such silly conversations with him, and certainly not his tutors or his father. Eloise giggled too, covering her mouth. They snorted so loudly that even Daphne glanced up at them with mild reproach.
Years later, he would remember this conversation about man-eating bears as a bright spot in his otherwise dim childhood. Oftentimes he wondered if Eloise ever looked back with fondness on that day, or if she’d forgotten and moved on, blazing her own fiery trail and leaving him behind in the dust of his own misery.
1824 (Present Day)
Eloise stepped out into the terrace of Romney Hall and fanned herself, relieved to have a moment of respite. Though she never minded noise, the cacophony inside had gotten the better of her.
Or, at least, that was what she told herself.
She tried to forget the way Phillip had glanced at her over the heads of his children, his eyes weary but bright with something she could not quite identify. She had looked away quickly, unable to meet his eye for very long. And yet, whenever she’d dared to glance back at him, she found him still looking at her.
It was discomforting.
Violet and the remaining Bridgerton children had been invited to Romney Hall for an impromptu piano recital hosted by the eight year old twins, Oliver and Amanda. Eloise had tried to beg off, but Violet had insisted on being neighborly, stating that since only she and Eloise and Hyacinth remained living at Aubrey Hall, it would be very obvious if a third of their party mysteriously decided not to attend.
“And you and Sir Phillip were such good friends as children,” Violet reminded her.
As if Eloise needed reminding.
“That was a long time ago,” Eloise said firmly, keeping her eyes on her book.
“Well,” Violet said airily as she lifted her teacup to her lips, “Now that he is alone in that great big house with the children, perhaps the two of you can resume your friendship.”
Eloise glanced sharply at her mother. “You’re certainly not suggesting an improper relationship with a widower?” she asked, her voice acidic. “Are you trying to turn me into even more gossip fodder?”
“Of course not,” Violet said calmly. “I only meant that he seems lonely, and perhaps could use a kind ear.”
Eloise slammed the book shut with a loud snap. “Why do you insist on pushing me about like a chess piece? Is my only function to move as you wish me to?”
Contrary to Eloise’s frustrated outburst, Violet’s voice remained serene. “You’re cross with me.”
“I’m not cross,” Eloise said crossly. “I’m only tired of this same conversation we have over and over. And after all these years, it’s never changed, has it?”
Violet sighed and set down her cup. “My dear. I only wish that you wouldn’t remain lonely out of pride.”
“I’m not lonely,” Eloise insisted. “I have my books, and I have you, and I have Hyacinth. And Gregory, when he comes home from Eton.”
Violet snorted. “You know as well as I that Gregory and Hyacinth will make their own way into the world, eventually. And when I’m gone, then what? You will live on Anthony and Kate’s good will for the rest of your life?”
“Kate loves me,” Eloise retorted.
“Yes, she does,” Violet murmured. “I’m not trying to fight with you, Eloise. I’ve never required you to marry. I only ask that you do not refuse happiness simply because it arrives in an unexpected package.”
Eloise turned away, not meeting her mother’s eye. And the unspoken words still hung there as they stepped into the carriage for the short ride to Romney Hall, Hyacinth glancing between them, clearly sensing that something was amiss.
Now, in the quiet breeze of the outdoors, Eloise closed her eyes and inhaled the fragrance of the flowers that surrounded her. She could hear voices coming from inside the house, the loud chatter of the twins and the occasional errant note banged out on the piano keys. She stepped down from the terrace and slowly made her way into the gardens, settling down on an iron bench underneath a tree. She could perhaps rest for ten minutes before her mother would start to wonder where she’d gone. Closing her eyes again, she tried to focus on the sound of the birds, and the wind rustling the leaves. Letting her mind wander and her heart calm.
She heard his footsteps approaching only a moment before his quiet voice reached her ears.
“This is where we met. Do you remember, Eloise?”
Her eyes opened and she willed herself to look at him. He stood a few paces away, his hands tucked behind his back, hiding the black armband she knew he wore in half-mourning for his late wife. His hair had darkened with age, but it still fell in unruly curls over his forehead, just like the day she’d first saw him, almost in this exact same spot. But though he’d grown taller, and his skinny frame had filled out into the musculature of a man, his eyes were still as blue as the summer sky.
“Of course I remember,” she said with a faint smile. “You accused me of trespassing.”
“You fell over a wall,” he reminded her.
“Jumped,” she corrected without thinking.
They both paused, looking awkwardly at each other.
He cleared his throat and glanced away first. “This lilac tree was the first thing I planted out here,” he said, nodding at the tree she sat under. It erupted with fragrant purple flowers that draped like a veil over the arms of a maiden. She glanced up, admiring the blooms.
“It’s lovely,” she said earnestly. “As is the rest of the garden. I remember the day we met, it was quite barren, and you’d only just started planting. And look at it now.” She swept her arm across to indicate the garden around them. And it was lovely, with more than two dozen varieties of flowers arranged pleasingly across the landscape. It was Phillip’s pride, she knew, along with his twins. He’d spoken of it often growing up, eagerly telling her what new species he’d added, or how he’d carved out a walking path so visitors could admire his work. Even that wretched father of his could not grouse when guests were so complimentary.
Phillip smiled, pleased that she remembered. It almost hid the tired lines etched across his face.
“I’m glad you came today,” he told her quietly. “It’s been so long since we’ve spoken.”
She swallowed down the lump in her throat and nodded, looking down at her hands in her lap. She wasn’t sure why she was so emotional. She ought to be glad she was having this moment with him now. For six long years a rift had stood open between them, caused by unfortunate circumstances and through no fault of either of them. She had spent most of those years in Mayfair fending off suitors and he had spent them raising children. When Marina had passed, she had sent a letter of condolence, as was customary, and he had responded with thanks. It was the first words between them in years, stilted and formal. They had written back and forth for some months after that, testing out the waters of their forgotten friendship cautiously, but with no real substance. Phillip was a memory, tucked away in the recesses of her mind, a precious pulse that she held in reverence.
With a start, she realized that it had been a year since she’d sent that first letter. A year since Marina’s death.
Phillip stepped closer to her. “May I sit?” he asked, indicating the bench next to her.
She nodded, and shifted to one side. He sat gingerly on the other, careful not to let their knees bump.
“I know the music was not to everyone’s taste,” he began in a sardonic tone. “But the twins would not listen when I warned them that enthusiasm is not, in fact, a substitute for practice.”
She huffed a small laugh despite herself. “My ears will be ringing for days.”
“They’re very proud of themselves,” he said ruefully. “And I have not the heart to discourage their industry, no matter how… enthusiastic it is.”
She laughed again, softly. “You are a good father, Phillip. It’s admirable how well you’ve done despite the trying circumstances.”
He nodded. “I appreciate your faith in me. To be honest, this past year has been difficult. Oliver and Amanda, they… they deserve more than what I can offer.”
She met his eye then, slightly aghast. “What? Those children clearly adore you.”
“Adoration is wonderful, but it’s not enough.” He sighed heavily. “They put on brave and happy faces, but sometimes I still hear them cry for their mother. They need stability and guidance. And–” He paused, clasping his hands together under his chin. “And god knows, I don’t know how to give them that. How can I, when it was never given to me?” His words were heavy and tired, like the weight of the world was pressing down on his chest.
Eloise turned to him, and nearly reached out to touch his shoulder. Years ago, she would have done it without thinking. Before things had changed between them. “Phillip. You are a good father, despite never having one of your own. Why do you doubt yourself?”
He smiled tiredly at her. “It’s not doubt, Eloise. It’s pragmatism.”
A heavy silence stretched between them. Eloise stayed silent, waiting for his next words. A breeze stirred the lilac blossoms overhead and one petal drifted down to land near Eloise’s glove. Phillip watched it as though it might supply him with courage.
“I am not so adept at these conversations,” he said at last.
“You were never so adept at any conversations,” she quipped lightly. “Good thing I talked enough for the both of us.”
He chuckled at that.
Another beat of silence.
“I have been considering their future,” he said at last. “And I believe they need a mother.”
Eloise’s spine tingled. She chose her next words very carefully, not wanting to assume anything about where he was going with this. “I cannot imagine it will be easy to invite another lady into this house.”
“No,” he agreed. “It won’t be easy.” He turned away then, looking at the orderly rows of flowers instead of at her.
“I have no expectations for romance,” he began slowly. “There was never anything between Marina and I, so I’m quite used to that. But I do wish for a partner in this house. Someone sensible and educated and who would treat the children with kindness. Someone to watch over their education and make sure of their manners.”
She nodded. “You wish to find this paragon on the marriage mart? I’m sure many mamas would be happy to introduce their daughters.”
It was his turn to huff a laugh. It sounded slightly strangled. “No. Not on the marriage mart.” He turned to her, finally, and looked her straight in the eye with an earnest resolve. “I believe I’ve found her already, and she sits right here beside me.”
The world narrowed to just the two of them.
This was not Eloise’s first proposal, or even the second. It was, in fact, her seventh, and she thought she’d gotten quite used to the feeling by now. A slight feeling of flattery swallowed by resignation.
But not with Phillip. Phillip was different. Phillip was a mystery wrapped in the complications of their past. She was not sure how she ought to feel about this.
“Eloise,” he said, and reached to take her hand. His voice was steadier than the tremble in his fingers. “I would offer you respect and independence. A freedom to order your life as you see fit. I should never attempt to govern your mind or your time. I admire you too much.”
She stared at where their hands met.
“I would not insult you by pretending this is a love match. But I offer you a home of your own, and purpose, should you desire it. It would be an arrangement of mutual benefit. I would not ask–” He swallowed. “I would not ask for intimacy. Or more children. Oliver is my heir, and that would not change.”
Eloise’s heart beat painfully against her ribs. This was not the declaration novels promised. There were no ardent vows, no admissions of love. This was not even the flowery flattery of her previous proposals. She licked her lips and forced herself into measured calm.
“If this is for mutual benefit, then what is it you desire?”
Phillip seemed to inwardly struggle for a moment, searching for the right words before he finally said, “Your family name, and your family’s connections… I admit, they will be of great benefit when Oliver and Amanda are old enough to enter society. It will open many doors for them, I think.”
She nodded. It was true; her family had a reputation and power that was rarely matched.
“And I…” he continued, “I only desire your companionship. We were friends, once. I would like to have that again. Someone to discuss politics and science and literature with.” He steadied himself and glanced at her. He looked like he was steeling himself for her refusal. That, more than anything, unsettled her.
"It is a good offer,” she said quietly. “A practical one.”
He exhaled, as if in relief.
“But you know better than anyone my views on marriage.”
He nodded without hesitation. “Yes, I do. And I still respect it.”
She smiled crookedly. “Yet here you are, proposing.”
He grimaced, then hurriedly smoothed his features. “I knew it wouldn’t be an easy ask,” he said. “But I also remember you telling me once that you wanted to be a Bluestocking.”
That startled her. It had been many, many years since she’d given up that dream. Anthony would never allow it under his roof, even if Kate secretly thought it was a good idea. It was a term too fraught with derision and gossip these days. But oh, how she had longed for intellectual discussions and debates. If she could not attend university, it was the next best thing. And yet, even that was denied to her.
Phillip looked at her steadily. “If you still want that, I would welcome it at Romney Hall. I could introduce you to my friends and acquaintances from university, and their wives. You could even host your own salons, eventually.”
She searched his face. Beneath the fatigue there was an earnestness. She looked past the dark circles under his eyes and saw the golden boy she once knew. The shy, sweet boy who wanted nothing more than to study and become an academic. She felt tears prickling behind her eyes.
“You would truly do that for me?”
He nodded. “Of course I would. I have only ever wanted to watch you fly, Eloise. Let me be the one to help you realize that dream.”
Taking a deep breath, she willed herself not to cry. When she had stepped into the carriage this morning, this was not at all what she had expected. It was all she had ever really wanted, and yet… Yet it would go against every stance she’d ever made for her independence. There was a reason she’d refused all six previous proposals. Most of them had been good men, and each would have been a fine match that would satisfy even Anthony. And yet she’d said no, because she didn’t love them, and none of them offered anything beyond the promise of a fine home and a comfortable life.
And now, Phillip was offering her freedom, but wrapped in a parcel that was still a cage. A gilded cage, but a cage nonetheless.
The lilac scent thickened in the air, sweet and almost overwhelming.
“I– I will think on it,” she said, finally. “There is much to consider.”
He nodded again and released her hand. “Take all the time you need. And when you’ve decided, write to me. If it’s acceptable to you, I will proceed the proper way. Call on the Viscount, and all of that. And if not–”
He paused, and composed himself. “If not, I understand. I will not press you again. But I hope you would not think less of me for asking.”