Those agonizing spring months passed. Anthony had wed, Colin embarked on his latest travels, and Eloise Bridgerton did not leave her room.
Miraculously, even Lady Bridgerton had refrained from coercing Eloise into the final weeks' social whirlwind of gatherings and balls. Whether it stemmed from the exhaustion wrought by Anthony's shattered engagement and subsequent marriage or if her mother had discerned the deeper implications behind her daughter's sudden separation from her closest friend, Eloise couldn't be certain. Even if her mother had attempted such persuasion, Eloise would have feigned fever or some other ailment, dreading the prospect of encountering Penelope.
Torn between anger, guilt, and grief, Eloise could not escape the nightly echoes of that hideous conversation. Like a pendulum, she swung between insurmountable self-loathing, entirely blaming herself for their break, and between deep, embittered resentment. In a twisted way, Penelope was right— Eloise hadn't truly seen her. Had she ever? How had Eloise missed her timid wallflower bloom into the mastermind who held the Ton, the Queen herself, by her puppet strings? Perhaps Eloise's greatest flaw was her Bridgerton obliviousness. The lesson, then, was clear: Eloise would guard her heart fiercely, to never surrender it to anyone, lest she inadvertently cause more harm to those she cherished.
As she dwelled, Eloise realized she didn't hate Penelope for hiding behind her pen. Eloise understood the necessity women faced in wielding power discreetly. Power fascinated Eloise — and yes, why she had nursed a schoolgirl infatuation with Lady Whistledown at first. It explained her attraction to the lectures and writings of suffragettes and radicals. Cruelty and even meanness, she could overlook, even admire should the situation warrant it. Cowardice; no. Those writers wielded their power to live unapologetic lives within the bounds of their freedom. Penelope's true deceit had not been Whistledown, but herself, allowing excuses and conformity to atrophy her power.
Unfathomably, Eloise missed Lady Whistledown, whose pamphlet had not been seen in Mayfair for months. Not to say Eloise had forgiven Penelope. The ongoing ugliness the Bridgertons endured because of her writings served as a constant reminder that Penelope was not as good or innocent as Eloise once believed. Still, despite everything, Eloise inexplicably hoped to glimpse the paper boys handing out that damned gossip sheet, if only to assure herself that Penelope was alright. Their friendship had been the cornerstone of Eloise's quite solitary existence, and its absence a stark reminder that few people on Earth truly knew her at all — not beyond the superficial façade.
Consumed by loneliness, Eloise withdrew into her solitude, seeking solace in the pages of her books, craving nothing more than to be forever left alone.
Late summer and the off-season came, and with it, the end of her mother's patience.
"We are going to Bath in three days," Lady Bridgerton announced at dinner, ensuring Eloise caught her hard stare. "Pack your things."
"Mother, I —" Eloise tried to protest, but Violet silenced her with a look.
"We will all take to the waters, and it shall do you good," Violet said, resuming her meal with finality.
Eloise slumped, ignoring her younger siblings' excited chatter. Not even the Roman baths could hope to heal the ache in her chest.
Packing for Bath blurred into a mechanical routine. Eloise folded gowns and bonnets, her thoughts constantly drifting to happier times. As Eloise closed her trunk, she feebly wondered if their journey might help her rediscover who she was without Penelope.
The two-day carriage ride passed uneventfully. Eloise rode with her mother, Francesca, and Hyacinth. Her sisters stopped pestering Eloise once they realized her sullen mood wouldn't lift. Francesca handed her a book she'd bought at their last stop, and Eloise accepted it gratefully. She'd have read a treatise on axels if it kept her mind occupied.
"Emma?" Eloise asked, examining the book, breaking her silence for the first time on their journey.
Francesca smiled gently and folded her hands in her lap, saying nothing.
Eloise dived into the first page. Sorrow came—a gentle sorrow—but not at all in the shape of any disagreeable consciousness. —Miss Taylor married. It was Miss Taylor's loss which first brought grief. It was on the wedding-day of this beloved friend that Emma first sat in mournful thought of any continuance. The wedding over, and the bride-people gone, her father and herself were left to dine together, with no prospect of a third to cheer a long evening. Her father composed himself to sleep after dinner, as usual, and she had then only to sit and think of what she had lost.
Eloise snapped the book closed, tears welling in her eyes. She looked out the window, hiding her face. Francesca's hand pressed gently on her knee, a silent comfort.
Arriving in Bath, the Bridgertons were met with the expected fanfare of greetings and invitations. Lady Bridgerton plunged into the social scene, having already planned a tea party for the ladies at their grand hotel. The streets bustled with elegantly dressed ladies and charming gentlemen in the summer fashions.
Hyacinth and Francesca quickly begged Violet to let the three of them explore the luxury shops with Gregory and Benedict— who'd been dragged along as their chaperone.
"Certainly, but only if Eloise accompanies you," Violet said with a smile.
Eloise grumbled as her sisters took her hands and yanked her from the carriage. "Alright, alright! I'll go! But both of you must repay me with an entire night of silence in return."
As they wandered through the elegant boutiques, her sisters chattered about the latest fashions. Despite Eloise's initial reluctance, it did feel nice to walk about with them. The vibrant displays of silks and satins and glittering arrays of jewelry were an exotic sight. As they browsed, Francesca handed Eloise a delicate blue hairpin adorned with a single pearl.
"For you," Francesca said softly. "A new start."
Eloise managed a small smile, though watching Francesca grow up so quickly pained her.
As she turned to find something in return for her sister, Eloise bumped into someone. "Oh, please forgive me — ah," Her words faltered as she looked up. Dying on the spot seemed preferable to facing Cressida Cowper.
"Eloise! Eloise Bridgerton," Cressida's musical voice laughed. "Well met!"
Cressida stood tall and regal, draped in a blush pink gown that commanded attention. Gigot sleeves ballooned from her shoulders to her elbows, tapering elegantly to her wrists where ribbons secured them in place. A wide-brimmed bonnet embellished with silk flowers cast a soft shadow over her impeccably styled golden curls. Her bodice, snugger —and cut lower than Eloise had ever noticed before— boasted delicate lace and tiny seed pearls that shimmered with each graceful movement.
"Hello, Cressida," Eloise stammered, attempting to gather her composure. "Er, has anyone ever told you that you resemble a mermaid?"
Cressida tilted her head, a hint of curiosity in her smile. "Do I? How kind of you to notice, Eloise."
"… You have no idea what a mermaid is, do you?" Eloise sighed, embarrassed.
"Are mermaids considered beautiful?" Cressida inquired, undeterred. Eloise looked up, finally noticing the dancing merriment in Cressida's eyes. A genuine smile graced her lips. That brought a smile to Eloise's face too, though the muscles felt unused.
"Yes, indeed," Eloise said.
"Then I shall accept your words as a compliment," Cressida declared. "Would you care to take a turn around the market with me?" She extended a gloved arm expectantly.
Feeling unexpectedly warmed by the invitation, Eloise accepted, her heart lightening at the prospect of a reprieve from her family. "It will be a pleasant escape," she admitted.
"Though, I am rather surprised to see you alone," Cressida remarked, a faint frown creasing her brow.
"How do you mean? I am with my entire family." Eloise wearily gestured towards the bustling markets.
"I mean… I do not see Miss Featherington with you. Normally you two are inseparable," Cressida prodded gently.
"Ah," Eloise halted their stroll, and humiliatingly, began to cry.
"Ah, dear," Cressida murmured, standing awkwardly as Eloise crumpled into sobs. After a moment, she retrieved a handkerchief and offered it to Eloise, who accepted it gratefully. Summoning every ounce of willpower, Eloise fought to regain her composure.
"I must apologize for being so miserable," Eloise managed, painfully. "Penelope and I are… no longer friends. I haven't quite been able to process it."
"Lemonade," Cressida interjected, gently steering Eloise away from the bustling crowd. "Doesn't that sound absolutely refreshing on this hot day?"
"Are you alright?" Benedict finally caught up to Eloise. He looked between Eloise and Cressida in bemusement. Eloise couldn't bear the thought of facing Benedict and his probing questions. Thankfully, an unexpected intervention came from Cressida Cowper.
"I have invited Eloise for lemonade, isn't that right?" Cressida's tone brooked no argument.
"Yes," Eloise forced a watery smile. "We'll only be a few minutes if you don't mind looking after the children."
Benedict mouthed — Cressida Cowper? — incredulously as they turned, but Eloise brushed off his question. She couldn't fathom why she was acquiescing to Cressida's company either. Perhaps it had something to do with Eloise's tears still drying on a soft handkerchief that smelled of roses and ocean pearls.
Finding a secluded spot under the shade of a sprawling tree offered some solace. Eloise accepted the glass of lemonade from Cressida. She hoped the tart drink would distract her from this very strange afternoon.
"I must admit that I was not expecting your warm reception to me," Cressida began once Eloise's sniffles had subsided. Cressida idly toyed with a bunch of grass between her fingers. "I fear that… I haven't always been kind to you in the past, and for that, I am sorry."
Eloise nodded and then smirked. "If Daphne were here, you could tell her that yourself."
Cressida met her gaze earnestly. "I would."
"The sentiment means a great deal," Eloise acknowledged with a soft sigh. "In truth, I shocked myself too — accepting you. But you were the first person to show me kindness in some time, and… it took me by surprise. It was not unpleasant."
They lapsed into a comfortable silence, the rustle of leaves overhead mingling with the distant chatter of the market. Cressida studied Eloise with a hint of fascination, her gaze lingering on Eloise's tear-stained cheeks.
"I... observed you and Penelope that night," Cressida confessed, after some hesitation. Eloise snapped up in surprise. "Unintentional, truly. I found myself without dance partners that evening and was bored utterly to tears. I wondered if you..." Cressida trailed off, retreating from the unspoken question. "I hadn't seen either of you in society for quite some time. I wrote you a letter, but I never sent it. I'm sure that sounds entirely stupid."
Eloise observed Cressida's hands, the only sign of nervousness amidst her poise. The image of an ethereal beauty like Cressida Cowper without dance partners, witnessing her and Penelope's lover's quarrel, filled Eloise with a profound sadness that bordered on absurdity.
"We all could use a stint at the madhouse," Eloise remarked dryly, prompting Cressida to burst into laughter. The sound was infectious, and Eloise found herself longing to hear it again, as often as possible.
"Absolutely," Cressida agreed, and they clinked their glasses of lemonade together in camaraderie.
"Have you ever broken it off with someone you loved?" Eloise inquired, feeling a newfound openness between them. There was something about the pain of a broken heart that made discussing deeper matters easier. Cressida had been remarkably agreeable and pleasant thus far, a surprising contrast to Eloise's expectations.
"Yes," Cressida said. "Quite recently, actually."
"Really? It's hard to fathom anyone letting you go. You're... charming and beautiful, like a princess."
Cressida scoffed lightly, though the compliments clearly pleased her. "It may surprise you to learn that I don't have many friends. Not since my debut last season, anyway. There's something about society that makes it difficult for women to truly support each other."
"Hm," Eloise mused. "It's comforting to know that I'm not the only one who sees that."
"Indeed," Cressida said, with a harsh sigh. She looked away.
"What was he like, if I may ask?" Eloise ventured.
Cressida hesitated a long while. The corners of her mouth dipped, and Eloise feared Cressida might cry. And making Cressida Cowper cry would be a catastrophic omen, in which the heavens might open and unleash a torrential flood.
"She," and Cressida's eyes flashed with a rare bravery, "was a duchess. Older, and a widow. We kept our affair very private — not even Mama knew. She just recently remarried and moved to France, and now I… find myself alone once more."
Eloise's eyes widened in astonishment. For the very first time, Eloise Bridgerton witnessed another soul in all her raw vulnerability and finally recognized a kindred spirit. It felt as though a veil had been lifted, revealing Cressida in her entirety for the first time. She wasn't just the embodiment of elegance, impeccable hair, and expensive fabrics; she was a woman who loved and had been loved, who grappled with the same profound sense of solitude in the vast expanse of the universe.
"Oh," Eloise murmured, her heart pounding. "I'm sorry. Her loss must be incredibly painful and lonely."
Cressida's smile wavered. "You know, I did try to befriend you during your first season. But you rejected my suit. Do you remember?" There was an edge to the words, but not a sharp one. Eloise strained to recall. All she could remember was that ridiculous giant feather and feeling like a caged bird.
"I actually do not blame you," Cressida continued, seeing Eloise's struggle to respond. Her voice was soft, tinged with sadness. "I haven't always been kind to you."
"I haven't always been kind either," Eloise said, thinking of Penelope.
In the distance, Eloise could tell she was wanted back. She stood and offered a hand to help Cressida up.
"Perhaps," Cressida said, her smile hopeful as she took Eloise's hand, "this time, you'll accept my suit?"
"Perhaps so," Eloise replied, crinkling her eyes. As they stood to return to her family, Eloise felt a weight lift. A shadow of the past had finally dissipated.