Chapter 3: The Whistledown Effect
The morning after the Royal Society exhibit, the latest edition of Lady Whistledown's Society Papers hit the streets of London, and with it, a detailed exposition on Oliver Thorne's considerable wealth and distinguished military background. The column, while ostensibly praising his accomplishments, subtly hinted at his eligibility as one of the season's most sought-after bachelors.
The effect of the publication was immediate and profound. At every social event, Oliver found himself surrounded by a bevy of interested parties—mothers with eligible daughters in tow, young ladies fluttering their fans with practiced coquetry. Despite his natural reserve and his preference for meaningful interactions, he was too polite, too bound by his grandfather's dying wish for social integration, to dismiss these advances outright.
Eloise, who had become accustomed to their burgeoning, if tentative, friendship, found herself unexpectedly sidelined. At Lady Danbury's garden party, she watched from a distance as Oliver navigated the crowd with a courteous but distant air. Each laugh, each shared moment between him and the ladies of the ton, stung more than she cared to admit.
Her feelings were a complex tangle of irritation and an inexplicable sense of loss. Why should she care if Oliver Thorne was the center of attention? And yet, as she observed him, the intellect and depth she had started to admire seemed overshadowed by the superficial charm he displayed.
Oliver, for his part, felt increasingly trapped by the role he was compelled to play. After escaping yet another conversation laden with not-so-subtle hints about dowries and estates, he sought refuge near the garden's hedge maze, where he unexpectedly found Eloise, her expression pensive, almost somber.
"Miss Bridgerton," he greeted, his tone a mix of relief and caution. "It seems I've become quite the spectacle since Lady Whistledown's last publication."
Eloise turned to him, her usual quick wit tempered by the scenes she had just witnessed. "Indeed, Mr. Thorne. It appears you are in high demand."
Her words, though light, carried an undercurrent of frustration. Oliver noticed the change in her demeanor, the slight coolness in her voice. "It is not by choice, I assure you. These... engagements are more taxing than they appear."
There was a pause, heavy with unspoken thoughts. Finally, Eloise spoke, her voice softer, revealing a hint of vulnerability. "I had grown used to our discussions, Mr. Thorne. They were... refreshing. I find I miss them."
Oliver's expression softened, a genuine smile breaking through his practiced reserve. "As do I, Miss Bridgerton. Believe me, I would much prefer your company and our debates to the exhausting endeavors of dodging matchmaking schemes."
Encouraged by his words, Eloise stepped closer, her earlier reservations giving way to a bolder impulse. "Then perhaps we might arrange to continue our discussions, away from the prying eyes of the ton?"
"Nothing would please me more," Oliver replied, his relief palpable.
As they made plans to meet at the Bridgerton family library the following day, both felt a renewed sense of connection—a mutual recognition of the unique bond they shared, one that was worth exploring, away from the superficial glitter of society's expectations.