Early March 1815

Keswick House, Mayfair

Charlotte watched with a smile as debutante after debutante dropped in front of her in increasingly deep curtsies. So desperate were these girls to please her, they practically fell over themselves for her entertainment. The string band hummed away and filled the hall with her favourite melodies, and even if the girls still failed to impress her, Charlotte could not say she wasn't amused.

She turned to Brimsley, who due to the presence of the ladies in waiting, could not stand five paces behind the Queen and instead took his place five paces to her right, "Finally, they seem to be putting in some work. I must say, I almost thought these girls as uninterested in the title of diamond as I am."

"Indeed, your Majesty." was all Brimsley had to say on the matter, though he watched the debutantes with a careful eye and tried to guess which one would garner his monarch's favour. He, like Lady Danbury, had his money on Francesca Bridgerton. Or, rather, he would if he had any friends of his own to bet with, or if anyone else in the Queen's employ cared even a quarter as much about seasonal gossip as he and Charlotte did. Which they didn't.

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From the sidelines, Araminta Cowper lightly smacked her daughter's hip with her fan, "If only your curtsy had been low enough in your first season out. Perhaps then you might have been off and married instead of gallivanting about with other improper ladies."

Cressida sighed, "Yes, mama." It was the only response expected of and allowed from her. There were a great many things she wished to tell her mother. That no one stood a chance against the Bridgerton's eldest daughter. That it had been Lady Whistledown, not the Queen, who had named Daphne the diamond in her debut season. That it was not her fault Daphne had chosen to chase such a brilliant man as Prince Friedrich only to throw him to the wayside the second her flighty Duke came crawling back. That Daphne, though she had thoroughly trounced Cressida's lofty expectations in her first season, was not vermin for following her heart. Most of all, Cressida wanted to object to her mother's disparaging remarks about Eloise and the rest of the Bridgertons. If anyone were to ask Cressida, she would have said Eloise was kind and wildly intelligent and the most honourable young lady she had ever met. Who else was there who was willing to look past Cressida's past transgressions in order to know her as an individual and not just competition? Unfortunately, no one ever asked Cressida her opinions on anything. No one but Eloise, who had not yet arrived at the ball, that or she was lost somewhere in the throng of society members.

Before her newfound friendship, Cressida had not known the glorious freedom that was the capability to express her own opinions without fear. At home, father and mother would admonish her for the slightest deviance from the high standards of high society. With Eloise, Cressida was free to speak her mind without judgement, or at least without undue judgement. Eloise valued her insight and ingrained knowledge of how to navigate society, which made her feel as if what her parents considered a minimum obligation was prized information. In turn, the bookworm was a veritable font of information for all things academic. Theory and philosophy, even politics. Cressida had not been allowed to keep herself up to date on anything that wasn't immediately relevant to pleasing a man, and had grown up rather oblivious to a great many events of the age. Eloise had been nothing less than delighted to explain the intricacies of the French revolution, and the many battles of the Napoleonic War. In another life, Eloise would have made a splendid general, what with how easily she understood the reports of battles that boggled Cressida.

"Mama, might I be allowed to go off on my own now? I believe I see Lord Leiber and Lord Basilio by the lemonade table, and they have quite the upstanding reputations, do they not?" Cressida had not, in fact, seen either lord by the lemonade table, she was simply desperate for an excuse to escape her mother's scrutiny.

Araminta waved her off without so much as a word, eyes still set angrily on all the young ladies that took their turns before the Queen. Cressida did not mind the cold response, just so long as she could leave.

She trotted over to one of the lemonade tables as elegantly as she could and waited with bated breath for Eloise to appear. Or a suitor, just so long as she did not have to evade her mother's scrutiny alone.

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As the Bridgertons gathered in the gravel driveway, Violet swooped in and linked arms with Eloise and corralled her into the Keswicks home. Violet had spent so much effort on Francesca that she had almost forgotten about her middle daughter. She had no great visions of wedding bells for her, at least not yet, but did not want the girl to feel as if she had neglected her. Violet thought it wouldn't hurt to use this uncharacteristic period of favourability to push Eloise in the right social direction, either. "My dear... You should know it is not my intention to foist suitors upon you this season. I understand that this is not your wish."

Eloise laughed dryly and craned her neck in an attempt to spot Cressida, "No, mother, it certainly is not. The men I was forced to talk with last season were horribly dull. If I wanted someone to follow at my heels all day and do nothing but whine, I would get a dog. Or, I would ask Gregory to chaperone me on promenades instead of Benedict."

Violet had the sense that Eloise's open mindedness towards high society had already started to wane. "At least try to keep your voice down when you say such things, dear. Regardless, while you are still amiable, perhaps you might become acquainted with a few other young ladies so that your circle is wider than simply Miss Cowper?"

"Do not worry, mama, I plan to." And truly, Eloise did. She had spent more than enough time with her back turned on the ladies of the ton. Now was the time to see if there truly was anything beneath the gilded dresses and fancy jewellery. Perhaps, she could even find another like-minded woman with whom she could discuss politics and theory. Cressida was wonderful in that she was happy to hear Eloise speak her mind and did not scorn her for her more radical ideas, but the blonde was somewhat lacking in the rhetoric department. Truly, Eloise longed for someone with whom she could debate and discuss freely, someone who not only accepted her opinions, but who shared them. Someone who could fill the suspiciously Theo-shaped void in her life. Eloise knew she wasn't likely to find such a person in the ton, not for want of trying nor for fault of the ladies, but rather for fault of the men that had ensnared them all in their gilded cages. At the very least, she could learn how to cater to them in the unlikely future that she published her ideas. She still was not sure if such a thing was entirely possible; Eloise refused to publish anonymously, but the thought had been implanted in her head and refused to leave. It had, after all, worked very well for other women.

"Oh, do you mean it?" Violet did not even attempt to hide the joy in her voice. Finally, her most stubborn child had opened her heart to proper society. Already her mind began to race with the most promising friendships. There were many ladies with brothers who had not yet offended Eloise. Perhaps if she cultivated a friendship with one of these girls, she might also attract the attention of one of their brothers. She could see it now; the relationship would have a slow start, facilitated mostly by this mutual friend. Eloise would learn to appreciate that which men had to offer, and she would come to understand their ways. Perhaps she and one of the other ladies' brothers would spend some time in exchange of letters, taking great lengths to communicate on the off season. There were many good men of the ton who had an interest in literature, and Violet could easily imagine Eloise and a nobleman growing to love each other over literary critique. She smiled at the thought, Eloise could make friends now, and secure love later. It did not matter how long it took, Violet figured, so long as Eloise knew the joys of marriage to a good man. And had a lot of children, nothing pleased Violet more than her one beloved grandchild, and she should very much like for each of her children to know the joys and trials of parenthood.

With perfect timing, Miss Malhotra and Miss Hallewell approached Eloise, arm in arm. They had twin smiles on their faces and looked rather pleased to converse with she who had been kind enough to spread the news of the Queen's continued interest.

"Miss Bridgerton," asked Miss Hallewell, "would you like to take a turn about the room with us?"

Eloise smiled, though it was only half genuine, "I do enjoy a good turn." She joined arms with the ladies and cocked an eyebrow to her mother as she left, as if to say See? I know more than just Cressida and Penelope.

Violet simply smiled and turned to her other daughter who waited quietly behind her. Somehow, in the minute it took for them to enter the building, she had already lost track of Benedict and Colin. It was no matter, she figured, her boys did not need constant guidance. "And then there were two. Shall we greet the Queen?"

Francesca paused, she had prepared for this, or rather Eloise had brought over Cressida to help her prepare for this.

"All your mother needs," Cressida had told her two days before, "is a little misdirection. Your mother has a goal in mind; your happy marriage. So, instead of trying to escape her machinations, redirect them. Present her with an option that brings you closer to marriage, without the Queen's intervention."

With Cressida's words in mind, Francesca smiled and gently led her mother in the opposite direction from the Queen, "Perhaps that could wait? At tea, Lady Danbury mentioned the musically inclined suitor? I should rather like to make my introductions to him."

Violet looked positively delighted, "Several, I believe. She spoke of at least three pianists. And if I'm quite right-"

Though she hated to be impolite, Francesca cut her mother off there, "Let us start with one and see where the evening leads us. Who is it that Lady Danbury spoke most highly of? I rather think I trust her judgement."

Without any further prompting, Violet took the lead and walked Francesca to an art room full of paintings and people alike, "Wait right here for a moment for me, won't you, dear? I shall be right back with your suitor."

While her mama flitted off to find the first in a surely long line of eligible men, Francesca took a moment to steel her reserve. She still felt out of her depth, and she hoped she had the skills to swim herself to calmer waters. Sha had, at least, successfully foregone a second presentation to the Queen. Francesca tried to soothe her racing mind as she perused the paintings.

Art of the physical kind was not under Francesca's usual purview. Painting, sculptures, and other such things belonged better with Benedict who took immense joy in their creation. Francesca only knew how to recognise skill in terms of what Benedict had taught her, and she tried in vain to remember the standards of critique as he had once explained them to her. Alas, if it did not pertain to music, Francesca's memory often failed her. It was a great source of insecurity for the girl, though she had not mentioned it to anyone in a long time.

She remembered a time, several years ago, when she had cried to Anthony over the very matter. It had been brought on by her utter failure to comprehend French in any capacity. Daphne had, at that point, already spoken the language fluently and even Eloise understood the basic grammar, even if she spoke incorrectly on purpose just to annoy their tutor. Francesca, on the other hand, understood none of it. Pronunciation evaded her, the grammar made no sense, and the spelling seemed nonsensical. Why have so many letters that are never pronounced? Her tutor had tried his best to not show his frustration, but Francesca knew well how to read the faces of those around her. Anthony had not questioned when she came into the office to hide from her next lesson. Instead, he listened to her worry without any trace of judgement. Once she had calmed down, he had simply smiled and suggested she give up French entirely and instead turn to the true language of music, Italian. And that had been that. Francesca no longer studied French, but Italian, and she had loved every second of it.

Oh, how Francesca wished Anthony was here. He had left with Kate for a second sort of honeymoon in Bath, her old haunts. Though she loved all her siblings equally, she often felt closest with Anthony. He was most content to let her sit with him in silence, and by his protective nature ensured that her peace was maintained. It had been Anthony who had given her an easy out the first time suitors overwhelmed her at the four seasons' ball. In a family of eight siblings, it was only natural that smaller subgroups would form, and obviously some siblings got on better than others. As it had worked out, each Bridgerton daughter had a Bridgerton son with whom she was closest. Daphne, naturally, was dearest to Colin as a product of their close age. It was much the same for Gregory and Hyacinth. Eloise had Benedict, the two having found kinship in their shared oddities. Francesca was closest with Anthony who, outside of competitions, was her most level-headed family member.

Francesca knew, though, that she could not hide behind her family forever. They would always be dear to her, and she would never abandon them, but she couldn't cling to them anymore. Anthony was married, so was Daphne. Soon Francesca would marry too, and her brothers would soon follow suit. None of them were children anymore; even Gregory would head off to Eton soon enough. Francesca was a woman, a woman of marrying age who had every intention to find a husband and start a family of her own with him. Whatever the future brought her, and whatever suitors her mother brought, she would have to make the best of it. Francesca was a woman of substance, and she would stand on her own with her head held high, at least long enough to find a husband whom she could feel relaxed around. She steeled her nerves just in time for Violet to return with a tallish man in tow.

"Francesca dearest, there is someone I would like to introduce to you. Lord Petri is quite the music devotee and, I hear, is quite accomplished on the cello as well." Violet grinned as she presented Lord Petri to Francesca.

He was a tall man, with brown hair and striking green eyes. His aquiline nose twitched as he smiled and took Francesca's hand for a kiss, "The Dowager Viscountess flatters me. My love for the instrument surpasses my ability, to be sure."

Francesca responded with a curtsey. From first impressions alone, she found Lord Petri rather agreeable. He was not unpleasant to look at and seemed humble enough. She appreciated that he did not instantly start upon a series of braggadocious claims about his skill with the cello. That meant he either had a great sense of humility, or that he was honest and a mediocre cello player. Either was an appreciated trait, as Francesca found honest men rather admirable. Eloise would say it was because men were naturally inclined toward self-serving lies, and the honest ones stood out as a result. Either way, Francesca found herself not displeased, "The cello is such a beautiful instrument, do you find joy in its playing?"

"Indeed," Lord Petri already looked enraptured in Francesca's conversation, a fact which made Violet just shy of giddy, "What music is it that you most love?"

"Lately I've been enjoying Ries (1). His Piano Trio is quite beautiful. And Beethoven's La Pasionata (2)." Francesca could not hold in the small gasp of pure delight that the musical piece brought out in here, "I could listen to it forever."

"I see you are fond of the more expressive compositions." Petri leaned in a bit, not far enough to be indecent, but enough so that the conversation felt it had taken a more intimate turn. "I once heard a rumour that the Trio was written for Ries to convey his feelings for a Mademoiselle Ludwigs (3). Do you not think you can feel his affection in the music?"

Francesca felt suddenly flustered. His line of question was surely an indication of interest, what others would call flirtation, but she was not so sure she liked the forwardness of it. "I would not know. I mostly enjoy the chord progressions."

Violet watched Francesca converse from a distance, as any good mother would. She had been worried initially, when Francesca hadn't displayed any significant excitement for her debut, but those worries had begun to lessen. Even if she did not garner the favour of the Queen, Violet knew her daughter would have many prospective husbands. Francesca had already declared her intention to find a husband and marry within her first season, so it was all a matter of finding someone who ignited the flames of love within her. Violet wished it was that easy. Daphne had been simple; besotted with Simon from the very start, and Anthony had sorted things out on his own, thanks in large part to the unsinkability of Kate and the understanding nature of Edwina. Francesca, though, was more reserved and wild declarations of love seemed to scare her more than anything.

"Ah, a mother in her natural sphere, always watching from the sidelines." Violet startled as Agatha snuck up on her. For a woman with a cane, she could move rather stealthily.

"After Eloise's fumbles last season, I am fearful of pushing another daughter too hard. But I am also fearful that without a push, Francesca will marry the first 'good enough' match that comes her way." Violet knew that her friend would understand better than anyone. Agatha knew everything about everyone, and that included the Bridgerton children.

"And if that is the case, she will never set foot out of her natural sphere." The two women watched as Lord Petri took his leave.

Violet worried her lip as she watched an unbothered Francesca delicately pick up a glass of lemonade. Lord Petri has seemed interested enough in Francesca, but courting men were fickle and had many ladies to choose from. It wasn't that Violet doubted Francesca, her darling daughter was a bright a gem as Daphne, but she was somewhat trepidatious about her reserved personality. Francesca was quiet, soft spoken, and not at all the type to crave attention. Violet was a clever woman; she knew that her dear Francesca wanted to avoid the Queen something terribly. It was neither a crime nor a great shame for a woman to be shy, but Violet worried that without proper incentive, Francesca may turn from shy to asocial. She already had one daughter who wanted nothing to do with marriage, the last thing Violet needed was for her third daughter to decide that suitors and weddings were too loud and scary for her taste. Someone needed to find a true catch for Francesca; a man who made her heart flutter and who could provide her with her every desire.

Agatha patted Violet's shoulder in commiseration, she still distinctly remembered the pains she had taken to set up her own children's marriages, "A conundrum to be sure. Perhaps the best thing you can do is to let her be in her natural sphere, then. A pearl cannot grow once it has been pried from an oyster's shell."

Lady Danbury waved Francesca over, "Come with me."

Violet watched the two walk off, secure in the knowledge that Agatha would not lead her daughter astray. For the time being, she could enjoy herself. She wondered where the rest of her children had run off to.

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Colin and Benedict had, the second they had set foot in the building, sniffed out the refreshment tables that had drinks stronger than lemonade. Benedict picked up and sipped at a fine glass of sherry (4), while Colin picked over an assortment of canapés (5). No sooner had Benedict finished his first glass did a group of ladies descend upon the two like brilliantly coloured vultures.

At first it was just two ladies, and Benedict turned around when he felt their presence at his back. Though he as a man was allowed to take far more liberties with the rules of polite society than his sisters, it was not in his nature to be deliberately rude to a lady.

"Good evening Mr. Bridgerton," One of the bolder ladies started, and then balked at the realisation they were both Mr. Bridgertons. She had addressed Benedict initially, so she also curtsied at Colin, "Mr. Bridgerton."

They looked at him so expectantly, and Benedict felt himself slip naturally into the jovial politeness he portrayed at social events, "Ladies!" Then, as if out of nowhere, another set of three women appeared behind the first two, "And more ladies!"

All five girls tittered in laughter, though Benedict had not intentionally made a joke. He had simply been caught off guard by the sudden mass of women. Though he had no desire to act impolitely and offend the good ladies, he also had no desire to court any of them. Benedict had been privy to all the gory details of his siblings' courtships, both of which had been messy and stressful for everyone involved. Though he could not deny the happiness his married siblings had found in their wedded lives, the events that had led to their happy nuptials were anything but delightful. Benedict was of the distinct opinion that Bridgerton courtships were cursed, and he was not yet desperate enough for a wife to put himself through that particular brand of stress. As such, the ladies that had descended upon him delighted him no more than if he had been swarmed by a very angry horde of butterflies. He turned back to the drink table under the guise of refilling his sherry glass and Colin followed suit. "They have taken to hunting in packs, brother. They have cornered us like hounds to foxes."

The girl in the middle, Miss Stowell, if Benedict remembered correctly, smiled widely at him when he turned around to face them again, "Mr. Bridgerton, I have yet to see you on the dance floor."

Colin laughed lightly and grinned devilishly at Benedict. He knew well that his brother was not interested in the slightest in tying himself to a wife just yet, but he could not resist the opportunity to make his sibling uncomfortable. "What say you, brother? Time for you to dance?"

Benedict's smile was more akin to an animal baring its teeth, but he acquiesced, "Yes. Miss Stowell, may I have the next dance?"

Colin chuckled as he watched his brother march to the dance floor with Miss Stowell on his arm. He was far from the most vindictive of his siblings, but even he could appreciate the opportunity to torment Benedict. Besides, it made a wonderful distraction that allowed him to leave for Penelope entirely unnoticed.

Colin found Penelope stood by her two brothers in law, all three of whom looked terribly uncomfortable. Mr. Finch wore a lost and befuddled sort of look that always made itself apparent whenever he found himself lacking in the presence of one of his two favourite things: his wife and cheese. Mr. Dankworth seemed somehow both sullen and pleased with himself, like some oversized puppy that was equal parts pleased to follow its owner's command, and dismayed that the command was 'stay'. Penelope was more than happy to leave her position and headed to Colin's side the second they met eyes.

"Good evening." She looked down to his hand, now neatly wrapped in proper bandages instead of a handkerchief, "How is your hand?"

She felt dreadfully awkward as she asked the question. They had not spoken much since their spat, and Penelope did not have a good track record with arguments and Bridgertons. Despite her nursing crush for the man, Penelope had always been more or less able to speak freely around Colin. Their fight had left the air between them stilted and awkward. Penelope hated the feeling that Colin might still be cross with her.

Colin, for his part, was not cross in the least. With so many siblings to needle and agitate him, he knew well when to recognize an overreaction. Perhaps Penelope shouldn't have snooped through his journal, but to raise his voice at a lady was something that deeply shamed Colin. She hadn't even read much of his musings. As evident by the bright blush on her cheeks, she had only read one page before he had returned, and though it was a passage unsuitable for a lady's eyes, no harm beyond embarrassment was done. It was a good thing Penelope hadn't read through the more personal pages of Colin's journal; the ones where he wrote of his soul-crushing loneliness and uncertainty.

Colin easily read the uncertainty on Penelope's face, and found himself rather discomforted at the notion that it was he who was the cause of Penelope's turmoil. He needed to reassure her; to show her that there were no hard feelings. Colin smiled and held out his open, bandaged, palm for Penelope to see, "It is getting better by the day. The doctor said I will be all healed up before the second week of the month. It was not infected, thanks to you."

Penelope shook her head, "I did nothing much of importance. I'm sorry again for reading your writing, but you truly write so well. You make it seem effortless, which is so difficult to do. I would very much like to read more one day, if you would let me." She looked up at him, and Colin was stuck with the full force of her lovely doe-eyes, golden-brown and full of admiration. No creature with eyes as lovely as Penelope's could ever have been accused of holding malice in their heart, and Colin could only wish that his future wife had eyes as half as enchanting as Penelope's.

"Should we make an agreement? I will consider it if you speak to at least one Lord tonight." That journal held the troubled thoughts of a Colin who had felt abandoned during his travels in Europe. In that journal was his soul laid bare in amateur prose. If anyone else had asked to read his writing, he would have snatched his journal from their hands in a far rougher manner than how he had treated Penelope that day. Somehow, though, he trusted Penelope with this part of himself, or at least he wanted to. No action could be more mortifying, more terrifying than laying one's true self out before another, yet Colin thought that, of all people, he wouldn't mind it if Penelope knew the real him. In many ways, she already did, and he trusted her to not think less of him. Colin understood, at the very least he tried to understand, that for Penelope, entering the deep dark ocean of the marriage mart in earnest was just as, if not more, terrifying. He stuck out his hand, his left this time, for another handshake.

"Very well, you have yourself a deal." Penelope looked around the room, there were many bachelors for her to choose from, and she hadn't the faintest idea where to start, "Who do you suggest?"

Colin looked around until his eyes landed on a man who had stopped by the refreshment table. "Him. Lord Basilio."

Penelope levelled Colin with a flat look, "Lord Basilio is a Viscount. He is above my station (6)."

"And you are Penelope Featherington, no one could come above you. Do not forget that." Colin spoke with a fierce determination, if he had to remind Penelope of her worth then so be it. "Go, he will relish in your company, I am sure of it." If he did not delight in Penelope's company, then that was no one's loss but his own.

Penelope took a deep breath and walked over to the refreshment table. As subtly as possible, she smoothed out her skirts and adjusted the neckline if her dress. She was loathe to look desperate, even if she was, and so examined the floral centrepiece in what she hoped was a cool yet approachable demeanour. Many a lady had found success by acting as if they were above it all, and Colin had advised her that if she did not know what to say, it was better to say nothing at all and seem all that much more enticing. Though she had found the advice helpful, in the back of her mind, Penelope couldn't help but to imagine the scoff that Eloise would give to such a statement. She surely would have made some sort of comment about how it was just like a man to prefer a silent domesticated woman to one with actual opinions. Alas, Eloise was no longer at Penelope's side, and it wouldn't be long before she had to leave Colin, too. There was no time like the present to put herself out there, as it were.

When Basilio noticed her, he gave a curt nod and a weak, if not impolite, smile, "Good evening, Miss Featherington."

Penelope feigned a startle, "Oh, Lord Basilio, I did not see you there." She held a lace-gloved hand to her heart to accentuate both her surprise and her assets. Though she did not think terribly much of her appearance, Penelope knew where men's eyes often fell, and knew that she was not unpleasing in that department.

The man chuckled, "It is no matter. I cultivate reserve these days anyway."

This was her chance; Penelope could feel it. She struck a pose that she hoped looked naturally sultry, and tilted her head so that her earrings glittered in the candlelight, "Life is too short for that, is it not?"

Lord Basilio's expression crumpled, and his breath started to stutter as the beginnings of tears shone in his eyes.

"My Lord, are you quite alright?" Penelope could not imagine what had brought on such a reaction.

From his corner, Colin watched as the conversation turned from one of genial interest to one of consolation. He could not hear what was being said, but it evidently had not gone over well. Pen looked upset and confused in equal parts, and Basilio seemed nothing short of distraught. Lord Basilio took out a kerchief and rushed away, which Colin took as his cue to join the redhead.

"Um... What happened?" Penelope seemed almost in shock as Colin approached her.

"His horse recently died." Her face bore a small smile and a look of incredulity.

Try as he might, Colin could not take it seriously, what type of man got so distraught over a mere horse? "You are joking."

"Unfortunately, I am not." Penelope had begun to giggle at the absurdity of the situation.

Colin started to laugh and leaned against the table as he tried to stifle the noises, "Forgive me, I did not know. Surely someone here is not in mourning. We shall have to gallop along."

"Colin!" Penelope smacked Colin lightly on the forearm, but that did not stop her from laughing at his antics as he led her to a new room, miming a gallop the entire way.

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Eloise watched her brother and Penelope laugh together from the hallway. She had gone out with Cressida and some other ladies who had wanted to talk without interruption for a short while, and rather unfortunately had a straight shot view of the two. She saw the way Penelope looked at her brother, like he was her personal knight in shining armour. Though Colin denied that he and Penelope were anything other than friends, Eloise wasn't so sure.

Cressida looked in the direction Eloise faced and sighed; she pitied the other girl. For as angry as Eloise had seemed with Penelope, she also seemed equal parts invested in her wellbeing. Perhaps friendly affection still lingered even after two people parted ways, Cressida wouldn't know. Still, she gave advice as only she knew how, "You know, whenever I have a disagreement with an acquaintance, I find the best course of action is to simply pretend they are dead."

Eloise floundered a bit and then shook her head, "I do not think that will be possible with Penelope. Unless, that is, I pretend she's a ghost." She wrung her gloved hands together, and resisted the urge to pace, "She was at my house today."

"Whatever for?" As far as Cressida knew, Penelope was not especially close with any of the other Bridgerton girls. Though she had tried to quash her more sordid tendencies, Cressida still adored a good tidbit of gossip. She leaned down a smidge, so she and Eloise were closer in height; she wanted to know every detail and wouldn't dare miss something just because Eloise was laterally challenged.

Eloise looked around first to make sure the coast was clear. All she saw was Miss Clara Livingston in a group with some of the other girls she frequently promenaded and discussed embroidery with. They all had been nothing but pleasant to Eloise and had never gossiped once around her. They did not seem to pay her or Cressida much attention anyway, so Eloise carried on. "It seems Colin is helping her look for a husband. We used to say we would be spinsters together, but I suppose her tune has since changed."

Cressida fluttered her fan and made no effort to conceal her shock, "That is rather scandalous of your brother. And even more so for Penelope." A thousand different possibilities flew through her mind; something like this could absolutely destroy Penelope. Not for the season but for life, if the spin on it was right. She pushed aside the instinct to scheme, however, when she saw the hurt and confusion in Eloise's eyes. There was nothing to gain from ruining Penelope, and it would only hurt Eloise to see her former friend suffer. Besides, Eloise had been extremely vehement in that gossip was not the correct way to discuss grievances with other ladies. Though the two rarely spoke of it between themselves, Whistledown's publications had left a black stain on Eloise's name. The young ladies of the ton were pleasant enough upfront, but to truly be friends with Eloise was still a risky deal. Some gossip lingered longer than others, and Eloise's time with rebels would take much longer than a year to leave people's minds, if ever. Though the younger woman hadn't noticed it, it was clear as day to Cressida that Eloise's reputation teetered on the edge of a knife. Very likely the only reason she hadn't been arrested (7) was because Whistledown was still just a gossip rag and could not prove credibility. Despite their friendly appearances, no one truly wanted to befriend Eloise, not after Whistledown's publication on her. An association with Eloise could most definitely be useful, but friendship would have too many risks for most ladies to consider it worthwhile. No one knew this better than Cressida, who had received quite the earful from her family when it became known that she and Eloise were friends. Francesca's prospects had certainly taken a hit by association as well, and short of taking the diamond title, Cressida wasn't sure how the remaining Bridgerton sisters could save face. Cressida was no stranger to Whistledown's scorn, she knew the shame and the whispers that followed a besmirched lady, even if she hadn't had the fallout of Eloise's level. Cressida wouldn't do that to another woman, not anymore. She'd try not to at least. "But I am more concerned about you. Are you terribly bothered by seeing her around so often?"

Eloise shrugged, "I cannot change much about it. Colin has always been one for chivalric deeds, no matter how they may threaten his standing. Besides, I would not see her shunned by society. We must simply learn to coexist, I suppose, though I can't say I'm especially pleased about the matter."

"Well, she may not think you dead, but her feelings towards you are clearly altered. Perhaps you want to alter yours as well?" Cressida ushered Eloise away from the hallway door and her view of Penelope and Colin. The first step to soothe the pains of a broken friendship was to help Eloise learn to stop hinging her enjoyment on another woman's actions.

"Yes, I suppose you must be right." Part of Eloise did not want to alter her feelings, but she could not stay in this miserable state forever. She would need to learn to live a life where Penelope was merely an acquaintance with a bad history.

Nearly as soon as their conversation finished, Clara pranced over with her posse in tow and clasped Eloise's hands, "We have been discussing ways in which we might please the Queen. You must join us, you have hidden away for far too long. Eloise, do you have any special talents with which you hope to impress Her Majesty?"

Eloise laughed, the amusement and approval of society were not often things she garnered, nor were they what she usually sought to acquire, "Talents, no. Unless you consider a knack for saying the wrong words at the wrong time. Like the time I tried to tell the French tutor he was very nice, and instead called him un chouette."

"An owl, oh no!" Miss Malhotra held her hand up to her mouth to stifle her laughter.

"Mr. Beaufort? He is rather furry." Cressida laughed as she recalled the one French tutor that the entire ton shared, as it seemed.

"Unfortunately, owls have feathers, not fur, so even if I had wanted to insult the poor fellow, I would have failed at that as well." Eloise laughed. Aside from English, languages had never been her forte, a fact which Cressida could attest to. She fared better with German than she did the Latin languages, but learning was still slow going, though perhaps her age also had something to do with it. "Yes, well, in truth, I cannot blame my teachers for my lack of talent. It is not their fault I am in fact such a troublesome student."

"I think we have found your talent." Mis Hallewell looked to the other ladies who had all leaned in closer to hear Eloise's story. "You are a most entertaining speaker, please do not stop."

Eloise smiled politely, even though she failed to understand what was so spectacular about the way she spoke. Cressida, nonetheless, patted her lightly on the hand in encouragement, and so Eloise launched into the tale of how she had chased away her Violin tutor. They were all stories that Penelope had either heard or experienced firsthand with Eloise, but her friend hadn't seemed nearly as interested in Eloise's recollections as these other girls were. Even if their enraptured appearances were nothing more than a polite ruse, Eloise would take it; it wasn't often that she had people who actually wished to hear what she had to say.

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Benedict tried his hardest to not look as out of breath as he actually was as he left the dance floor. The quadrille had been longer than he had expected, and Miss Stowell was very energetic. She was also heavy on the feet and Benedict's toes ached something fierce from all the trampling they had endured. He saw the Mondriches enter through the front door and seized upon the opportunity to leave the girl at his earliest convenience. She seemed disappointed to see him go, but he did not care. He had not wanted to dance with her in the first place and much preferred the good company of the Mondriches.

"Mr and Mrs Mondrich, welcome to the ton." He swept his arms out wide, as if he'd introduced them to his own home, which he had not.

Will was stiff and tense as he followed Benedict into the hall, his eyes darted from door to window, as if to look for a route of escape. "I have been up against men at the ring who could have killed me, and yet I somehow find myself more nervous about tonight's programme of dancing and socialising."

"Well, at least you have your arms. I can barely move in this fabric." Alice tried to stretch out her shoulders by rotating them as Will had shown her to do and winced at the slight tear she heard in the pale pinkish fabric.

"Yes, I am told that is how many dresses are, it is one of Eloise's primary complaints. And do not worry, you both look superb. Do not be intimidated. This all can be rather enjoyable if you do not resist." Benedict had led the pair to one of the many side rooms. This one contained mostly bachelors and married couples.

"So it seems, you looked to be enjoying your time with that young lady. Are you courting?" Alice was as straightforward and to the point as ever, a facet of her personality which Benedict had come to appreciate. Through his time at the club, Benedict had learned that Alice would not hesitate to tell him if he had made an ass of himself. In that way, she reminded him of Eloise.

"No!" Perhaps he had protested too forcefully, but the Mondriches would not begrudge him a bit of emotion. "No, no. Miss Stowell is lovely, but that was me doing the not resisting bit."

Alice eyed the girl whose gaze had not once left Benedict's back and winced, "I'm not so certain Miss Stowell is taking your experiment so casually."

Benedict whipped around, and indeed, the girl and her mother had been staring at him. Miss Stowell, when she noticed Benedict had looked in her direction, widened her eyes in a way that Benedict supposed she thought was alluring but rather made her look froggish.

"Excuse me, I must find some ratafia (8), for your situation is making me all the more nervous." Alice left the two men for the bounty of the refreshment table, and Will stared longingly in her wake.

"One dance and suddenly you have signalled you are available. How are we expected to understand all these society rules when even someone born into this world cannot grasp them?" Will did not meet Benedict's eyes as she spoke; he was not a man who enjoyed admitting weakness.

Benedict pursed his lips in thought, and watched a happy couple walk in from the dancefloor, "Do you see those two?" He jerked his head to the oblivious couple, "Lord and Lady De Leon. It is considered impolite to dance as often as they do with the same partner, but they cannot keep themselves off the floor."

Will nodded. The couple did seem very affectionate, but he did not understand what this had to do with his conundrum.

"And Lord and Lady Singer. The rule is that you are not supposed to have more than one or two drinks at these events. Yet they're like that every time. Drunk as fiddlers (9)." Benedict pointed to an elderly couple who leaned heavily on each other and stumbled even with their collective support. Even from the other side of the room, Will could hear their drunken laughter. "Drunk but happy. Do you know what both of these couples have in common?"

"I do not know either of these couples, let alone what they might have in common, Benedict." Will groused.

"They are married like yourself." Benedict gave Will a friendly pat on the arm, "All these rules are to keep the marriage market churning. But once you've performed your duty and found your match, you are free."

Will looked over to Alice, who smiled and toasted him silently with her glass of ratafia. "Surely you do not mean to say the rules do not apply to me just because I am married."

Benedict laughed, "Well, you must still be decent, but I hardly suspect that will be an issue for you. The rest of it is not important. The people have not come here to watch you, they have come to watch love blossom." Will still did not have the usual air of confidence about him that he had in the bar, and Benedict took notice, "Come, my friend. You are splendidly wealthy now. What else could be bothering you?"

Will just sighed. As Alice returned his arm, it was she who spoke, "Ah, and is that not just the problem? We have vast fortunes now, yes, but we are not truly part of the ton, are we?"

"I fear you have lost me." Benedict said.

"We are not used to such wealth, nor the life it allows us, nor these new demands the high life makes of us." Will started, "It is very peculiar, we have been exceedingly poor, we have been comfortable, and now, we are exceedingly wealthy. It is a strange change for us, indeed."

"Benedict, we have more in common with our servants than we do with our new equals." Alice's brow furrowed, and she took another sip of her drink before she spoke again, "I know the great pains my maids take to ensure their job is done well. I know the stress of a fickle employer. I know the ins and outs of what a housemaid must do to maintain cleanliness. I have done all of their jobs at some point both for money and for my family. What I have never done is organise a household with more employees than we have extended family. It is hard to not feel both hypocrite and an impostor in this society. I have read the recent Whistledown papers, neither she nor the ton as a whole seem too terribly pleased to hear that we have risen in rank. We are commoners with a noble title, Benedict, and I quite fear that this new comfort will be taken away just as swiftly as it was given."

Benedict frowned. He had not thought much of such things before. The Mondriches had not had the benefit of a high upbringing; many things that were natural and common sense to Benedict must have been vexing for the couple. Neither could he think of what to make of their previous social status. Though Benedict had never found issue fraternizing with those less wealthy than him, he had an artist's soul, after all, he never put much thought to what their lives might be like. He wracked his brain for people who might understand or at least sympathise with the Mondriches' problem and could only think of two names. "You are right, I cannot understand what it is you are feeling. But should you be inclined to speak on it, my sister-in-law Kate might find you have lived a similar experience to hers. Though, you shall have to wait until she and Anthony return from their second honeymoon."

Benedict thought that perhaps Eloise might also find interest in the Mondriches' troubles. Though the plight of women had always been her primary focus, she had begun to mention the unfairness of the class divide, as well. That, Benedict figured, was a product of her visits to her liberalist lectures. However, Benedict did not suspect that the married couple would find themselves excited to converse with a girl a decade younger than them.

The Mondriches looked out over the sea of aristocrats and contemplated, which several others took as an invitation to strike up conversation. While they did so, Benedict took his chance to slip away; Miss Stowell had started to stare at him too intently for his liking.

Footnotes

1. Ferdinand Ries is a German contemporary of Beethoven. He included the piano in most of his compositions, save for those specifically for strings. He had 300 total works, though not all would have been published by 1815. The piano trio Fran speaks of is his Op .28, and it is written to be played by piano, cello, and clarinet. It was composed in 1809 or 1810 while Ries was dodging the Austrian draft into the Napoleonic war (He had lived his adult life in Austria up until this time, when he hid away in either Bonn or Aachen, sources vary). The piano is considered to be the dominant musical force in this piece

2. Aka piano Sonata No. 23 in F Minor. This is one of his most famous, and most technically complicated, pieces. It was first published in 1807, but wouldn't be called Appassionata until 1838 after Beethoven's death. He titled it as La Pasionata instead, so that's what Fran calls it. It's considered an emotional piece, as it was composed soon after it became clear Beethoven would fully lose his hearing. The piece in full lasts 26 minutes.

3. Semi true! The piece had a dedication to a Mademoiselle Clairette Ludwigs. We know nothing about this woman other than her name, so most likely she was a common woman or not high born, as most of the European aristocracy from this time are well documented and known.

4. A genre of white wine from areas around Jerez de la Frontera Spain. Like Champagne, it is region specific. Sherry is fortified with grape spirit to increase the alcohol content, making it more potent than normal wine. Alc. Content is usually in the 15-17% ABV range. Sherry has been popular in England since the Anglo-Spanish war in the late 1500s.

5. A genre of Hors d'oeuvres. Generally they're a rich savory and salty item on top of a thinly sliced piece of stale bread or a cracker. Lox, caviar, and foie gras were common dish components. The canapé was for equal parts décor and eating.

6. Lord Featherington was a Baron. I'm pretty sure I've already explained this, but Barons are like the lowest ranking you can be while also still being landed. Penelope is below a viscount's station, but it was common for women to marry up, and wouldn't be strange. The rank of women only mattered if they were the sole heir to property and a man tried to marry up. This is just Penelope being nervous.

7. I cannot stress enough that these liberal groups could be considered treason. At this time, unions are still illegal, Catholics lack many basic civil rights, voting rights were limited to very specific property owning men, and there was no freedom of assembly. Freedom of assembly and protest wasn't protected until 1882, and striking was illegal until 1906. Even then, the freedom of assembly was shaky until the human rights act in 1998. (IRL the UK and the commonwealth have extremely weak freedom of speech protections. By law, the UK citizens actually have no general right to freedom of speech, though common law protects freedom of expression. I am not a lawyer and don't get the difference here). The political climate is tumultuous due to the Napoleonic war, and many criticisms of the crown were considered part of a French loyalist plot to destroy England. Anti-monarchists were effectively considered domestic terrorists and for Eloise to even potentially associate with these people is extremely bad. Eloise is safe only because Whistledown does not qualify as evidence (and as a woman's writings is inherently considered trivial and untrustworthy), and that her family otherwise has the affection and support of the Queen. It should be noted that Whistledown's writings, being (petty) criticisms of the crown and the upper nobility, would also be considered treason. Or libel at the bare minimum. Whistledown is the regency equivalent of those gossip rags that dogged Princess Di.

8. Another alcohol that tastes like bitter almonds or a biscut that has been flavoured with the same liqueur and paired with cherries. She likely is referring to the alcohol, as she holds a glass in a later scene.

9. Fiddlers were commonly said to be paid a mere pittance, and the lack of coinage was made up with the host's wine. With no money to buy food, they would get exceedingly drunk on the wine. Thus 'drunk as fiddlers'