Chapter Text
With her backside resting against the edge of her desk, Eloise watches the waves of students rolling into her lecture hall. The number of students she’d expected to have been assigned continues to be increasingly exceeded, growing her surprise, as the seconds pass. For as long as the young professor had been teaching, classical studies had never been an overly popular topic. It certainly wasn’t when she studied it all those years ago. But now, now, near every one-hundred and twenty seats inside the hall are occupied. Her eyes scan for known features that she may be able to pin-point as being the result of a relation to someone she knows, but it’s cut short by the ringing of the starting bell.
Pushing herself from her desk, she rounds it, approaching the chalkboard.
“Good morning, everyone. Welcome to your first classics lecture. As I’m sure you’re all aware, I am your professor for the year; Eloise Bridgerton. Some of you may have heard of my brother, Benedict Bridgerton, an artist who is relatively well-known throughout the nation. Right, I must ask you all to forgive me if I seem underprepared. To be honest, I am as I was not anticipating such a large number of students. My classes are usually full at around fifty students, so seeing that nearly all one-hundred plus chairs are full has me quite taken aback.”
The eyes of her students follow her as she paces in front of the chalkboard, working through the initial introduction.
“To start off this semester, we will be looking at different aspects of the Greco-Roman world. This includes wars, literature, historical figures, art, and so on. I am going to allow you all until midnight tonight to choose an aspect of the Greco-Roman world to study and link to today’s society. So philosophies, uses, causes, the significance of your aspect, how it has shaped today’s society, how it is still used in today’s society if that is the case. Once you have chosen, let me know via email which you all should have. If you fail to choose and let me know of your aspect by midnight, I shall choose one for you. Do we understand?”
The collection nods, distinct murmurs of ‘yes’ echoing off the walls of the hall.
“Perfect. I would like the information and knowledge you gain either in a short maximum one-thousand five-hundred word essay, or a slideshow and sent to me when completed. Does anyone have any questions?” The brunette’s eyes scan the crowd of younger adults. One hand raises.
“Yes?”
“How long do we have to work on our projects?”
The question elicits a smile from the young Bridgerton. “Two weeks. Keep it concise, but informative. I’m sure you all know the saying ‘quality over quantity’. Are there any more questions?” Once again, her eyes scan the crowd occupying her lecture hall. “No questions? Wonderful. We shall move on, then.”
The following forty-five minutes pass at a comfortable pace as the room settles in happily.
“Alright, team. We’re running into the last five minutes. Are there any questions to finish off?”
No answer.
“Great. If any come to mind, email them to me or note them down for next class so they can be answered. If you’ve chosen your aspect of the Greco-Roman world, you may come and note it down on the sheet of paper next to your name, however, if you wish to escape class quicker, email it to me.”
The hall of students nod, the facial expressions Eloise can read all seemingly content. The sounding of the bell follows a short few minutes later, and the students begin filing out.
The following hour Eloise spends organising materials and sources for the benefit of her students, creating lists of websites, books, articles, and the like. A flood of emails from seemingly eager students begin to bombarde her, her phone becoming a constant vibration in her pocket.
Exiting the hall, her body collides with the frame of another. “Oh, sorry.” she says. Her eyes scan up the slim build of the other person who now has their hands grasping at Eloise’s upper arms.
“No, no, you’re alright.”
Eloise’s eyes meet the light blue irises of another woman, one she’d not seen before. Her gaze scans over the unfamiliar blonde hair of the taller figure, trailing down her body, examining her attire; the white turtleneck that hides the base of a long neck, the light pink dress pants clothing lengthy legs, the silver watch decorating her left wrist.
The hands slide from the shorter brunette’s arms as the blonde steps back, extending a hand in meeting. “I’m Cressida.”
Eloise takes the hand in hers, taking note of the softness of her skin. Her eyes meet the other woman’s, and she gazes at her for a moment before snapping back. “Cressida Cowper, the new English professor, no?” she asks, finally moving to shake her hand. Cressida nods, smiling softly. “Yes. And you must be..?”
“Eloise Bridgerton. Professor of-”
“Classics. I have heard very positive things about you.”
Eloise’s eyes widen, as if shocked, although not shocked, just simply surprised. “Have you now?” Her hand slides free of Cressida’s as the other woman nods. “I have. You seem to be quite the celebrity within teachers in the English and Humanities sectors.”
Eloise smiles, feeling, for some reason, embarrassed. She’d never been one to want to attract attention or have words spread about her. She came to work to teach, and that was that. “I hear that you are quite the professor, even for other professors. Very helpful and guiding it seems.”
The words cause the shorter of the two to blush. Cressida was right; Eloise was one to help both students and teachers alike, especially when it comes to the vast study of classics which ties greatly into all humanities subjects, and languages such as English. Despite knowing this, hearing it said to her arouses certain feelings. Pride, validation, and as stated, embarrassment.
Eloise smiles somewhat awkwardly as the other woman starts to fill her with nerves. Why was she feeling nervous? She’s a colleague. Another professor. Not the prime minister. Not the Queen.
Cressida glances down at her watch, taking note of the time. “It was lovely to meet you, Professor Bridgerton. I must get going as I have a class starting in ten. I’ll see you around.”
Eloise nods, studying the features of the new professor. “Yes, of course. It was lovely meeting you too, Professor Cowper. Have a good rest of your day.”
The blonde flicks back a quick ‘you too.’ before continuing in her original direction. Eloise’s eyes follow her as if they were pieces of string tied around her waist.
—
As the final few minutes of Eloise’s second first-year classics lecture nears its end, she clasps her hands together, capturing the students attention. Their eyes tear away from their laptops and notepads, all directing towards their professor.
“Alright, class. All of you have your aspects of the Greco-Roman world, and I couldn’t be less surprised by the number of you who chose Julius Caesar or Caesar Augustus. You could not have been more basic if you tried.” Eloise’s words result in gentle blooms of laughter throughout the room, entertaining the professor greatly. “There is also a large handful of you who chose literature, and another large handful of you who chose wars. For each of the common topics, such as the Caesar’s, literature, wars, and art, there are folders on the class teams which you all have access to. If you happened to choose something more obscure, it is up to you to search for your information, although I am more than willing to assist if my assistance is needed. Other than a reminder to check your grammar, please make sure you reference. That is crucial as I will be grading these.”
Like the day prior, Eloise’s students wash out of the hall upon hearing the bell, seeing their eagerness to leave after witnessing their eagerness to arrive greatly amusing. Sitting at her laptop, the doors to the hall open, and thinking it’s a student, she looks up. It’s not a student.
“Professor Cowper, how are you?” The brunette professor leans back in her chair, legs crossed, as she watches the blonde professor descend one of the aisles of stairs.
“Professor Bridgerton, I’m well. How are you?” She reaches the bottom of the stairs and approaches Eloise at a leisurely pace.
“Quite well myself. Is there something I can help you with?” Eloise’s head tilts slightly to the right, her eyes fixed on the now-exposed neck of Cressida Cowper. The glinting of a necklace under the light steals Eloise’s attention away from the area of skin. It’s small. Simple. Beautiful.
“Yes, actually. What do you know about Aristophanes?”
The mention of the widely famous Greek playwright breaks Eloise’s trance, yanking her back to reality. “Aristophanes? Is this regarding a personal interest, or for a class?” she questions, now leaning forward on her desk, suddenly interested in the professor’s question.
“My English lit level-one class is comparing literary pieces. Most of my students are comparing something Shakespearian to something modern, but a handful are wanting to compare work by Aristophanes. More specifically, Frogs?” Cressida has a somewhat lost look on her face when mentioning the specific play, and Eloise grins widely. “Well in that case, I know a fair bit about Aristophanes.”
Eloise rises from her chair and walks to the far end of her desk. “So you’re saying, if I were asking for personal interest, you would know nothing?” Cressida asks playfully, smiling at Eloise’s eagerness. The classics professor’s smile widens as she shakes her head softly. She reaches down into a drawer and grabs a copy of a few of the playwright's surviving plays. “When it comes to being asked such topics, I struggle to keep my mouth shut. Are you much of a reader?”
The eyebrows of the blonde professor raise. “I teach English literature, professor. Yes, I am a big reader.”
Eloise chuckles, handing over the book. “This is one of the best translations available today. Tab one is ‘Wasps’, tab 2 is ‘Women at the Thesmophoria’, and tab 3 is ‘Frogs’.” Cressida takes the book from Eloise, her lips still pulled into a smile. Nudging the drawer closed, Eloise’s eyes drop down to Cressida’s mouth. The woman’s smile fills Eloise with an unfamiliar, yet not uncomfortable warmth.
“Since you struggle to keep your mouth shut when questioned about topics such as Aristophanes, why don’t you share a little background on him, Professor Bridgerton?”
“Please, call me Eloise.”
“Well, then, Eloise. You must call me Cressida.”
“Alright, Cressida. Now, Aristophanes.”
“Yes, Aristophanes.”
—
“I must say, Eloise, I am quite impressed.” Cressida says, pushing herself off the other professor's desk. Eloise had managed to ramble for near forty-five minutes, not boring the blonde once. “And why might that be?” Eloise leans back in her chair once again, facing Cressida. “You know a lot about someone who existed over two-thousand years ago.” the blonde replies, gently smacking the book Eloise had given her onto her palm. “I have a doctorate in classical studies, so what can I say?”
Cressida chuckles, eliciting a soft smile from the shorter of the two. “I quite like you, Eloise. Can I give you my number? I’d love to grab coffee or lunch with you sometime.”
Little miss Aristophanes enthusiast is caught off guard by this. “Your number?” She flushes slightly. “Yeah, sure.” She stares at the blonde for a moment as if waiting for something, but in reality, the blonde is the one waiting for her. “Eloise, your phone? Or would you rather me write it down?” Cressida questions. Eloise blunders softly, patting her pockets until she locates the device. “Right, sorry.” She opens her contacts before passing the phone to Cressida who appears to be chuckling silently. Eloise watches as her slender fingers wrap around her phone and her slim thumbs type in her own cell number. Her nails appear to be coated with a soft pink polish, although it’s hard to be certain due to the lighting.
The blonde returns the brunette’s phone, a content expression on her face. She glances at her watch, the translated copy of Aristophanes’ plays in hand. A soft sigh escapes her lips. “I should get going. I’ve got a class in fifteen.”
Eloise glances at her own watch. “So do I, actually. It was lovely talking to you.”
“You too. Thank you for this,” Cressida holds up the book. “and the knowledge of Aristophanes. You’ve made my job ten-times easier.”
“You’re more than welcome. Please, if you have any other questions, feel free to pester me. I’m more than happy to answer anything I can.”
Cressida smiles widely at this, her blue eyes glinting because of the lights above them. “I will.”
Eloise watches as Cressida ascends the stairs towards the hall exit, her eyes dropping from the back of her head, to her neck, her waist, her-
She tears her eyes away before she can take any less-than-appropriate mental notes, mentally scolding herself for such unprofessional behaviour. The door clicks closed, and Eloise leans forward on her desk, feeling suddenly lost. What has she to do? Class. Right, right. Third-year Philosophy in fifteen.