Chapter Text
Mornings in Yule Hall was always pleasant.
To most people, it would be the fair sunlight streaming happily into their open windows and the birds of the countryside. To Eloise, the mornings were a sign of a new day — a book to be read for her next adventure.
Yule Hall provided rather a vast amount of books that it needed a second smaller room to fit the collections. Collections that are meant to be read – where papers are meant to be touched and words sought. She was truly glad for it – she had made it her mission to read every book in Yule Hall’s possession.
Like every morning, Eloise would eat her breakfast, and then see how the repairs in the East Wing were coming through. Usually, this would be the job of the lady of the house – her cousin Lord Miles Ledger, was not keen on having a Lady of his own, thus allowing his ever spirited cousin to look after the repairs.
After excusing herself from disturbing the workers for progress, Eloise was set on her day with a new book. A new subject had entered her mind that day: poetry.
She had not yet entertained herself to the works of poetry. But today, she shall try – choosing a small volume of Oz Byrne’s work Eden.
Breathing in the country air, she greeted the nearby footman – almost practiced but with gentle disposition, informing where she might be — The Willow.
The tree in the centre of the nearby forest — dividing the two towns and it has never been named. Though, she might ask her cousin, Miles, for his input when he returned next month, or perhaps Hyacinth – who was good at names, for when traveled for the summer later in the year.
Galfford and Kent were technically right next to each other, but it may take two nights for Eloise to reach Aubrey Hall on foot.
The Willow, was her new favorite reading place. Of course, Mayfair had its fair share of willows in Rotten Row, but she found that she quite liked the Willow. The shade was perfect, there were barely any disturbances – most of all, the nearby lake was fresh and clean.
Country air. Lovely breeze, and the perfect shade to read a book.
Who wouldn’t want that?
Eloise trudged on a small brown path standing between the long plains of grasses as she walked. The path led to a small alcove of branches and leaves, as if welcoming her to the Forest that lay beside the estate — dividing the space for the next town nearby.
She was thankful it didn’t rain for many days. Eloise did not think her boots were made for mud.
While on her familiar walk to the Willow, Eloise had learned to be more appreciative of the nature afforded to her. The forest was more in bloom, despite the lingering tense winter that passed the country. Leaves were in exploding colors of greens, yellows, and sometimes reds. The sunlight was winking through the waving miniscule curtains of the dancing leaves – and the winds...
Eloise could not help but inhale the fresh air again.
She needed all the air she must have, for when she leaves next month. Lord knows the Season was unforgiving, it would certainly suck your breath before you even stepped foot past London’s border inbound. She wasn’t exactly thrilled to come back to London next month – even if she was staying for the first three months.
Her thoughts wandered again as Eloise stumbled upon a twisted root. She always forgot that was there – she huffed shortly, shaking her head.
“I should ought to cut it...” She mumbled with her ire, clutching her book against her chest. She shouldn’t have worn a summer dress and meagre boots today. The road was becoming stickier and unrelenting by the time she reached the familiar two birch branches that was a sign she was near.
“...or not.” Eloise continued, already guilty for having such thoughts.
Nature always had freedom, to destroy it was courting oppression. That was one of many wisdoms she had in her recent travels, but she wasn’t above pulling a naturalist routine.
Continuing her nature walk, Eloise decided to open her book – having not enough patience to wait any longer as she timed five minutes when she turned away from the birch trees and went to the right direction.
Oz Byrne’s work was something Benedict enjoyed recently. Eloise only relented reading his works to finally amuse herself, because no one knew of Byrne’s true identity.
Were they a woman or a man?
Perhaps a peculiar human from a foreign land?
Eloise was confident Byrne was a woman, but this was only one of her many amusements – she enjoyed a good argument regarding the matter. The flush on Gregory’s young face as he read through the passages while he vehemently disapproved her claims was entertaining.
Ah, she missed her family.
She might consider dropping by to Kent next week.
Finally, she can hear rushing water – and her hand fell on to the first open page, the creaking of the spine from overuse was barely noticeable. Eloise noted that the book’s page at which she had opened to was weighted just a bit, smelled even but a pleasant one.
You are a call to motion
There, all of you a verb in perfect view
Like Jonah on the ocean
When you move, I'm moved
Hm. Amenable.
She wasn’t sure what to think yet, it was passable still. A single passage would not automatically intrigue her, the Willow might help some insight and encouragement. Though, she is certain... in some capacity. Poetry wasn’t meant for her.
Encouraged, she read one more passage.
Our veins are busy but my heart's in atrophy
Any way to distract and sedate
Adding shadows to the walls of the cave
It was clearly about love. Eloise did not despise love. She had plenty of love to go around through her family, but romantic love definitely had no prospects for her.
The poem was still passable, and the words were definitely earthly and natural.
It was no doubt this Oz Byrne often hid in the forests to create his piece. Rumors had been noted around that this person was a forest creature.
She can see why Benedict would adore this author, he certainly was fond of nature. If My Cottage where he and Sophie lived in the countryside were to be considered.
Eloise hummed and closed the book, lost in thought as she always was when her thoughts were challenged even by a single passable line in a poem. The words were remarkable and creatively spun – fascinated that love could be intertwined with words in such way.
Though, she thought the second passage was rather dreary. That was Benedict and maybe Colin’s forté. Eloise always reveled in the facts after all, maybe a few straight to the point fiction here and there.
Turning to her left, she can hear the rushing water grow closer from the nearby lake, a sign that the Willow was nearby. Bouncing on the balls of her feet with a small smile, she failed to see a rock that had suddenly procured as she saw the tree with a new vision.
Her eyes were caught by a magnificent straw blonde colored hair – shining with sunlight as the lean figure rested against the trunk of the tree. The figure was turned away, wearing a white thin summer dress that would surely be inappropriate if they were not secluded.
It certainly took her breath away.
And took her breath away she did.
Her feet caught on a sturdy rock – granting a surprised yelp from her. Eloise tumbled forward, falling face first on the hard soil, her book pressing against her gut.
Bloody Hell, she thought in a daze – faintly hearing a muted sound that surely came from the figure. All she could see was spots in her eyes.
“–lright?” the voice was feminine, she felt her lax body being turned so that she was facing the winking sunlit leaves above.
Oh – was that an angel?
An angular face was on her slightly blurry vision – she could not speak yet. Her mind was still processing the savior who tried to help her clumsy plight. The angel – woman, had long hair draped on either sides of Eloise’s face. Her mouth was moving but the Bridgerton girl was fixated on the awfully familiar blue eyes, when it clicked slowly and torturously who it was.
“Cressida?”
Cressida – who was definitely not the woman she last saw two years ago, scrambled to stand up in haste – as if Eloise’s voice had caused her to act like she was a ghastly person of appearance that suddenly transformed.
This cannot be.
“El– Eloise!” her voice had not changed, it was soft but firm, in surprise. It was still honey-like as Eloise had remembered.
Well. She never forgot.
“What– how.” Eloise scrambled as well, standing up and backing up towards the exit she had already mapped weeks ago. Wide-eyed, and confused – Eloise did the next best idea in her panic.
She ran.
Eloise slammed the door of her bedchambers — ignoring the surprised calls from her maid, and footman. They were going to ask her later what had her running in haste as though a ghost spooked her.
It truly was, if she were to be honest.
Cressida Cowper was a subject perfectly erased from her usually occupied mind. She had a reason. Guilt. Yearning. Loss.
For the two years she traveled from one London countryside after another, sometimes Scotland but never Wales. Always never Wales. She had ample time to...
“Fuck!” Eloise cursed when she flexed her dirty palms only to come up empty – she left Eden back at the Willow. She’ll apologize to her entire Ledger-Bridgerton line in heavens above for such crude word. Her perfectly good day was decidedly ruined, surely that was enough of an excuse.
It seemed as though Cressida’s sudden apperance had let her slip herself from control. While her whole world that usually spun in a fast paced manner like her mind – was brought to a sudden halt.
Why was she here?
Curiosity bombarded Eloise’s very nerves, but most of all panic and shock.
There was so much left unsaid. Her panic did not settle, even as her heart had slowed down while she paced upon her room until she stopped in front of her desk. She held the edge of the desk for support, sitting down on the wooden chair. Her legs ached, and she felt sweat and exhaustion slowly replace her panic.
She gasped, and squeezed her eyes shut.
Cressida was here.
Cressida.
The one person that occupied her mind until she forced herself not to. It was only for the protection, of course, Eloise wasn’t foolish.
Her eyes fell on the stack of papers beside the mirror, some long ago had fallen on the floor from the wind through the open window. Others were hidden deep into her desk drawers. It will never see the light of day. It shall never.
Gripping the edge of her desk, thoughts of Oz Byrne vanished. Familiar blue eyes that resembled the infamous Bridgerton blue bombarded her mind. A white simple dress without the splash of pink, and the uptight hairdo… reduced to nothing but soft waves of golden tresses she had never seen before.
Still, her thoughts scramble desperately, in the brief moments of their reunion – she was utterly divine.
So maddeningly beautiful in fact that Eloise had first thought her an angel, that saved her from a precarious downfall from a rock.
It was then she knew she was truly fucked. She still had to get the goddamn book, and she was purely sure that the book was in her tormentor’s possession.
There was only one way to get it back.
She will have to return to the Willow.