Work Text:
"The best method, I believe, that can be adopted to correct a fondness for novels is to ridicule them; not indiscriminately, for then it would have little effect; but, if a judicious person, with some turn for humour, would read several to a young girl, and point out, both by tones and apt comparisons with pathetic incidents and heroic characters in history, how foolishly and ridiculously they caricatured human nature, just opinions might be substituted instead of romantic sentiments."
Mary Wollstonecraft, A Vindication for the Rights of Woman
Eloise made a face of displeasure– not true displeasure, really, but more of a show of disgruntlement. Lips puckered, eyebrows furrowed, and a grimace wrinkling the corner of her eye.
Nothing was really out of the ordinary. At least, not exactly.
Though, if someone had told her a year ago that Cressida Cowper would be the person that stood beside her at every event rather than Penelope, she would have told them they lost their head.
But that was her reality. It crashed into her, not like a carriage accident with all of the blood and theatrics, but like a slip of a quill. A blot on parchment at the end of a letter– too late to rewrite, but just unseemly enough to unsettle.
Cressida Cowper being her most steadfast companion during the summer was not something she had expected in all her years being (somewhat) socially aware.
As most unexpected things did, it became a reality before anyone had noticed. Eloise banished to the countryside for her dangerous toeing of the line, and Cressida, being the only person within a one-hundred kilometer radius that was not over the age of seventy.
(Conversing about the texture of porridge was not exactly how she imagined spending her summer.)
So, it began like this: a tired and disgruntled Eloise, fighting with her parasol against the gusting wind.
A bored and curious Cressida, hesitantly following the sounds of cursing on her daily walk along the small river.
Their eyes met across the small body of water– Eloise's tinged with fear and Cressida’s with confusion.
“What are you doing?” Cressida called out over the sounds of rushing water and heavy winds.
“None of your damn business!” Eloise responded, before promptly losing her fight with her parasol and completely losing her balance as well. She tumbled down the sloped riverbank much to her abject horror.
Now, the way this played out could not have been dreamt up in any of Eloise's wildest most intrusive thoughts.
Cressida immediately dropped her own parasol to rush down the bank of the river. Kicking her silk shoes off, wading into the shallow water– her dress swirling around her as she reached out to grab Eloise's flailing arm.
“Miss– Bridgerton–” She grunted anxiously, pulling Eloise up.
Eloise spluttered, water dripping down her face, down her dress. She was absolutely sopping wet– and it seemed as though Cressida was as well. Water had soaked through both of their dresses, though Cressida's was still somewhat dry at her bust.
She stopped spluttering, spitting out some of the water she had swallowed. Her hands rubbed at her eyes to get the water out, though also to be sure that Cressida Cowper pulling her out of the water was not a figment of her imagination.
Their eyes met.
Great.
“You–” Cressida cleared her throat lightly, “I did not know you would be here for the summer.” She said delicately, eyes taking in the way Eloise shivered from the cold water dripping down her neck.
This was the first thing she decided to say to Eloise after pulling her out of the water?
She didn't answer, allowing Cressida to tug her back up the riverbank and onto dry land. They both slumped onto the sloped ground and Eloise felt suspiciously like a wrung out sponge. Water dripped into her eyes again from the hair hanging low on her forehead as she looked at Cressida with disbelief.
Had she really jumped into the river to pull her out? They barely knew each other– and what they did know, clearly, neither of them particularly liked.
“Miss Bridgerton?” Cressida tilted her head looking at Eloise, eyebrows raising slightly. “Did the water seep up into your mind as well as your clothing?”
There it was.
“No–” Eloise snapped, watching as a guilty expression shifted over Cressida’s face.
“I'm– I do not know why I said that.” She muttered, wringing the hem of her wet dress slightly in her hands. “I apologize.”
“What?” Eloise replied, disbelief downturning the single word. That was not what she expected to exit Cressida’s mouth.
Cressida blinked at her, her mouth opening slightly. Eyebrows furrowed. “What?”
“Am I still drowning?”
“Why would you–”
“I've already died, haven't I? Cressida Cowper saying ‘I’m sorry’ is clearly a part of my dying delusions–”
Cressida let out a loud laugh, stopping her in her tracks. “You are so funny.” She gasped out.
“What–?” Eloise was clearly experiencing some sort of water-muddled stroke. She had exited the life of the living. She was in– this couldn't be heaven, could it?
Though, with the way Cressida's cheeks flushed in the warm summer air, she wasn't quite sure what to believe.
Cressida's hand briefly touched the back of her own as she giggled and Eloise felt as though she really had left reality. “I'd heard from my cousin that you would be out here as well– I didn't know if it was true, I hadn't seen you.”
“Ah–” Eloise grimaced when a gust of wind swept over them, a shiver working its way up her back at the chill it gave her through her soaked dress. “I'd been staying inside, mostly.” Today, of course, had been the first day in the couple of weeks staying with her great aunt that she had decided to venture out.
And what a mistake that had been, she thought as she surveyed her ruined dress with distaste.
“Reading?” Cressida's brows rose up with the question.
Eloise flushed lightly at being seen so transparently. “Yes. Reading.”
Cressida let out a sigh, eyes closing as the sun shone through a cluster of clouds directly onto them. “I wish I could find anything interesting enough to pique my attention. Reading, perhaps, just isn't for me.”
Why were they still talking to one another?
“I can–” Eloise grimaced slightly as the next words left her lips, already regretting what she was going to say, “I can loan you something. Interesting, I mean.”
“Would you?” Cressida's head turned to look at Eloise, pleasant surprise colouring her features.
Eloise found herself nodding before she could stop herself. “Sure, I mean, I brought many books with me. I've got a good stack you could parse through.”
“Wonderful.” Cressida said with a smile. “It's a date. I'll call on you tomorrow.”
A what? And she'd what?
“S-sure.” Eloise said weakly. She knew that Cressida did not mean to make it sound as though she was courting her. That would be– it'd be preposterous. Simply a slip of her tongue. Cressida clearly did not know how to have friends. Eloise could not remember a single instance where Cressida had been seen around the same girl more than twice.
The people she was seen with were inconsistent. Fluttering away as soon as Eloise managed to recall their faces. It seemed to be part of the way she operated; never getting close enough to another person to really be considered a friend. Everyone was competing, were they not?
Cressida had slowly stood, nodding to Eloise as she did, before continuing on her merry way along the path beside the river. As if her skirts were not leaving trails of water in her wake. As if nothing amiss had just occurred.
What did you do today, Cressida? Eloise imagined her cousin asking.
Oh, nothing. Just pulled a Bridgerton out of the river. Nothing unusual.
Eloise snorted to herself at the thought as laid back against the riverbank.
Any plans for tomorrow, Cressida?
Eloise imagined a thoughtful expression flitting over her face, Hm, yes, actually. I will be learning how to read for the first time. It shall be a very interesting exercise.
By the time Eloise had dragged herself home, her dress was nearly dry. Her hair was a fright and she knew it, but her great aunt, bless her soul, was nearly blind as a bat at this point in her life.
“Oh, Louise. Did you fetch the eggs?” Aunt Lisbeth asked her, squinting over her thick spectacles as Eloise thundered through the entryway. She sat on a wicker chair, a mess of embroidery thread on her lap as she stabbed at a white thatch of canvas. The embroidery hoop was loose, but Eloise had given up weeks ago on trying to help her.
Eloise stared at her blankly. “No Aunt Lisbeth. I did not.”
“Ah, no matter. I'll have Stephen go to the hens.” Stephen was her very dead husband. And Eloise knew for a fact that there weren't, and never were, chickens that lived on the property.
“Sure.” She replied, already walking up the stairs to her small bedroom. She could not deal with her aunt with the thoughts swirling in her mind– though, she had never been very good at interacting with her to begin with. Not that she had noticed, poking her needle into the embroidery fabric for as long as Eloise had been staying in her humble home.
And humble it was. Eloise never considered herself someone of high tastes. She never really cared for the current fashions, the soft fabrics that surrounded her, or even the oil paintings that littered the homes she stayed in or visited.
Great Aunt Lisbeth lived in, what could be generously considered, a two-story shack. No, not a shack– that would be rude. It was a home. Perhaps two hundred years ago. The moment Eloise laid her eyes on the straw thatched roof and sloppy stucco walls, she had almost immediately jumped right back into the carriage to deal with the animosity that waited for her back in London.
But she couldn't.
So she stayed.
Her thoughts flew back to Cressida immediately jumping after her into the river as she removed her still slightly damp clothing. The sun had luckily dried her off, mostly, but her shift and stockings still gave her a disgusting chill as they touched her skin. Sticky and damp from the salt water of the river.
She shuddered, dropping the items onto the floor, grabbing a fresh dress from her wardrobe.
She would probably need a bath before Cressida came by tomorrow. She couldn't accept visitors smelling of fish. She called for her aunt's only chambermaid. A fledgeling woman by the name of Janey, who was almost as old, if not older than Aunt Lisbeth herself.
Not that it mattered much, the woman knew how to draw a perfect bath. Eloise had half the mind to request she return with her when the summer was through.
The next day came quicker than expected. A quick pecking knock at the door alerted Eloise that her visitor had finally decided to grace her with her presence.
She opened the door– the footman was mysteriously missing from action.
“Oh– Miss Bridgerton. You really are staying here.”
Eloise puckered her lips in distaste. She knew a backhanded comment when she saw one. Even though she wholeheartedly agreed with the sentiment. “Yes.”
Cressida blinked at her. “Are you– will you be inviting me in?”
She did not want to– “Yes, fine.” Eloise said, stepping aside slightly to allow Cressida through the door. She slammed the door behind them, relishing in the way Cressida jumped at the action. “I have my books set up in my room, if you would like to take a look.”
“Oh…” Cressida suddenly looked faint. “In your– in your room?”
“Yes..? Where else would I keep them?”
Cressida laughed nervously and Eloise shot her a confused look.
“Look if you don't want to–”
“I do! I do–” Her hand lightly touched Eloise’s wrist in reassurance. Eloise jerked back at the contact, immediately leading her up the stairs.
And so, suddenly they were in Eloise's room.
Somehow this was even less believable than Cressida pulling her out of the river.
The books she had brought were scattered across the floor, filling nearly every area of floor space.
“You weren't kidding when you said you had brought many books with you.”
Eloise shrugged self-consciously. “I knew I'd be bored.”
Cressida looked at her, head tilting to the side slightly. “What would you recommend?”
“Uh–” Eloise scratched her head. “I'm not sure– what was the last book you had enjoyed?”
“Did I not tell you that I haven't. Enjoyed myself reading, I mean.” Cressida said, sitting on the edge of Eloise's bed as she replied.
Eloise swallowed, considering the girl before her. “Do you have any hobbies? Interests–?” She decided to go fishing for answers. ”What are your friends reading?”
Cressida let out a barking laugh. “Friends? What friends?”
Exactly as Eloise had suspected.
“As for hobbies– Nothing. I take walks by the river and attempt to paint in watercolour every evening.”
“Attempt?”
“I mean stab at a piece of parchment with my brush until I give up and rip the thing to shreds.”
Eloise let out a laugh. “Fine. That helps a bit. Have you read any Jane Austen?”
Cressida let out a suffering sigh. “I was given Persuasion as a gift, but I couldn't even get through the first ten pages.”
“Here–” Eloise walked across the room to pick up one of the scattered books, “Listen, I'm not surprised. Persuasion wasn't one of my favourites either–”
“I didn't take you as a romantic novel reader.” Cressida interrupted.
“These were Penelope's. But she won't be getting them back.”
Cressida's brows furrowed. “And why is that?”
“We're not friends anymore. So I'm keeping these.”
“Well,” She smiled, “In that case, what have you got in mind for me?”
Eloise handed her Penelope's worn copy of Emma. “Maybe you'll like this one.”
Cressida turned the book over in her hands. “Have you read it?”
“No, not yet. I was going to–”
“Then, allow me to purchase a copy. We can read it together.”
Together?
Eloise's mouth opened before closing. “Alright. Fine. Do you think you could get a copy by tomorrow?”
“Easily.” Cressida smiled, eyes tracing over Eloise's lightly flushed cheeks.
Somehow Eloise managed to get Cressida in and out of the house without Aunt Lisbeth noticing. Even as she sat right by the front door, her lack of eyesight and hearing allowed Eloise to easily shephard Cressida back to her carriage.
“I'd suggest meeting by the river, but I don't know if my countenance could stand for it. The shock may be too much.” Eloise joked, stunned to see Cressida double over in laughter at her words, hand grabbing her arm tightly.
She wiped a wayward tear from her eye. “I knew I had saved you for a reason– Who could possibly deny the world the opportunity to hear your wit?”
What?
She wasn't even being particularly witty. What she had said warranted perhaps, at most, a little chuckle. A breath of a laugh, escaping from the nose. Not a full on guffaw, bent over and wheezing.
Perhaps she had drowned yesterday.
“Ah– you are being too kind.” Eloise said weakly. Cressida Cowper being too kind– again, she was dreaming. Dead at the bottom of the shallow river. Fish picking at her body.
“Well, I am trying to turn a new leaf.” Cressida replied, taking her footman's hand for assistance as she entered her carriage.
“How lucky for me.” Eloise muttered, slightly horrified to see that Cressida had heard her. Though, her light chuckle in response was not what she had been expecting. What she had been expecting was a sharp word. Even a sharp glance– But, nothing. Just a soft smile and a wave through the carriage window as she set off back to her family's countryside estate.
Something was amiss, and Eloise needed to find what it was as quickly as she could.
They met on the bank of the river, not too far from Eloise's tumble.
Penelope’s copy of Emma was lightly tucked beneath Eloise's arm as she slowly made her way to where Cressida was awaiting her. A new copy of the book sat in her hands, opening and closing as Cressida fidgeted with it.
“Miss Bridgerton.” Cressida nodded at her, “I've brought my copy.”
“I can see that.“ Eloise replied with an eyebrow raise.
Cressida flushed at Eloise's words, letting out a nervous laugh. “I'm sorry– I've never– well, are you sure I'll enjoy this book?”
“No.” Eloise responded frankly. “If you say you vehemently dislike reading, then I am unsure if this will finally be the book that captures your attention.”
“Well. Worth a try.” Cressida replied, with a laugh. Her cheeks flushed pleasantly in the sunlight and Eloise was suddenly very glad to have decided to set up their meeting outside.
“How shall we do this– would you like to read quietly? Aloud–”
“Aloud.” Cressida replied before a blush rose up her neck at the abruptness of her interjection. “Ah– If- if that would be alright with you.”
“I would not have offered if it was not.” Eloise replied lightly. She sat down on the sloped bank, looking up at Cressida. “Why don't we begin.”
“Right now?”
“No, next year– yes, right now.”
Cressida let out a surprised giggle, sitting down with an immediacy that sent Eloise into another fit of confusion. Who was this? Clearly Cressida Cowper was not the girl sitting beside her. It was some sort of body-double. A giggly girl, who seemed to laugh at every single thing Eloise said. Regardless of whether or not she was actually being funny.
Eloise cleared her throat. “Would you like me to begin?”
“Yes, please.” Cressida replied, leaning onto her side, hand on her cheek, propping her head up with her elbow on the ground.
So, Eloise began.
And of course, with Eloise being Eloise, she did not notice that she had managed to read halfway through the book without stopping once. The only thing that had alerted her to the passing of the time was the sun reflecting the sun off of the calm water of the river directly into her eyes. Hours must have passed– they had arrived early in the morning, and now the sun was almost directly above them.
She pulled the book up to shield her face. “Ugh– I'm– Oh, Lord. Did you want a turn…?” Eloise trailed off when she glanced over to see Cressida seeming completely enamored as she looked at her. Still on her side, still with her cheek in the palm of her hand. “Miss– Cowper?”
Cressida blinked at her dazedly. “What?”
“I was asking if you, perhaps, wanted a turn.” Eloise swallowed. “At reading.”
“Oh– no. You're doing such a…” She cleared her throat, “Lovely job. Very interesting.”
“So you're enjoying yourself?”
“Immensely.” Cressida replied with a smile. “How do you read so quickly–? You don't seem to stumble at all on any of the words.”
Eloise blinked at her. “What do you mean?”
Cressida’s brows knitted together slightly. “I find it difficult to read more than a few sentences– things sort of…”
“Sort of what?”
“Blend together.” She said quietly.
Suddenly Eloise felt very guilty about the thoughts she had yesterday– not everyone had as seamless of an ability for reading as she and Penelope did. Gregory had described to her the ways the letters floated across the pages he read, confusing his thoughts and when he read aloud.
“Ah. That's– I can continue reading. And you're enjoying the story?”
“Very much.” Cressida replied, honesty colouring her tone.
Eloise swallowed. “Then why don't I continue?”
Cressida smiled at her. “I’m ready whenever you are.”
She read until the sun sat low on the horizon– she was glad that Cressida had thought to bring small sandwiches in a wicker basket for them to snack on, or else she might've passed away from hunger. Eloise had managed to get them to almost three quarters of the book.
“Do you have another book? After this one? I am enjoying this.” Cressida said, a soft smile playing upon her lips, curling them up in a very attractive manner.
Eloise flushed lightly. “Yes– I was reading The History of Tom Jones– though, I'm not sure if you would like it. It's a rather…” She trailed off, not quite sure why she decided to divulge this, “The general consensus is that it is a provocative sort of publication.”
“I don't mind.” Cressida replied.
A shock ran through Eloise's stomach. “You're quite sure?”
A smile graced Cressida's lips once more. “I've probably heard worse.”
But Eloise had not read aloud much more than a children's book to Hyacinth. Why had she suggested this?
“Be as it may, I do suggest you consider it for a bit longer. I have another Austen book I can bring tomorrow, as well.”
“Which one?” Cressida asked.
Eloise's mouth set slightly downturned. “Persuasion.”
Cressida simply looked at her and Eloise found herself sighing. “Fine. Tom Jones, it is. Don't say I didn't warn you.”
“I'd listen to anything you're reading, Miss Bridgerton. This is the first time I've found myself actually interested in the idea of spending my time with a novel. All thanks to you.”
Eloise flushed at Cressida's words. At the way she seemed to regard Eloise. She swallowed, looking back down at the book in her hands.
They met the next day. A copy of Tom Jones nestled deep in her basket along with her copy of Persuasion. Just in case. This time she had thought to bring food of her own; Janey had packed fruits, nuts, and a few day old pastries for her and Cressida to share. When asked where she was going, she simply smiled and responded, ‘To the river’.
Just like the day before, Cressida was already waiting for her. A thin blanket had been laid out underneath her and Eloise took in the sight. Cressida's blonde hair reflected the soft sunlight of the morning– her hair in a simple braid for the first time Eloise had seen her.
She walked over, dropping the basket into the blanket, jolting Cressida out of whatever reverie she had been in as she stared at the river.
“Pence for your thoughts?”
Cressida hummed, brushing a wayward strand of her flaxen hair from her eyes. “I was just wondering how Emma would end.”
“Did you think at all about which book you preferred to begin next?” Eloise asked as she sat down beside Cressida.
“Yes.” Cressida said with a smile. “My cousin suggested Persuasion so, of course, my answer is going to be Tom Jones.”
Eloise's brows rose up in surprise. “Why so much derision for your cousin's opinion?”
Cressida let out a laugh. “She's a simpering idiot.”
“Oh, there's the Cressida Cowper I am familiar with.” Eloise let out a laughing breath.
“Don't worry, she deserves it.” Cressida responded with an eye roll.
“What makes you say that?”
“She told me to stay away from you.”
Eloise flushed at her words. “And will you?” She asked, despite herself. Despite all the reasons she had to be thrilled to hear that Cressida would not be spending any more time with her.
“No. You can't get rid of me that easily.”
“Oh, boo-hoo. And here I was, hoping desperately.”
Cressida doubled over in laughter, her hand grasping Eloise's bicep with the action.
Eloise found herself smiling helplessly at the reaction. She wasn't being that funny, was she?
When Cressida finally caught her breath she smiled at Eloise. “I am so glad we've become friends.”
“Yes.” Eloise responded, surprised that she actually agreed. “I am glad as well.” She missed having someone to speak with– she had left all of Penelope's letters completely unanswered and it felt as if a hole had been opened in her heart. God help her, but Cressida's presence was helping her forget what Penelope had done to her. “I appreciate you showing me kindness. Even though you probably shouldn't be.”
“You've shown me kindness just by speaking to me.” Cressida responded, a thoughtful look flitting across her face. “If anything, I should be thanking you. And I doubt anything Lady Whistledown writes holds much substance. Especially so far from where it even matters.” She said, a kind smile softening her usually sharp features. “Who is going to tell on us? The fish? Your ancient aunt? My idiot cousin? No,” She said with a smile, "We are quite alone.”
Eloise wet her bottom lip. Cressida was right. What was she concerned about? Without the prying eyes of the ton, there was absolutely nothing left to worry about. She finally understood why her mother had sent her here.
It was freeing.
She smiled at Cressida, suddenly glad to be sitting here with her in the sunlight, rather than inside her aunt's stale house.
“You're absolutely right– now where were we?” She picked up Emma, paging through the book to try to find the blade of glass Cressida had stuck between the pages yesterday.
“Emma had found Knightley returning to London.” Cressida recounted, leaning back on her elbow as she rummaged through the basket Eloise had brought with her. “Oh, lovely– would you like a blackberry?” She asked, lifting a handful out of the basket where Janey had placed them.
Eloise nodded and began to read, jolting in surprise when Cressida carefully held one up to her lips. She swallowed before pausing, opening her mouth slightly, allowing Cressida to pop it between her lips.
It was delicious– of course. She and Janey had spent most of the evening picking them in the small garden behind Aunt Lisbeth’s home. It was fresh– the juice slid down her throat and she let out a sound of contentment, watching as Cressida flushed as she ate one as well.
She swallowed and continued reading, listening to the soft sounds of Cressida enjoying the blackberries.
Though it was relaxing– it was still not exactly how she'd imagine spending her summer. Reading to Cressida Cowper, of all people, on the bank of the river. The sun warming her as it peeked through the clouds slowly moving above them. The sky so blue– it was almost shocking to look up from the words before her and take in the scene she was sitting in front of.
If someone had come by and painted it, she was sure that she and Cressida would not look out of place spread out on the linen blanket that was laid out beneath them.
With a soft sigh, she shut the book. It was a pleasant surprise– she had not necessarily expected it to end the way it did and told Cressida her thoughts.
“Do you think she'd be happy– Emma, with Mr. Knightley?”
Cressida hummed thoughtfully around a bite of the honeyed pastry Janey had packed. “I suppose they would be. Being such long time friends.” She swallowed and Eloise glanced at her, snickering at the sight of the flaky dough stuck to her lips. “What?”
“You’ve got some–” She gestured to her lips.
Cressida flushed and immediately brushed her hands over her lips.
Eloise laughed at the sight, amazed to see this completely different side of Cressida when away from prying eyes. She cleared her throat lightly, “Shall we begin Tom Jones, or do you have more thoughts about Emma?”
“I-I have more thoughts.” Cressida said hesitantly. “If you want to hear them-”
“I wouldn't've asked if I didn't want to hear.” Eloise replied, watching as relief sagged Cressida's shoulders slightly forward. Had anyone ever responded positively to her opinions before? Eloise wasn't quite sure– she had seen Cressida's mother, her father, and they didn't seem like… accepting people.
Not anything like her family.
Even when unwanted, Eloise's opinions were never outright shut out.
Her head began to hurt– she put a hand up to her brow and massaged it lightly. Thinking about these things in depth did not make her feel particularly good about the way she had spoken about Cressida in the past.
The way she had spoke to her– her thoughts flashed back to Cressida's offer of friendship. At the time, it felt pointed. Rude. A way to hurt Penelope– and perhaps it was. But was she being genuine in any sense?
Eloise let out a heavy breath.
“I liked how different this was. Than the usual story.” Cressida said, “Or at least what I had seen in the theaters.” She said with a self-deprecating tone colouring her words.
“What do you mean?” Eloise turned her body slightly to face Cressida more fully, blinking in surprise when Cressida picked the book up to page through her own copy.
“Look–” She let out a sigh, “Emma is not particularly likable. She's rude–” She let out a laugh, “And I know what you're thinking– Cressida Cowper relating to an unlikeable heroine. How surprising.”
“I'm not going to say that wasn't my first thought…” Eloise said, trailing off.
Cressida shot her a look of warning. “Funny.”
“I try.”
“You certainly do.” She said with a slight smile passing over her lips. “Can I continue, or will you keep running commentary?”
Eloise mimed locking her lips and throwing the key over her shoulder, eliciting the recently expected laughter from Cressida.
Once she had caught her breath, she pointed to a line she had underlined, handing the book to Eloise.
Eloise pretended to unlock her lips before clearing her throat dramatically, “Never had she felt so agitated, so mortified, grieved, at any circumstance in her life. She was most forcibly struck. The truth of his representation there was no denying. She felt it at her heart. How could she have been so brutal, so cruel–” She stopped reading, staring at the words before her.
Was this– was she apologizing? For her past behaviors?
She could hear Cressida shift nervously beside her.
“So– yes. I- I found this to be a…” Cressida trailed off, “Particularly illuminating story.”
Eloise wet her bottom lip. “I can honestly say, I did not expect this story to be so interesting.” She offered, voice more hushed than she had meant it to be.
“Why is that?” Cressida asked, her icey eyes meeting Eloise's. They seemed tinged with– something.
Certainly nothing Eloise had seen in her expression before.
Eloise blinked at her. “I don't know… I just assumed this story would be rather–”
“Surface level?”
“Yes, actually.” Eloise replied, taking a blackberry and popping it into her mouth. Chewing for a moment, before swallowing. “It was unexpectedly touching. To see such frankness described in a female character. Being unlikable– self-important, and so on. Usually that role is reserved for men.”
Cressida hummed in response. “Is that why you're reading Tom Jones? To see how the other half lives?”
“Perhaps.” Eloise responded, “I had liberated it from my brother Benedict’s collection.” She held up the copy, “It's well loved, as you can see.”
“That’s a worrying image.”
Eloise snorted, tossing the book onto the blanket. “Don't make me vomit.”
“Wouldn't dream of it.” She responded, lying back on the blanket to look at the clouds above. “Do you think it'll rain? There seems to be a cluster of dark clouds over there.” She pointed up to the sky. North, if Eloise's sense of direction meant anything.
“Probably not.” Eloise said after a moment of thought. “If that's north, and the wind is moving north-west, it should be moving away from us.”
“I'll choose to trust you. Mostly because I'm too comfortable to get up.”
Eloise hummed. “We can get to Tom Jones tommorow. I'm feeling a nap overtaking me.”
Creasida snorted out a laugh. “Thank goodness Lady Whistledown isn't here, or else she would comment on your tired countenance.”
A jolt of displeasure thrummed through Eloise's body at the mention of Penelope's pen name. “Yes.” She replied shortly, turning onto her side, away from Cressida. “Thank goodness.”
“Did I– have I said something to upset you?” Cressida asked hesitantly.
Eloise let out a deep sigh. “No– I just– hate thinking about that stupid column.”
A hand lightly touched her back. “If it makes you feel any better, reading that didn't really change my opinion of you.”
Eloise scoffed. “Your opinion of me, which prior to inexplicably jumping into the river to pull me out, had been rather negative.”
Cressida's hand jolted back. “You are right. For being hesitant to trust me. I've done nothing but be absolutely bull-headed.”
“That's not–” Eloise let out a sound of frustration and rolled over to look at Cressida. Her face, more mournful than Eloise had been expecting. “I am enjoying myself. More than I thought I would be.”
“You're humoring me.”
“I almost wish I was.” Eloise replied with a sigh. “I enjoy your… frankness. You are never holding back.”
“Though, I should. Some of my thoughts are not fit to be spoken.” Cressida replied, head turning to look at Eloise.
“Ah, but that's where you're mistaken.” Eloise said with a barely suppressed smile, “Those thoughts may be the ones I am most interested in. To a limit of course. Nothing needlessly cruel.”
“I can accept those terms– but what about necessary cruelty?” She asked with a laugh, “Specifically referring to my idiot cousin.”
“What's she done that has made her such an idiot in your eyes?”
“Oh, which of the many things can I recount? Perhaps when she had accidentally assumed the queen’s footman was her husband?”
Eloise gasped, “Brimsley?”
“The very same.” Cressida laughed, “Or what about when she had accidentally tried to court her brother at a masked ball?”
“She couldn't recognize him with a simple mask on?”
“Of course not. That would be giving her too much credit.” Cressida furrowed her brows, “The main reason I call her my idiot cousin is because she continues to insist on the needlessly cruel excommunication of our uncle.”
Eloise let out a sigh, deciding not to delve too deeply into her family's politics. “Fine. Cruelty reserved only for your idiot cousin– what's her name?”
“Katherine. With a ‘K’.” Cressida said with an eye roll.
“Alright, Katherine with a ‘K’. You are hereby deemed forever an idiot.” Eloise said while giving an elaborate salute to nothing in particular.
They laughed, Cressida's hand once more touching Eloise's arm. It made her feel warm– slightly. Was this going to happen every time she made Cressida laugh? She supposed she would have to test it out.
And so she did.
Over the next few days, reading Tom Jones was certainly an illuminating experience for the both of them. The man's endless dalliances bringing a flush to both of their cheeks– Eloise's deeper due to the fact that she had to recount these experiences aloud.
But she moved forward with her hypothesis, ignoring the festering embarrassment of reading such a book, and dramatically recounting various affairs and situations in a deep ridiculous voice, as if she was the main character of the novel.
Each time she did this, Cressida would burst out laughing, arm reaching out to grab at Eloise's helplessly.
Interesting, she thought.
She had never imagined that Cressida was a particularly tactile person. If anything she had imagined that the woman steadfastly avoided any type of physical contact.
By the time Eloise had finished the book, she had become very used to Cressida's outbursts of laughter and her firm grasp against her arm.
Neither of them particularly enjoyed the book and Eloise knew she would be exchanging some choice words with Benedict when she arrived home about his favourite book.
But she and Cressida moved on to another book rather quickly, without discussing what Eloise had read.
This time, was a bit of a risky choice– Eloise wasn't sure how Cressida would receive it.
She pulled out her copy of Mary Wollstonecraft’s A Vindication of the Rights of Woman and eyed Cressida nervously.
“I was wondering how long it would take you before you brought something like this with you.” Cressida said with an eyebrow raise.
Eloise flushed. “Worth a shot. I can always read Persuasion if you prefer–”
Cressida waved her hand dismissively, “No, no– was I complaining? I heard no protests. The rights of women we shall hear about. Exhaustively, I assume.”
“A normal amount. Actually– strike that. A perfect amount. Have you heard of this book?” Eloise asked.
“You know I haven't.” Cressida responded with an eye roll.
“Well, perhaps it would be a good thing to hear then. Don't judge a book by its cover. Or title, I suppose.”
Cressida let out a frustrated breath. “Fine, go ahead. I'm not judging a thing.”
So Eloise read. And read. Without a single interjection from Cressida for the first time they had decided to pass their time in this way.
Eloise was completely engrossed. It took her a long while to get her hands on a copy of the book– glad to finally be able to lay her eyes upon the contents.
Though, partially through the essay, Cressida had put her hand on Eloise's arm. Not from laughter, but rather as she had become overcome with emotion as Eloise spoke the words: “‘Taught from their infancy that beauty is woman's sceptre, the mind shapes itself to the body, and roaming round its gilt cage, only seeks to adorn its prison’.”
“Jesus Christ.” She whispered, looking pained, “Why are you doing this to me?”
“Doing what?” Eloise responded softly. (She knew what she was doing.)
Cressida made a sound of frustration. “I wish you hadn't chosen this book– I don't want to hear anymore.”
“You'd prefer to hear Persuasion?” Eloise tried to jest but was met with a blank and angry stare.
“I don't want to hear anything. Romance especially.” She bit out and let out a disbelieving scoff as she stood up.
“You're leaving?” Perhaps Eloise had really pushed her too far, choosing this book.
“Yes. I can't listen to any more of this.” Cressida shook her head. “Did you do this on purpose? Read Tom Jones to me before this–?”
“I'm not going to pretend the thought didn't cross my mind.” Eloise responded, leaning back on her elbows to look up at Cressida.
“You’re absolutely terrible.” Cressida huffed. “I am leaving.”
Eloise groaned. “Look– I'm sorry. Let me bring another book–”
“No. I've– this has been going on for too long. Perhaps it would be better if we stopped–”
“Stopped?” Eloise's mouth dropped open in shock, “I read something you don't like and now everything isn't worth it anymore?”
“It's more than that.” Cressida responded tightly.
“I don't think it is. Fine, leave. But I'll be here tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after–”
“You'd be wasting your time.”
“What ever happened to turning a new leaf?”
Cressida let out a groan of frustration. “I don't care anymore. Fine. Read this awful book. Just– not today. Not now.”
“Fine. That's fine. If you needed to take a break, you should've just said something.” Eloise responded gently.
“That's not– I will be returning home now though.” Cressida said with a shake of her head. “I need to–”
“Alright.” Eloise's voice could not hide the disappointment she felt.
“I will be back tomorrow.”
“Fine.” She couldn't quite understand why this was making her feel the way it did. A bit like an embroidery needle was being pressed into her heart over and over.
Cressida looked at her with an indiscernible expression on her face before walking back into the direction of her home.
Eloise stared down at the book on her lap and sighed.
Cressida did not return the next day.
Or the next.
Lying in the grass, straw hat covering her face as she napped was where Cressida eventually found her three days later.
She nudged her with her foot, jolting Eloise out of her sleeping state.
“Fuck-! Who–” Eloise smacked the hat off of her face as she sat upwards with a start.
Cressida was already bent over laughing at Eloise's reaction and all Eloise could do was flop back onto the grass with a huff.
“Did I deserve that? Perhaps… But was it necessary? Absolutely not…” Eloise muttered, grabbing her hat again and slapping it back onto her face to cover the deep red flush upon it.
Cressida sat beside her and picked the hat off. “I apologize for not returning yesterday. Or the day before.”
“It’s fine…” Eloise muttered, putting a hand on her warm cheek. “You probably needed a break from me anyways–”
“My cousin had invited some suitors to her estate.” Cressida cut in.
Eloise sat up, looking at her, feeling her heart drop for some unknown reason. “Can she do that– I mean, is that proper?”
Cressida gave her a wry smile, “Not exactly. But seeing as she is the only Lady living in Bibury, she leaves them with no other choice.”
“Your ‘idiot cousin’ is Lady Katherine Molondey?” Eloise said looking at Cressida with shock, “You didn't think that was worth mentioning?”
“No.” Cressida scoffed, “I did not. Speaking about her is a complete waste of time.”
Eloise huffed out a laugh, “And what about your suitors? Were they a complete waste of time?” She didn't know why she was asking this question. It just seemed to pop out of her mouth completely unprompted.
“Of course they were a complete waste of time. The entire time I had to listen to them speak about whatever garbage they were interested in, your voice kept coming into my head in a loop whispering, ‘men endeavor to sink us still lower, merely to render us alluring objects for a moment’ over and over again.” She let out a scoffing laugh. “I think you've ruined my life.”
“I've what?” Eloise spluttered.
“You heard me. If you didn't read that blasted book to me, everything would have been fine. I would have listened, nodded my head, and perhaps even managed to get one of them to propose to me by the end of the summer.” Cressida's mouth curled into a distasteful grimace.
“I'd like to remind you that it was you who pursued a friendship between us–”
“And you are just some innocent bystander to my evil wiles?”
“Yes-! No– God–” Eloise let out a sound of frustration, “I just wanted you to hear another perspective.”
“A perspective I never wanted to have.” Cressida muttered, leaning back on her elbows and letting her head fall backwards.
Eloise sighed heavily, “I brought other books– more Austen, some Bronte–”
“Did I say I wanted you to stop reading the other book?” Cressida asked, head moving upright to look Eloise in the eyes.
“Well, it was implied–”
“No. You've already ruined everything. Might as well finish it.” Cressida replied, almost haughtily.
Eloise blew out a frustrated breath. “Fine! But no more complaining–”
“No promises…” Cressida muttered, lying back in her usual position to listen to Eloise read aloud.
She rolled her eyes, but took the book out from underneath the stack she had brought and began where she had left off. It took the rest of the day for Eloise to march through it, listening to Cressida grind her teeth and let out disbelieving scoffs at different intervals.
Eloise had no idea that reading this would affect Cressida so thoroughly. She had assumed that it would wash over her, without leaving a mark– but it seemed that she had underestimated the woman in the same way she usually did. Cressida was upset about the very same things she was. Just much better at hiding it. At ignoring the root causes.
“Can I throw this into the river, now that you've finished it?” Cressida muttered, plucking the book out of Eloise's hands and turning it over to inspect the back.
“Absolutely not–” Eloise's words were cut short by a sudden burst of rain falling directly onto them. “Oh shit–” Damn south-east winds. Eloise should have known.
Cressida's eyes met Eloise's panicked ones and she let out a disbelieving laugh.
“My books, Cressida– help–”
They immediately began to pick up the scattered books on the grass around them. Eloise could already feel her dress becoming soaked with the sudden onslaught of rain– not believing her luck.
She pointed to a distant gazebo, meeting Cressida's eyes. “How fast can you run?”
“Not very fast–” Cressida replied, both of them trying to pick up speed as the rain began to fall in earnest.
By the time they had made it to cover, vith of them were completely soaked. The books Eloise had brought with her were as well and she let out a despondent groan, throwing Persuasion onto the ground in a fit of anger.
“Don't take it out on poor Austen.” Cressida said, her back casually pressed against one of the white columns of the gazebo.
Eloise pressed her lips together in dissatisfaction, “Would you prefer I take it out on you?”
Cressida put her hands up, tilting her head to the side slightly, “Would I be deserving of it?”
“I don't know, would you?”
Their eyes met, a heat passing between their gazes. Eloise's heart stuttered. She dropped the sopping stack of books in her hands onto the ground, stalking forward.
Cressida's brows raised at the action.
Eloise had no idea what she was doing– but her hands reached out to touch Cressida's hips. Damp and cold from the sudden onslaught of rain.
She could feel her shudder underneath her hands. “What are you thinking about?”
Cressida's eyes met hers, “That stupid book.”
Eloise's hands pressed in a bit harder. “Will you still be thinking about it when we're away from the countryside? Back amoungst the ton?”
“I don't know.” Cressida responded, “But we are not back yet, are we?”
“No,” Eloise said, tilting her head slightly, “We are not.” She swallowed when Cressida's hand cupped the back of her neck, hair damp and dripping.
They were nose to nose– their breaths mingling in the damp summer air. Eloise could feel Cressida's breath stutter out anxiously.
She could feel her heartbeat thrumming in her throat. Nervous– but why, exactly? Her mind thought back to the suitors Lady Katherine had invited over for Cressida and she let out a frustrated breath. “Who were your suitors?”
“Does it matter?” Cressida shot back, before pulling Eloise in to soundly kiss her lips.
Eloise felt her knees nearly give out at the contact, neck craning up in order to meet Cressida’s lips due to their height disparity. Cressida's arms wrapped around her back, pulling her in closer, closer–
They pulled back, panting.
“I should've read this book to you ages ago,” Eloise muttered before pressing her lips to Cressida's once more– a laugh bubbling up between them at her words.
That laugh– it haunted Eloise's dreams. Her every thought.
Would it be like this when they returned from the countryside? Eloise, overcome with the sensations of close contact with Cressida, couldn't even summon up the energy to care.
All she could think of– all she could feel was Cressida's lips, her hands, her body against her own.
She pulled back.
“Could we do this instead of reading now?”
Cressida leaned against her, a laugh exploding out– “God, you're ridiculous. Of course– why do you think I suggested it to begin with?”