Archive of Our Own ^beta

Eloise wouldn’t say that she’s someone who has ever overly thought of what is attractive on anyone. She wouldn’t really say that she’s ever really thought that anyone can be attractive at all. The most she ever found someone attractive was maybe Penelope with her soft red hair and her soft skin and her very warm smiles but… well… she doesn’t like to think about Penelope anymore.

So, her new obsession with hands is… a surprise. It happens suddenly, and not at all provoked in a place that would allow her to understand it. It happens like a lightening strike really. She’s in a tentative friendship with Cressida Cowper of all people, really, a precarious delicate one created mostly out of spite if she’s honest. Spite and a bit of curiosity for Miss Cowper and her persistence and even willingness to approach her with an offer of friendship after her first initial rejection.

It comes to her as a surprise because it is maybe their fourth lunch together and they have only just eased into conversation that isn’t rigid around the edges. In fact, everything on that day had been aglow with summer and softness. Even Cressida herself had arrived in the simplest and yet still fashionable soft cotton of a dress with hair down and flowing. She had looked so beautiful really, and Eloise had never really considered how beautiful she was before that.

“Oh, you are gorgeous.” Eloise had said it so easily with such surprise and that surprise had reflected back at her in the eyes of her new friend and then she watched that same surprise morph into a furiously deep blush that blazed noticeably across sharp cheekbones, which she had also not really noticed before. How sharp and flawless her bone structure was, how well it complimented the way her hair fell around her face and down her shoulders. How Eloise’s hands itched to reach and traces the heat of her blush.

It all felt suddenly inappropriate and then Eloise was blushing too. “Sorry, how incredibly abrupt of me. I just have never seen you so dressed down before.” She had spilled with a nervous laugh and let her eyes trail across the soft pastel blue of her dress. Which maybe hadn’t been as good of an idea as she might have thought because now, she was noticing everything about Cressida she had never known before, which was that she had nice hips and that she was quite tall in a way that made Eloise feel a bit lightheaded, like if she were to fall Cressida would have no problem catching her.

“Well, I-” She is still blushing furiously, and it is so adorable that Eloise is surprised with herself for the affection it brings forward in her. Why had she not known that Cressida was so capable of being this very lovely? Why did Cressida seemingly hide it behind a mask of ice and cruelness? “Thank you, I admit I snuck out before my father could force me into another boring lunch with one of his visiting lord friends.” She wrinkles her nose quite cutely about it.

“Well thank god for that, I’d much rather you have lunch with me. I brought strawberries as you requested last time.” Eloise, unable to fight it any longer, gave into the urge to touch her. Shooting her hand out to grab at Cressida’s palm and this… she thinks this is where it started. The hand obsession because upon noticing Cressida just as Cressida was, she also noticed the delicately long fingers she squeezed her palm around. A grab she had not initiated between them in the three other times they had, had lunch together.

Cressida’s blush refused to go away. “I do love strawberries.” Cressida says almost shyly, long eyelashes fluttering as her gaze meets Eloise’s and it makes her feel a bit faint.

She has no idea what’s wrong with her in this moment., but she certainly takes notice of the way Cressida adjusts her hand so that they might intwine their fingers together, a hold she had done so many times with Penelope and yet had never over thought it once. Now though, as she tugs on that same hand so that Cressida will follow her to where she had laid out the blanket and their lunch, her eyes catch on clutching fingertips and her world feels tilted.

Just as everything else had come into focus, so did Cressida’s hands, maybe the prettiest hands she had ever really taken notice of in her life. Though, she can’t say she’s ever spent much time on a pair of hands, or anybody’s body parts if she is completely honest. But Cressida, with her fingertips plucking at strawberries and her mouth, which was also quite lovely, biting into a strawberry, the juice of it spilling down fingertips, Eloise had felt something she had never felt before, not, at least, to this extent.

Want.

She hadn’t really known, or understood it at the time, that she had watched Cressida eat and move her hands so closely the entire lunch because of such a feeling. She couldn’t rationally explain it out, the way that her stomach would tighten when Cressida would lick food off her fingertips or the way she felt her own heart stutter in her chest when Cressida had used long fingers to brush chocolate off the corner of her mouth or the way she had actually felt it between her legs when Cressida had brushed those same fingers in her mouth to lick the chocolate off of them that she had carefully taken from her mouth.

No, she hadn’t known it was want, but she had still felt it fully.

From that day Eloise started fighting an internal battle she’d never admit out loud, thoughts of fingertips and their touch had started to feature in her dreams, and it honestly scared the living shit out of her because she didn’t know what it meant. She did know that it made her want so badly that she’d lay awake with her own hands tangled tightly in sheets, resisting the urge to relieve this new and abrupt ache from it.

She honestly didn’t know how to relieve it, but she knew that these dreams caused the throbbing between her legs to feel unbearable at times that it had felt more like going to war to leave her hands in the tangle of her blankets and not let them explore as she had read in some of the dirtier books Penelope had snuck her over the years.

Ladies aren’t supposed to do stuff like that and as much as she prides herself on breaking every rule that is required of a lady… well, she’s quite terrified of breaking this one, especially for the reason she wants to break it.

She tried to think of Theo and his hands the same way sometimes, just to fight the terrifying reality but that only gave it blaring realization that she had never really been attracted to him at all. She isn’t sure she was attracted to him at the time even then, she knew she cared for him, that she liked his mind, but now, fighting battles of long soft fingertips in her sleep, she’s become increasingly aware that Theo and any man really might never be able to produce this level of aching inside of her body and it is the most terrifying thought and yet… not?

Not because she had always been more inclined toward the softness of women anyway so perhaps she should have known this earlier, known this before Cressida and her lovely hands had started haunting her dreams.

Regardless of these life altering realizations, Elosie didn’t lose the battle until the last day at her country home, right before the start of the next season and it was unfortunately… not even because of a dream.

Reality was far worse.

It had been the simplest of actions, a night time look at stars, something she used to do with Penelope even but Cressida had grown as affectionate with her as she normally is with anyone else herself and it, on this particular night, had involved her gazing at Eloise like she could ever possibly be more fascinating than all the stars they were looking at.

“Do not be silly.” Eloise had told her in response to her saying that very thing and it had not been the response that Cressida was looking for. Instead of laughing it off with her, it had turned Cressida rather serious and then Eloise was losing breath because Cressida had climbed on top of her and took those haunting hands and started trailing gentle touches on different places.

“You do the cutest furrow with your eyebrows when you are reading something particularly interesting.” She had said, with her breath pressing against Eloise’s cheek as those fingers brushed across her eyebrow, soft blue eyes following her own movements.

She had meant to protest but found her voice lost with Cressida’s skirts around her waist, her own hips trapped between Cressida’s thighs as she sat on top of her and her mind had already wandered into the thought of wondering if she’d be able to feel the heat of her if they were in less layers.

It had made her blush, the very thought, blush so deeply that Cressida’s eyes followed the action greedily and then her fingers trailed it too. “You have such round cheeks, such a beautiful face, it is quite unfair really.” Long fingers pressed against the heat of her blushing cheek, and then her thumb had brushed under Eloise’s eye. “Beautiful eyes,” She had whispered. “They remind me of the summer sky, I will think of them when it gets dreary and feel warm for it.” They had not even been friends long enough for such a statement, and yet it was lost to Eloise’s mind when fingertips trailed down the line of her jaw before moving to brush against the softness of her own mouth and her breath stuttered, lips parting just slightly at the press of those fingers that she can’t stop thinking about so close to her mouth.

“You have the loveliest mouth.” Cressida said this almost in a whisper too, the blue of her eyes dilating slightly as she watched her own fingertips, watched her mouth. Eloise’s lungs burned with the effort to not pant for air. “Your lips are… so soft.” She said it with so much wonder and bent down over her just barely a fraction more that Eloise thought she might kiss her.

She felt that ache, strong and powerful brush through her like a storm and curled her own hands into Cressida’s skirt, feeling terrified, feeling like she might die if Cressida didn’t kiss her. She had never in her life wanted to kiss anyone, the last time someone had even tried… Theo, she had jerked from it so fast that the moment had awkwardly fizzled in the air, no where for such pressure to go.

Now, she felt under a spell, she felt parched even, like she might cry if Cressida doesn’t close the gap, if she cannot feel the tongue she had watched all summer chase food off fingertips. She throbbed with the want of it.

But Cressida did not kiss her. She blinked and blinked several times before she had sat up so she was no longer invading so much of her space and even though Eloise could pull breath in easier she still felt colder for it, her hands still held onto Cressida’s skirt tightly, begging her to not go and leave her without her taste.

Her fingers continued even though she did not give her what she wanted. “You have such a slender neck and this vein.” Fingers press against the side of it, a vein that’s not even noticeable in her current position but Cressida knows it’s there. “It is so…” Cressida’s voice is low and shaky, her hips twitch above her and Eloise’s ache feels painful, a wetness between her legs that’s making her feel irrational.

“There is not a star in the sky that can compare to you.” Cressida says with more conviction after the wandering of her hands. They brush across the skin of her collarbone peaking from her own dress and then down her chest, just grazing past a nipple buried below fabric but Eloise has to bite her lip to keep from whimpering anyway. “You must believe me, as I’ve just cited by sources.” And Cressida’s mouth tips up in a teasing grin then, head tilting to the side with her lovely hair cascading over her shoulder and moonlight making her look so good.

Eloise ached and she felt a fool because she had never once in her life considered that she was capable of this feeling. She had chased it away from her at every turn and even the mere thought of it, she bit at it like a snake, wishing it to truly leave her alone forever. She had not realized how consuming and how welcoming of a feeling it could be when the source of it was a woman, especially one so undeniably beautiful.

She had lost the battle even as Cressida had climbed off of her and helped her up, giggling at the way her own legs seemed to shake. She had to bite down on her own tongue not to call out and beg her to stay with her, a most inappropriate offer, just as them sneaking out for private lunches and private night time star gazing was also not entirely appropriate.

She had rushed into her room with barely a hello to her passing siblings and had ordered her lady’s maid to leave her alone and she lost the battle, she lost it spectacularly with the memory of Cressida’s breath on her cheek and her fingertips pressed to her mouth and she whimpered through a much denied release, her first one ever into her own pillows, with wet fingers and a guilty conscience.

And that guilt started to make her a terrible friend because her attraction for Cressida and her obsession with her hands only seemed to dim upon the arrival of the season, upon the face of her former best friend and her hurt expression as she walked away from her, arm and arm with an fancily done-up Cressida.

She allowed her mind to be consumed by Penelope even more than it already would because it was the only thing that interrupted her dreams, that distracted her from the want. It felt as if she was in a constant losing battle of want and pain. Cressida’s soft laughter and gentle touches and her fingers that would brush against her own or through her hair would be far less distracting if she made her the villain that she once thought her to be.

Maybe that is why she had been so hasty with her accusations of cruelty, maybe that was why she was chasing her away even when she was running right toward her. She wanted her, in a way that she couldn’t even explain to herself, and yet she also wanted her best friend, who she so desperately wished she could talk to this about, talk of this discovery of herself, tell her of how afraid she is because of it.

But she can’t talk to anyone about it. She can’t talk to anyone and being around Penelope hurts so sharply and deeply that it makes her feel just as irrational as running into Cressida’s arms to be comforted from it and being reminded of how beautiful she is and how she has been aching for her in a way that was surely meant she was going straight to hell.

So yes, she’s loose with her words, she’s distracted, she does the wrong thing, always on the wrong track and then she’s left with the painful reality that she’s a total disappointment to everyone. A disappointing friend, a disappointing daughter, a disappointing sister. But she can at least apologize for being so. She can at least own it, she can at least consider Cressida’s words as she spoke them and properly listen.

So, she starts with Penelope.

Her nerves and emotions were still shot after meeting with her former best friend. She was aware of that; in some sort of misguided way, she had thought it would be a good idea to own up to her recent mistakes all at once. She’d stop by Penelope’s, she’d apologize for what she hadn’t meant to do in revealing her secret of conspiring with Colin’s help to find a husband, and then she’d see Cressida and she’d apologize again, for blaming her for something that she, herself, had done unknowingly.

She’d own these mistakes and her distractedness, and she’d not allow her heartbreak for Penelope to derail her and not allow her affections for Cressida to distract her either. She’d be a better friend, a better person if she could.

But… well…

Penelope and her ability to knock her off balance, even just by existing, was something she should be better at anticipating by now. She was already feeling extremely drained and on edge and she hadn’t even gotten to her second apology yet, a most important apology that was going to require all of her energy. She was also afraid, nervous even, that Cressida would have decided to not even meet her after she cruelly accused her of spreading information around that she had actually kept private, that of course she would keep private. She shouldn’t have done that, of course. She should know by now that, despite Cressida’s penchant for cruelty in the past, she hadn’t shown Eloise a lick of it since their friendship began.

If she had been thinking with a clearer head and not one full of such a complicated mix of emotions, she would have thought about how lovely Cressida had been all summer really, how they had already shared secrets that Cressida uttered to no one, how Cressida had shared herself openly with her with the same kind of trust. She would have considered that just because the season was underway, it didn’t mean that her attraction would vanish, it didn’t mean that Cressida would ever again be the bully in her head that she had been before. She couldn’t make her that, it would never work, she was a fool yet again.

She felt her anxieties about the meeting lessen only slightly when she made it to the ice cream parlor and saw Cressida standing inside of it. She was chatting with another debutante, someone Eloise didn’t really recognize and could hardly care to pay much attention too, though Cressida looked a bit bored with the conversation. Her hair was a bit tamer today, but still fancily done up as she imagines her mother wouldn’t let her leave the house in anything less than the highest fashion in case she might meet a man all of the sudden.

The thought wasn’t helping ease her soured and anxious mood, then again, thinking about Cressida and men in the same sentence always set her teeth on edge, a unhelpful reminder of the swirling thought she had most of the summer where she had wished to be her brothers so that she might have what she wants so desperately.

She would marry Cressida if she were a man, she doesn’t understand how nobody actually had yet. Though Cressida had given her plenty a theory about how she feels they can sense she doesn’t want to be married. But Eloise had convinced her that couldn’t be it because men didn’t care if a woman wanted to be married or not. And then Eloise had said, it’s probably her father and his sour face which had made her laugh so brightly that Eloise had promised herself that she’d chase such a sound for the rest of the summer, maybe for the rest of time if she could.

Now she was facing the glass, a bored looking Cressida, and the reality that she did chase the sound, but in the wrong direction. She forced it to vanish with her assumptions, with her own guilty conscious. Instead of making Cressida laugh, she made her feel misunderstood… invisible, as anyone else would.

She swallowed around the bitter taste of her own regret and shook her head right as Cressida turned as if she was able to sense her, their eyes meeting through glass, and she felt her chest tighten. There wasn’t a warmth in her gaze, but it wasn’t super cold either, just… guarded and she really wanted to fix that, so she swallowed the rest of her nerves and tugged the door open. “Cressida, you came!” She greeted far too cheerily for her own somber thoughts and for the admittedly strained space between them.

Cressida hardly smiled. “Of course.” She said too politely, and the distance already was turning Eloise’s stomach. She deserved it of course; she had been the cruel one. Hadn’t Cressida spent all summer proving she was more than just a mean girl performing for men? Hadn’t she proved that she was a great friend, a protective one, a good listener? Yes, the only thing she hadn’t proven was that she felt the same sinful thoughts that Eloise did, and she couldn’t be punished for that.

“Hi, Miss Eloise!” The young debutante that Eloise honestly can’t remember the name of smiles at her so wide her face could split, which surprises Eloise, and she just blinks at her a moment.

“Hi.” Eloise offers back with a friendly bow of her head and watches the girl blush.

“I was just speaking with Cressida about what a fine day it is for ice cream!” She’s overly excitable and Eloise glances at Cressida who has only grown stiffer and is now glaring at the girl like she’d like to set her on fire, which cannot be good for the signs of Cressida’s mood and how her apology might go over.

“Yes, it truly is.” She says politely, glancing back at the bubbly, overly blushing girl who seemed over the moon at conversation with her. “If you’ll excuse us, Cressida and I were just going to order some and go for a walk.”

“Oh, of course!” The girl, who seems to blush even deeper, steps out of their way and Eloise is surprised when her arm is suddenly gripped, sure that Cressida wouldn’t want to be touching her right now. The grab is a bit hard though as she kind of forces them to propel forward past the girl so that they can order.

Eloise wants to speak and apologize already but she also wanted Cressida to know she was genuinely sorry and that she understood her, so she held her tongue from engaging in any deep confessions of regret while in the middle of the ice cream parlor that was a bit overcrowded. The girl was still smiling at Eloise like waiting for an invitation, but she didn’t offer one, instead she let Cressida order for the both of them, listened to her clipped tone and felt the dread in her stomach increase.

She wasn’t in the mood for this, why would she be?

Only when they were offered their ice cream did Cressida actually let go of her arm that she had been holding onto far too tightly. Though, Eloise finds that even with the slight ache of her hold she didn’t mind it much. It made her feel a little less afraid that she wouldn’t be forgiven if Cressida was so willing to grab onto her.

Without that touch that same comfort swirls out of her head faster than she can catch it and her hands shake as she takes the container and the spoon she’s offered. “You wanted to walk?” Cressida asks, that distance still in her eyes, tone still rather clipped.

Well, Eloise supposes she deserves this, it not being easy. “Yes, if you would like to as well, or we can sit?” She gives Cressida her softest most pleading look, hoping to thaw her a bit. She thinks she sees it working but Cressida glances at the overly friendly girl still watching them and she slips right back into the ice.

“Let us walk.” She answers, jaw clenching and then she’s leaving Eloise behind, not even looking to see if she follows.

She wills her hands to stop shaking around the container and blows out a nervous breath before moving as quickly and as gracefully as she can manage to follow her out of the parlor. She’s thankful that Cressida did wait for her to leave the parlor before she started walking again, as if determined to get as far away from the shop as possible.

They walk in silence for some time until Cressida is winding down a rather private path, off the eyes of the main street, not quite close enough to the park yet. Rushing water and shady trees greet them and it’s much too lovely a place for the storm of emotions swirling inside of Eloise’s gut. “Are we to walk in silence?” Cressida asks shortly the deeper they get into the path. She hasn’t touched her ice cream the same way Eloise hadn’t touched her own. Her pace is still a little too fast for a leisure stroll and Eloise’s anxiety feels like it might choke her.

So she bites the bullet now, since they are rather alone and precariously holds her container in her right hand while shooting her left out to grab delicately at Cressida’s elbow and pull her to stop. The feel of her skin under her own touch always makes her feel a bit livelier, a bit more hopeful, even if it swirls the pang of want in her chest sharply. It works kind of like magic really, Eloise’s touch instantly stills her, she doesn’t even have to tug and then Eloise is drowning in very blue eyes, distant… and scared?

Yes, they’re scared. That makes Eloise swallow. “I’m sorry.” She says finally, feeling the weight of the apology lift from her chest immediately. “I was worried, truthfully, that you would not meet me and allow me to apologize for my behavior the other day.” Elosie swallows past her own nerves, trails her thumb across the smooth skin of Cressida’s elbow, not quite willing to remove her touch.

She liked touching Cressida like this, really, she’s always been an affectionate friend. She’s grown up in a house full of affection, she doesn’t mind expressing it, but since the beginnings of her friendship with Cressida there is a certain level of touch that Eloise finds herself chasing with her that she didn’t much experience with anyone else. A sort of exhilarating buzz between them at the brush of fingertips. That feeling does nothing for the guilt and the want that makes Eloise lie awake at night, but it’s still pleasant, still a warmth between them that she doesn’t wish to go away.

She couldn’t stop herself from seeking the feeling out quite often even if she knew on a logical level that she should be far more reserved, since she desires Cressida and touching her and being touched by her in a way that is most inappropriate, most sinful. “You are sorry?” Cressida asks carefully, but it’s not an accusatory tone. It seems… soft and wondering, like she couldn’t imagine Eloise apologizing to her.

She doesn’t know why, but that doesn’t make her feel too good either. “Of course, I, you were right, I was cruel and unreasonable to you when you’ve been nothing but lovely, a good friend even. Allowing my hurt to cloud my judgement and taking it out on you was unfair of me.” She feels her heart stutter a bit when Cressida’s body turns more toward her, keeping her elbow in Eloise’s hold.

“Eloise.” Cressida sighs, as if a bit winded, and then is pulling her elbow from Eloise’s hold, her touch falling away. She doesn’t like the detachment, she wishes for their skin to still be making contact, but she follows Cressida’s lead, as it’s her forgiveness she is seeking. “If I am honest, I thought you to end our friendship today.” She blinks several times, as if fighting emotion and won’t meet Eloise’s eyes.

The confession shocks her. “End- but I’m- why?” She blurts ineloquently, feeling all her normal words carry right out of her head as she watches Cressida’s fiddle with the container in her hands, ice cream already starting to melt down the sides of it. Vanilla spilling onto delicately long fingertips in a somewhat distracting way which makes Cressida sigh down at the treat with frustration.

Eloise tries valiantly to not stare after ice cream touching soft skin, trailing down long fingers to the knuckle. It is so distracting. “I thought, maybe you would have thought me too harsh for the way I might have defended myself. I am truthfully not sure; I’ve never quite had a fight with a friend and had them apologize to me for it.” Cressida gives her a somewhat sheepish smile, her fingers twitching uncomfortably from the cold of the ice cream as it trails down her fingers.

Eloise watches it too closely; glad her mind is at least staying present enough to understand even if her eyes won’t follow such a lead. “Well… you’ve not had many good friends then.” Eloise says with a sudden fierce protectiveness. “You were not harsh, you were honest, as you should have been. As I would expect you to be when I wrong you.” She looks at Cressida’s face now, forcing her gaze off sticky and twitching fingers, but Cressida seems too distracted by the stickiness of ice cream to really hear her properly.

A huff escapes her, uncharacteristic and indelicate. “We should have brought something to wipe our hands with if we were going to talk until the ice cream melted.” Her tone has lightened a lot actually, there’s even an ease to her shoulders that hadn’t been there before they had started speaking. “We should sit, perhaps over there.” While Cressida is gesturing with the hand the container lies in, her other hand, with vanilla dripping down fingertips raises to her mouth.

It takes only a second before something very strange happens to Eloise’s brain, an amplified version of all the times the very same thing happened over the summer. It’s like wind in her ears really, her vision narrowed and focused and completely out of her control, yes, everything about her feels out of control. Suddenly there is nothing else in the world more interesting than Cressida’s tongue brushing against her own fingers she had brought to her mouth, cleaning them of the melted vanilla.

The swoop of her own stomach and a surprising pang between her own legs causes her to drop her own container with the surprise and force of the emotion, matching the intensity of the last night of summer with Cressida’s wandering hands. Such an ache that she had been stomping on since returning to town comes back in full force, as if the withdrawal of not acknowledging it forced it to become stronger.

She had thought she gained control of it but really this is when she knows she’s just been distracted by being so close to Penelope again without really being close to her at all. This very confusing want that Cressida had caused her over the months of their friendship pounds through her with a vengeance, with an anger at the audacity of Eloise even trying to ignore it as if she didn’t spend weeks trying to control the scary pit of it at all. She’s not even sure what she wants really, just that… that…

“Your ice cream!” Cressida says with such sorrow that it should amuse her, it should do enough to distract her from the way she’s suddenly aching, eyes trailing after fingers that have left that gorgeous mouth to gesture at the fallen treat.

She still feels clouded, almost dazed with it all. “It is alright.” She says, entranced.

“We should go back; we can buy you another and-”

“That is not necessary, let’s sit as you suggested. I, truthfully, am not very hungry anyway.” Eloise tries to control the rasp suddenly in her voice, but her hands shake when Cressida seems to nod her acquiescence, shifting the container with melting vanilla into the hand she had just had at her mouth on so that she can repeat the process with the melted treat and ruin Eloise’s entire life apparently.

A soft noise of protest escapes her before she can control it as Cressida is brushing her own thumb into her mouth and sucking the ice cream off. She can feel the flush of the action in her own cheeks, her eyes hyper focused on her mouth, on her hand at her mouth, her long fingers and…

“Eloise?”

“Yes?” She jerks, feeling as if she can’t get any air whatsoever, wishing she had brought a fan for once, but she never carried them. A rule she’s willing to break as a lady while she stares after another rule she’s unwilling to break as one.

“Here, you look flushed. Are you feeling alright?” Cressida, lovely Cressida, pulls her own fan from somewhere on the side of her skirt and hands it over to her, a fluffy pink thing she’d never be caught dead with in any other circumstance.

She hardly thinks about that now as she starts to wave the thing against her burning face. “I’m quite alright.” She lies. “Sit, let’s sit.” She rushes past Cressida then so that she might save herself from having to watch her trail her tongue against her fingertips again. The sooner she gets that treat gone the sooner Eloise might be able to return to normal and then home.

She falls into the grass rather unceremoniously for a lady and presses her legs together in an attempt to relieve the pain of the ache, maybe stabilize the sudden throbbing and desire for touch. Cressida giggles after her, as if she was doing something funny and not presently fighting for her life, at least, she felt as if she was fighting for her life.

Even if Eloise preferred Cressida’s hair down, the fancy updo did nothing to hide the beautiful features of her face, the secret warmth behind her eyes, the softness of her hair that Eloise knows is silky when it slips between her fingertips, nearly losing herself in the memory of Cressida’s head resting on her thigh while she had read, with one hand coasting through the strands which had coaxed her into a nap.

“Are you sure you are alright?” Cressida asks as she sits next to her in the grass with far more grace. She doesn’t spill her ice-cream even though her fingertips are covered in the melted treat again. “My mother will kill me for this.” Cressida says somewhat under her breath.

“You forgive me?” Eloise finally asks, trying to force her brain back on track and praying to god that Cressida will not bring delicate fingers back to her own mouth anytime soon lest Eloise lose her sanity entirely and reach for her like the crazed lustful animal she’s feeling that she’s turned into since the summer.

“Eloise,” Cressida says her name so softly, so pretty. Her heart stutters even as it races with her desperate want. “I forgave you the moment we parted.” Cressida says it with more charm than she necessarily realizes. It’s just her being genuine and honest and that curls the want even deeper in her belly.

She nearly curses out loud at herself. Is she attracted to everything Cressida does? “You must learn to hold a grudge at least until you get an apology.” She forces herself to scold, her tone still rough.

“I will remember that for next time darling, here.” Cressida slides across the grass, which really is not a good idea, she should not sit so close, close enough for that rosy perfume smell to invade the rest of Eloise’s cognitive functions. “Let me share.” Why must she be like this? Because now in what must be an effort to kill Eloise before she sees the age of twenty, she’s picked up the spoon, scooping into slightly melted ice cream and offering it to Eloise and why does she simply go along with such an action, opening her mouth and allowing the cold liquid to bloom on her tongue.

Cressida’s eyes darkened then as she seems to watch her mouth curve around the very spoon she offered. She means to say anything to take that look off her face too, lest it give her hope that she’s not the only one drowning in sin, but she doesn’t swallow vanilla fast enough even as the spoon leaves her mouth and then she’s left to watch as Cressida takes that same spoon and dips it into her ice cream before bringing it to her own mouth.

A soft whimper escapes her then, an audible one that embarrasses her straight to the bone because Cressida hears it. Pulling the spoon from her own mouth as she jerks her head to look her over and Eloise has to force her eyes to look anywhere and at anything else, a hot flush chasing it’s way up her neck and into her cheeks. “Eloise,” There are sticky fingers at her chin and then she’s suddenly being directed to look into dilated blue eyes and her lips part with the shakiness of her own breath. “You do not look alright.” Cressida removes her fingers upon realizing they’re a mess and then, because she must secretly hate Eloise, she’s licking ice cream off of them again.

Eloise can feel her pulse spike immediately, the answering throb making her adjust in the grass and lean toward Cressida like she’s some shining light in darkness. “Cress-” She cuts herself off, her tone so low and hoarse that she’s bound to give her and her perverse thoughts away and then Cressida will find her disgusting and never wish to be near her again and she’ll be alone and still sufferingly full of want.

Cressida wipes her hand on her skirt as she meets her eyes again. She doesn’t know what look she finds on Eloise’s face, she’s sure she can’t mask all of the aching emotions that well inside of her chest, but it must be something she is unable to ignore because her eyes start to scour every feature suddenly, a delicate furrow to light eyebrows. “Oh.” And that oh rings in her ears so loudly that the fear starts to distract her from all her wanting.

“Um-”

“Eloise, may I tell you a secret?” And then she’s dipping the spoon into the ice cream again and bringing it back to Eloise’s mouth. She had not expected her to ask that, she had expected an accusation about Eloise’s new and obvious curiosities. Or maybe she even expected her to get up and sprint far away from her, tell all of the ton how weird Eloise Bridgerton truly is.

She does none of that of course, and Eloise really should give her more credit before she’s making another foolish accusation and regretting it later. “Yes.” She says breathlessly, allowing Cressida to feed her the cold ice cream.

She welcomes the coolness, for her mouth and throat feel entirely too dry. “I have already been ruined.” This makes Eloise choke on the cold treat, her own hand going to her chest to press against the assault to her lungs, the other hand is still holding Cressida’s fluffy pink fan.

“What?”

“It is not in the way that you might think.” Cressida is blushing, and shy, eyelashes fluttering as she swirls her spoon back into vanilla.

“W-when?” Eloise coughs a bit more, trying to recover, a damper on her own want at the thought of someone touching Cressida that isn’t her, some faceless man with his hands and his mouth anywhere near what is so very precious and soft looking.

“It was several years ago, before my debut.” Cressida brings some ice cream to her own mouth and Eloise watches her closely. “The last time I ever had a true friend.” Cressida brushes ice cream off the corner of her mouth with her free thumb and then, because Cressida definitely has a vendetta against her, brushes that thumb into her mouth briefly. “I am not allowed friends, not allowed to be friends with men because of society, not allowed to be friends with women… because of my curiosities.”

Eloise perks up at this. “What do you mean?”

“You must promise you are not going to hate me.” Cressida eyes her warily, even if she also thoroughly examined her face and seems to soften immediately at what she finds there.

“I could never hate you, I will never hate you.” Eloise says with more determination than she knew she had. “You never have to worry of that about me, Cressida.” She reaches with her own hand to grab at Cressida’s hand, a determination for her to understand deep in her chest.

“I have never desired men.” Cressida whispers softly, her hand turns to squeeze Eloise’s back when it presses down on her own. “You know this as I have said as such this summer. What you do not know, is that I will never desire a man because it is not men that I have affections for…” Cressida’s eyes search her own and then she’s reaching up with her free hand, ice cream resting in her lap, brushing it against Eloise’s cheek. “Are you like me?” She asks, almost so vulnerable that it makes Eloise want to cry.

Scared, she looks afraid again.

“How do you mean?” She asks stupidly but Cressida doesn’t shy away from her, just brushes those long fingers that Eloise is obsessed with down her cheek, soft and gentle.

“You know how I mean, you are looking at me with it.” She says it knowingly, but it doesn’t take the fear from her eyes, the terror at speaking such things out loud. Eloise blinks at her, her breath stuttering with her own nerves and misses Cressida’s comforting touch on her cheek when it falls away and into the grass below them. “At least, I think you are.” Her voice mumbles insecurely. “I thought, perhaps you did during the summer too but truthfully, I was too afraid to ask. And then, when we got back to the city, you’ve been distant. I figured, maybe I was wrong.” Cressida’s fingers twitch against her own that Eloise is still holding. “But now…” Their eyes meet again, and she feels like all the want in her chest is reflecting back at her. “You look at me as if you desire me and I do so want you to desire me.”

Eloise swallows and cuts her gaze back down to watch their entwined hands. “I do.” She admits quietly, almost too quiet to hear but not. Loud enough still. She’s even more afraid as she admits it, as she gives voice to it, it doesn’t ease any of the guilt or the plight, she’s terrified.

“You do?” Cressida says with a soft tone of wonder. “Truly?”

Eloise looks back up and drowns in the soft blue of her eyes again. She nods her head but doesn’t speak it again, still afraid of even the sound of it. Cressida’s eyes crinkle with her smile and Eloise’s heart pangs with warmth. “I wanted to kiss you.” She finds herself saying and then blinks rapidly because she had not even realized her mouth was moving. “I wanted to kiss you so many times over the summer. The first time you let me see you with your hair down.” She swallows around a nervous lump in her throat and adjusts in the grass so that she can lean over and remove the ice cream from Cressida’s lap, placing it beside her, out of the way, instead. She drops Cressida’s fluffy fan in the grass as well. “I wanted to kiss you so badly that last night when we were looking at the stars, did you want to kiss me?” She asks it full of hope, but there is only one answer in the soft blue of the eyes that gaze back into her own and it eases all of Eloise’s fears.

“I want to kiss you all the time.” Cressida mumbles, so quiet like she wishes it to be only for Eloise’s ears, like she wishes to keep a secret for just them even from the wind.

“I have never kissed anyone before, never even wanted too.” Eloise is already entering Cressida’s space which seems reckless as hell considering that, private or not, they are still outside and fully capable of being caught together. She presses hands into grass around Cressida’s waist, hearing Cressida’s breath catch as her own brushes up against her mouth.

“We should not.” Cressida says with disappointment dripping in her tone. It stops Eloise’s descent toward her mouth, the same disappointment filtering it’s way through her chest and apparently in her face because Cressida’s features soften as she gazes at her. “We cannot be together.” She says it like it’s painful.

It feels extremely painful. “But you do wish to kiss me? You do return my affections?” She asks, a worry of over stepping clawing its way up her throat. A worry that she had been misreading and even mishearing everything that was being said to her.

“Oh, Eloise you have no idea. I have-” Cressida blushes then, swallows nervously herself and cuts their gazes off each other. “You have only just noticed me, but I have been noticing you for much longer.” She whispers that too.

“So let me kiss you.” She reasons and smiles softly when Cressida turns her head back up to meet her eyes. “So we cannot be together, and you must marry, but should that mean we shan’t have a bit of a dalliance?” Eloise says lightly and watches the laugh as it escapes Cressida as much as she listens to it.

“I do not wish to be a dalliance.” She says with amusement swirling in the kindness of her eyes.

She moves one hand from the grass near Cressida’s waist and grabs Cressida’s hand. “You wouldn’t be.” She squeezes Cressida’s fingers then. “I will always be your friend, a friend who wishes to kiss you, but a friend, a true real friend, nonetheless. I will always be here.” She makes a promise she knows she can keep, or at least, she’s sure she can keep. She can’t see wanting a life without Cressida now that she’s sparkled her way into it.

Cressida’s eyes are watering when she properly looks back into them. “Do you mean that?” It’s Eloise’s turn to reach up and brush her fingers against a warm cheek.

“Yes, of course I do.” She makes sure her tone holds all the conviction she feels for her own statement so that Cressida might believe her without any doubts.

“I suppose a kiss would not harm anything then.” Cressida says with a lightness to her tone that doesn’t quite match the water swirling in her eyes that she refuses to let fall.

“Forgive me if I do not live up to your previous experiences.” Eloise says as mainly a joke but somewhat truthfully, leaning toward Cressida more fully.

“Eloise.” She says, breath puffing against Eloise’s mouth. “Darling, you are the entire experience.” She whimpers it softly right before Eloise kisses her. She doesn’t entirely know what she’s doing, if she’s honest, but she follows Cressida’s lead and moves against the softness of her lips, a warmth traveling through her that can’t match a single daydream at the soft wet brush of Cressida’s mouth against her own.

It is so slow and sweet at first, she isn’t sure what happens, but there’s a shift in the way Cressida moves, her arm moving around Eloise’s waist to pull her into her lap, Eloise’s knees knocking slightly into the grass, both her hands moving to Cressida’s jaw, freeing Cressida’s other hand to latch onto her waist. Cressida’s tongue brushing hotly against her lower lip in a way that immediately makes her whimper.

From there, slow leaves them, instead it is replaced by a hunger that Eloise hadn’t known truly existed. She knew of her want, she knew of what it felt like to chase that want with her own hand. She did not know what it meant to have that want reciprocated in the brush of lips, in the desperation of Cressida’s tongue slipping into her mouth as her lips had parted on her whimper.

She feels her tongue brush against her own and she’s whimpering again, her hips moving, the touch of Cressida’s mouth and tongue traveling through her like molten lava and settling in the throb between her legs that had started earlier. Her own hands moved from Cressida’s jaw to her perfectly styled up-do, mind clouded with her own aching and wanting, that she chases the need to feel the silky strands of her hair between her fingers as she’s learning to greet Cressida’s tongue with her own.

She dreadfully only parts from Cressida’s mouth to gasp in large breaths of air, her lungs burning so aggressively she’s unable to ignore them. Cressida gasps too but her lips don’t stop moving against her, they travel across her cheek, her jaw, down her neck and Eloise feels her hips twitch desperately into Cressida’s at the graze of her teeth under her earlobe, another whimper escaping her, that heavy wetness she had experienced any time she thought of Cressida and her perfect hands feeling unbearable it almost makes her crazy, almost has her reaching down to touch right in Cressida’s lap.

She can maintain some control however and simply grinds into the weight below her, even if the several layers of fabric hinder it from bringing her the pleasure her hand has been able too when she touches below all of it. “I have wanted you for so long.” Cressida mumbles as she grazes teeth against her pulse point and Eloise moans softly.

“Cressida,” the whine escapes her throat before she can stop it, like a plea to finally help her with all of this throbbing and aching and desperation she’s been feeling since summer, since soft hair and simple dresses and long delicate fingers. The sound of Cressida’s name seems to do the opposite of what Eloise wants though because she’s pulling her hot mouth away from the skin of her throat and instead backs up enough to look at her.

“What is it?” She looks a bit worried actually and it almost makes Eloise laugh, it would make Eloise laugh if she wasn’t so full of want.

Instead of laughing or thinking logically she just says. “Please keep touching me.” And then she kisses her again, wanton and desperate. It rips such a pretty noise from Cressida’s throat as she bends to the will of Eloise’s mouth, Cressida’s hands tightening around her waist as Eloise’s hips press into her again, looking for something, for any kind of friction she might be able to get.

She can’t find it but chases her frustration by kissing Cressida harder, pressing her own tongue against hers, tugging at her hair. Anything to keep them locked like this forever if she can have it. She despises lungs because Cressida breaks from her gasping again, breathing heavily and Eloise rests her forehead against hers and tries to think clearly but she just can’t.

Not thinking clearly leads her to grabbing a hand at her waist, prying the death grip off so that she might take it in her own. “Please, stop me if-” She swallows nervously, a prisoner to her own lust. Cressida looks on at her curiously, letting her hand be guided until she seems to understand what’s happening just as Eloise is pushing it under her skirt.

“Are you sure?” Cressida asks with wonder but with no less of a hungry look than Eloise feels.

“Please, please.” She feels half crazed, like she might die if Cressida doesn’t touch her, if Cressida denies her. Of course, she won’t die, but she will be running home as fast as she possibly can. “If you want too.” She tacks on and watches Cressida’s eyes get darker.

“Have I made you ache for me?” Cressida asks with a quirked eyebrow, but it doesn’t seem so much like a genuine question as it does a sudden controlled confidence, a hunger swirling in her eyes that Eloise can feel between her legs.

She nods and releases Cressida hand to free it to move as it pleases under her skirt. “All summer.” She tells her. “All summer, Cressida please.”

“I can take care of that for you, darling.” Cressida says softly, almost too affectionate for how her hand trails across the inside of her thigh, making Eloise nearly cry out though she bites down on her tongue hard enough to hold it in. “Have you ever?”

She nods her head. “The stars.” She begs her heart to slow so that she might be able to form a more coherent sentence, but it is extremely difficult with Cressida’s long fingers pressing against the soft skin of her thigh. “The night by the stars.”

Cressida smiles at her then. “Good.” And it looks so mischievous, like she had planned it. Eloise wants to be mad about that, but she doesn’t really get the chance. “I did too, I touched myself how I wanted to touch you that night.” Eloise releases a whimper when she feels fingers press against the damp cloth between her legs, knowing Cressida is bound to find her in such a state. “Would you like me to touch you how I touched myself?”

She nods rapidly before she can even get a word out. When she does speak, it’s with another “please” that cracks hoarsely in her dry throat. Cressida pushes her hand into the wet cloth of her undergarments and Eloise cries out before she can stop it right as Cressida’s breath is catching as her fingers press against wet flesh, they dance right against the heat of her, taking all of Eloise’s desire and wanting between her fingertips.

“Oh, you are so wet.” Cressida’s voice of wonder is back again. “Eloise.” She sounds almost emotional and then is kissing Eloise, probably to quiet her as her long fingers explore all the warmth and puffiness of a place she had only just learned to touch herself, and was sure she’d never let anyone else touch. “I must have you again.” Cressida whispers aggressively against her mouth before that mouth trails across her jaw and down her neck again.

Eloise means to tease her, means to tell her she hasn’t even had her the first time yet, but she doesn’t get the chance to let such a tease out before fingertips found that place that she found the last time she touched with her own hand and then she keening into the swirl of those fingertips and whimpering loudly, collapsing against Cressida and burying her face in her shoulder while her hips chase the movement. “Does that feel good, baby?” Cressida whispers into her ear and she nods against her shoulder, feeling the sparks of pleasure shoot through her veins, a fire she had only just gotten to know burning hotter than she had experienced with her own hand.

She makes to talk but Cressida’s fingers feel too good and so she just holds on and whimpers when Cressida speeds the pattern up, feeling her kiss against the shell of her ear before she’s pressing her lips there to whisper into it again. “I want to be inside of you.” Eloise tries to clear her thoughts, even with gentle fingertips persistently swirling against the throbbing place of her clit.

Her hips twitch meeting the movements even as they slow. “I didn’t do that.” She swallows nervously. She remembers being in her bed in only her nightgown, she remembers spreading her legs and dipping her fingers into wetness and chasing it up to the hard throb of her own clit, brushing against it roughly and muffling her pleasure into her own pillow, but she hadn’t pressed inside of herself, she had been too afraid to do that.

“I can go slow, unless you don’t want me too.” Her fingers stop swirling so persistently, pale eyebrows knitting together carefully, watching every feature on Eloise’s face with such care and attentiveness.

Eloise blushes far beyond the aroused flush that is already there. “I want you too.” She says because she does. Because it had been one of her fantasies when she succumbed to touching, of letting Cressida’s long fingers touch her anywhere and everywhere, of having those hands that she can’t get out of her head slipping deep inside of her and claiming something she had thought to never give up.

“You’re so wet.” Cressida says with a happy sigh. “I am sure it won’t hurt.”

“Is it supposed to hurt?” Eloise asks a bit scared, even as Cressida’s fingers swirl again and her hips start twitching to meet the movement. She whines when Cressida’s long fingers move off her clit to slip through the length of her, exploratory again.

“I think it will be okay, but you may tell me to stop any time.” She can feel her fingers pressing at her entrance and she wants it so badly she nearly starts begging, trapping her own lip between her teeth to keep her from doing so.

“This is how you touched yourself?” She asked breathlessly, and then whimpers softly when she feels the press of a long finger slipping inside of her, moving easily and quite deeply. She clings to it, squeezing the intruding digit, tipping her own hips forward to guide her in as far as her finger can go.

“Yes. Many of the summer nights.” Cressida whispers honestly and curls her finger upward in a motion the steals Eloise’s breath. “You are so tight, I am not hurting you?” She asks carefully though her voice sounds strained, like she might be hanging on to as many loose threads as Eloise is.

She shakes her head. “Feels…” She moans softly when Cressida curls her finger carefully up against her front wall. “So good.” She admits. “You thought of me?” She asks gripping one shoulder and tangling her hand back into a lopsided up-do she’s already messed up. Cressida would not be too happy about that later.

“Every time.” Cressida says breathlessly, that look of wonder crossing her face. “You feel so good inside.” Cressida pulls her finger back to send it carefully back in, a shallow soft thrust that ends with a curl of her finger and it makes Eloise moan loud enough to possibly scare off a bird. “Oh, you sound so good too.” Cressida’s voice of wonder grows and then her thrusting finds a pattern that Eloise’s hips are greedy to meet, her body chasing a high she has been wanting at the hands of Cressida for many, many months. “I wanted you like this since the first day we ever spoke.” Cressida’s voice is low and soft and full of that same hunger she can see in her eyes.

Eloise snorts out a noise of disbelief until she gets caught on a whimper, choking down a deep sound of her own pleasure when Cressida is stretching her with a second finger, equally as long, equally as perfect. Both curl inward and she is losing control of herself again. She presses her own hand against her mouth, noises she’s never made before working themselves out through her throat as her own hips rush to meet every upward thrust of Cressida’s fingers. Cressida watches her like she had that night under the stars and she struggles to keep her own eyes open so she can see it, so that she can gaze upon the look of utter devotion on Cressida’s face and sit with it in her chest while her fingers press up inside of her and send sparks through her veins.

She’s clamping down tightly on the long beautiful fingers inside of her, knowing she’s going to be thinking about them for the rest of her life, sure she’s about to fall off a cliff she can’t come back from when Cressida adjusts her hand just right so she can trail her thumb up and press against her neglected clit. “Are you going to come apart for me?” Cressida asks but it doesn’t seem like a real question, it seems like something she already knows the answer too, a bit of a smugness there even that shouldn’t be as attractive as it is, but god it is.

Eloise nods behind her hand, tightening around the fingers inside of her, sloppily chasing the motion of the thumb on her clit, moaning into her own palm with her vision feeling fuzzy and limbs starting to tingle, that warmth she had felt that first time, amplified to be so much hotter than it had before starting to rush through her veins.

She feels like the very fabric of her being might be falling apart as Cressida tugs her hand away from her mouth, whimpers and desperate sounds escaping her right before Cressida is tugging on the back of her neck and bringing their mouths together, the touch of her tongue, the brush of her thumb and the last upward thrust of long fingers and Eloise is spiraling into an abyss she didn’t know existed.

She clutching to any piece of skin and fabric she can hold onto with her hands, letting Cressida’s tongue brush into her mouth to muffle her moaning as she shakes and tenses against her. She feels possessed, lost in a cloud of pleasure she can’t even open her eyes from, incoherently muttering out Cressida’s name as she’s collapsing against her shoulder again. She clings to her, desperate for an anchor as long fingers press inside of her and swirl against her clit to keep her floating away with no way down.

She doesn’t know when she actually comes back down, or how long she was lost for, she does know that she can feel long fingers slip out of her and her whimper of disappointment and being empty is the first sound she’s consciously aware of making in a long time. “You are so pretty when you come.” Cressida mumbles openly, like it’s not a big deal at all to say stuff like that and Eloise tiredly pulls herself from her shoulder to scold her about it but feels her body twitch as she watches Cressida brushing wet fingers into her mouth, she sucks on them with closed eyes, moaning softly and Eloise can feel an answering throb in her center which surprises her.

“Oh, you are going to kill me.” Eloise says with a bit of frustration, reaching for Cressida’s wrist and tugging those long fingers free from her mouth, her own eyes getting distracted at the way they shine, slightly pruned from the wetness they’ve endured. She whimpers, knowing that these perfect fingers had just been so deep inside of her, the ache between her legs remembering the press of them, she can still feel her touch in the sensitivity.

“Would you like to suck on them?” Cressida asks almost as a tease she thinks, her voice light even with the dark flush on her own cheek and the heavy dilation in her pupils.

Eloise surprises herself when she immediately does exactly that, sucking those same fingers into her mouth, wet with Cressida’s saliva and with the taste of what must be her, what must be between her legs. It tastes good on Cressida’s skin, and she moans softly and lets her tongue explore the same fingers she’s been admiring for months, even as they press on her tongue. “You are so beautiful.” Cressida says as if she’s in pain.

She pulls her mouth slowly off of those fingers, kissing at the lightly pruned tips of them. “I think I would like more.” Eloise says openly, her limbs still somewhat numb from an orgasm that had sent her flying and yet she throbs anew, wishing to be filled again, wishing for these same hands to touch her as many times as they will let her.

Cressida groans, head falling back slightly to gaze up at the sky for a moment. “We cannot.”

At this Eloise frowns. “Why?”

“Because, we are lucky if we did not get caught already.” Cressida doesn’t look afraid of that possibility though, her eyes twinkling when they find Eloise’s own. “A dalliance, as you said.” Her mouth is slightly swollen and bruised from the aggressiveness of their kissing, it look so good on her that it doesn’t help the throb that had returned between Eloise’s legs, greedy to be filled by her again, as if she hadn’t just gotten what she had been aching all summer for.

Not being able to have more returns that ache aggressively enough to make her feel a bit dizzy. “But-”

“We are still friends, as you said, yes?” Cressida brushes fingers that hadn’t been inside of her against Eloise’s warm cheek and then through the side of her hair. “I wish for so many things I cannot have. Your friendship though, I can have, and I wish to keep, it is the most important thing to me.” That kindness and softness and affection in Cressida’s eyes increases, even with the heavy dilation and the obvious aroused flush upon her cheeks.

Eloise blinks and nods her head. “You will always have it.” She promises again. “Always.” She takes the hand of the fingers that had been inside of her in both of her own, holds it like it’s precious. “You seemed as if you wanted me again before you even had me the first time?” Eloise teases, perking an eyebrow up at her. “You have wanted me since we first spoke? The time in which I wished death before our friendship?” She quirks an eyebrow at her, but she is truly curious about such statements. She finds herself examining it now, and maybe the several times that Cressida has expressed admiration for her that would have surpassed the length of their friendship.

Cressida laughed, and it looks so silly with her blush of arousal and messed up hair that it makes Eloise laugh too. “Yes.” Cressida says once she’s done laughing, her face straightening out and a soft overly affectionate look crossing her lovely features. “Yes, darling, I have wanted you for much longer than you have wanted me.” The blue of her eye twinkle slightly as they look at Eloise in that same way that she had looked at her under the stars, like she is more fascinating.

It makes her heart feel heavy with not just her want but her own devotion, her own desire to return affections with as much passion as she can think of. “Then… should we not, try at whatever… this is?”

A pale eyebrow quirks up, something Eloise doesn’t entire understand crossing the sharp features of Cressida’s face. “What do you think there is to try at? We cannot court or marry. I am to marry a man no matter what, that is my fate.” She says it with a matter-of-fact tone, something she’s probably been telling herself for years. But there is an undercurrent of want and disappointment that Eloise can feel answered in her own chest.

Not for the first time Eloise wishes she was a man so that she might be the one to marry her. “But… maybe until then-”

“No Eloise, as I said. Your friendship is what I most desire, truthfully, I do not wish to continue to put it at risk, is that alright?” She looks scared again, sheepish even.

Eloise feels the pain of the answer in her heart, but she understands it, she isn’t really sure what she figured they could do either. “Of course.” And then, because the moment isn’t quite closed, she squeezes the hand in both of her own and tips forward to kiss Cressida before she isn’t able to again.

Cressida kisses her back, a soft quiet and slow desperation to it that implies she feels all the things that Eloise feels and all the pining she has been suffering as well. When they part, they breathe unsteadily with Cressida resting her forehead against Eloise’s before she offers her a bright and teasing smile. “You have wasted all the ice cream.”

Eloise giggles. “I am not that sorry about it.” She brushes her nose against Cressida’s and feels lighter when she giggles in return. “Let us get some more than.”

“That would be lovely.” Cressida pecks her mouth, a quick but lasting touch, a parting for something they both want and yet can never have before she’s helping Eloise off of her and into the grass beside her.

“Let me take down your hair before we go, I have made it a mess.” Eloise says with a bit of embarrassment that she can’t hide, still feeling the ghost of Cressida’s fingers and where they touched her.

Cressida smiles at her, big and warm. “I am not sorry about it.”