Chapter Text
It loomed grey clouds, her story bitten short; cut to deprecating descent to its natural habitat. What a valiant effort still, her search for happiness; returned to only a dream, like a stoned house in her dream forest she always wished she had as a child. How hopeless; the nights she dreamt of a saviour to her distress signals, hoping someone would see her falling signs–and then someone did. In the form of a rebellious lady from a name well bestowed. Now the same lady, with her beautiful haven eyes were shut. She couldn't be saved–what a silly dream she had. Everything leaves at least once or twice. If it occurs repeatedly then it’s no accident, happiness simply is not for everyone; especially to a woman in her time.
Inanimate, that is a word best fitted for Eloise’s reaction, the soles of her shoe glued by the heat of the moment. Everything was going well, until a grey old man decided to rock her perfectly fine walls, and now all the shelves were falling, along with her precious books–her future, and happiness, at risk of being stripped. She tried to scream, only to find herself speechless. She tried to claw her way out, only for the claws to hold her against moving. Her insides were screaming, melting away, hoping for something to make do–closing her eyes, she withers, her existence a thin breeze, she begged,… for once do something, for once in your life Eloise, SPEAK! Do something more in your life than to be this silent voice, fight for the thing you wanted, fight for the person you love. The encouragement somehow worked, and she began to pace, blocking Lord Cowper from getting to Cressida.
But the older Cowper was already in perfect position. Acting as a restraint, she used her whole body as a shield. ‘Slap’ Her ears rang repeatedly, berating her for not acting earlier. She raised her hand to see the damage, her cheeks were red, dripping, her blood stained the wet grass. She watches as it slides down, and spills to the ground with dullness. She looked to Lord Cowper’s hands; it was tight, the knuckles showing and his palms gripped shut. If not for her effort, would Cressida be a victim of that? The slap was too harsh to be a clean palm, and she was right, his fingers were dappled with weaponized jewellery, the silver leaving a sharp bite. It was stinging, but she is not to be distracted.
Reloading another punch, William held his fingers closer, nails painfully deep to the skin. He raised the apprehensive fist, momentum slowing it down before impact. Eloise saw it, and unfortunately she didn't have the time to carefully plan her move. Having the wrong approach, the metalled knuckle striked her right in the face; and due to her being inches below Cressida, it ended up hitting her in the eyes, her brow receiving the full impact. As sickly as the man looked; the man punched heavily. From its force, Eloise dropped to the ground, the grass cushioning her fall. Clusters of blood form beneath her skin, the impact of her fall caused her forearms to be grazed by the harsh rocks nearby. “Eloise!” she felt something leak from her nose.
Eloise looks defeated, not by will, but physically. The woman is stubborn, from her persistence to serve what she knows is right; her sense of justice–ever her heroic self. Of course that woman will still fight–beaten up and unable to stand up. She can’t see Eloise like this. She can’t see Eloise suffer this fate because of her. “That’s enough father!” She cried, as her father was no longer aiming his punch at her, but rather towards the fallen Bridgerton woman.
Colin and Benedict came as fast as they could, rejecting Lord Cowper the chance of hitting their sister again. Benedict and Colin shared a limb as they gave their eldest brother the honour of throwing the first punch. Simon, who recently came back from the house, supplied the second punch. All the women are tending to Eloise who looked unconscious. Their mother was panicking, she knew it by the look on her face; the crooked lines of her face crinkled in worry.
“Father, please, stop!” She begged, her tears blurring her vision. She wanted to come to Eloise’s side, but she had already caused too much trouble. “Please… I’ll come back, I promise, I–” She shook her head, this wasn’t a decision, it was a must, “I will marry whoever it is you want me to marry, just please father don’t hurt Eloise!”
Eyes still closed, her bones crying to be tended, she used all her remaining power to speak, “Cressida, no…” It was too weak that the rasp overpowered her voice. “Eloise is right Cressida, you will not go back to him,” Anthony said, the bite in his tone was loud, and he glared back to the man in question right after its utterance. “I-” The man used the moment of hesitation to his advantage. Lapses of their strength, Benedict and Colin’s grip on William Cowper weakened, and the aggressive man was again out to do his damage. He was marching towards Cressida like it was his life earned privilege to drag the woman to his own liking. Benedict was doing his best effort to run after Lord Cowper but the distance between them was too far apart.
Until suddenly, away from their peripherals, a clothed figure pulled the collars to William’s coat. A tall woman came, she appeared taller than the rest, with her pantaloons, she effortlessly dragged the spoiled man-child away from Cressida. Loading her deepest of punches, she made a quick jab sending the man to the floor–unconscious. “Aunt?” Cressida was shocked, her Aunt’s appearance utterly unexpected. How did she get here so fast? “Cressida, I’m sorry, we tried to get here as fast as we could,” She embraced Cressida. Within seconds, Cressida’s fears were gone, but her worries were still there, Eloise was still unconscious. Her aunt met the girl’s gaze and saw the source of her concern, “Oh dear,” She kneeled, inspecting the girl’s injuries. There was a huge bruising to her eye area, and a major cut displayed on the girl’s cheeks.
She breathed deeply, she needed to calm herself. Juggling her bouncing emotions, she let them linger muted in the background. She has the skills to help the poor girl, after all, she once was the little girl who was used to healing her mother’s symptoms every time their father had a bad bet. Her brother William was always so fond of his sire, doing everything their father did; making worse replicas of his behaviour. “Isabel, do you have my aiding bag?” Not wasting the time for impracticality, she only nodded, and was quick to supply the Cowper woman with the object she needed.
“Is she going to be alright?” Her niece asked beside her, “I cannot lie to you and guarantee you a positive answer, but I will do my best to prepare her for the incoming medic.” Joanna answered. “But I have already treated her open wounds, so the chances of her recovery are high.” It was not the best reassurance. Gasping the breath she did not know she was holding hostage, her chest was rid of the pressuring burdens.
“Mama, the doctor has arrived,” Anthony informed their mother. He was catching up on a lot of breaths as he was previously running to give them the news. “Benedict help get Eloise to her bed,”
“You can use mine instead, it’s nearer,” Francesca suggested. Anthony and Benedict nodded, following their sister’s advice.
It was beginning to darken. The candles were beginning to bid their purpose, slowly, its flames ascended. The tea that Violet brought her was now cold, she hadn’t moved at all since being left alone with Eloise. The doctor mentioned his observations. He worries that Eloise had hit her head too harshly to the ground. He warned them to keep a vigilant eye on watching her progress. He had told them to mention to him any signs of illness once she awakens. Anthony nodded while Violet was anxiously tapping the wooden boxes of clothing. Salty skin on her cheek, joined by the sting of dried eyes, she looked upon Eloise, she dare not blink–each time she did she berated herself.
Burst of light flickers, as the curtains barely lilt to let in bits of night light. In her endeavours not to lose her sight on her lover, she had entirely forgotten about the things the world required of her. Unlit candles on the side table, an uncombed hair–for certain it was a nest. A nest of horrid thoughts and hypothesising; a mental image of her lover unbreathing and cold, blue, so blue like the dresses she wears–pigmented on her skin. Tormenting her thoughts she blinked tears until her eyes were blank–until it hurts just to keep her eyes open.
Timidly, a door creaked, a sad woman peaked in, and it turned out to be Francesca, a warm woman to her side, their hands linked, probably for consolation. Her youthful features illuminated from the yellow light in her hands, the below skin turned red. She rebelled and tried to repress her emotions, to show that she was strong, but when Francesca broked, so did she. Now two of them were crying, and the lone one was silently observing them. The shared fears in their gaze thick, as it was becoming harder and harder to breath. Their noses were full, now requiring them to breathe through the mouth.
Francesca had suggested she lay over the other room for a while; she promised that she’d watch over Eloise in her absence. It was a nice bargain, her whole body was shouting for her to notice that she was tired. Morose and fallen, a pregnant pause and a finger tapping under the bed, Cressida hesitated, but eventually agreed. She told Francesca she wouldn’t be long, the other woman dismissed her promise, Eloise would want Cressida to rest–they both know that.
It was morning. Eloise knows of it, even though she could not be certain; she finds it difficult to open her eyes–more precisely her right eye. Plenty of birds surrounded her window, she figured by the sound of their beaks tapping the window in an unsynchronized pattern. It was odd though, her windows were shut. She always preferred it wide, allowing the night air to bustle and whistle her to sleep. Bright, but not its peak effervescence, something was wrong. That was evident from the way her body argued when she canted left. She thought her leg was affected too, but the weight turns out to be her sister. Sleeping with her arms wrapped around her leg, as if she would go anywhere if she let go. Manoeuvring, it was then that she noticed Michaela watching, not her, but Francesca. Roaming hands like a curious inquisitor, brushing till the tangled ends of light brown locks. Michaela now realised that there was another person in the room, and that she is finally awake. “Eloise!” She rinsed her eyes, the sound was too loud. Michalea tried again, now with a whisper, “You’re awake,” she was not asking, she was repeating it to herself, like a chant–she was ensuring herself that it was not her delusions.
“Be…fore, before you say anything…” She can feel the woman’s eyes on her.
“I was only going to say that Cressida is with your mama,” Cressida is still here. She was glad, she didn’t know that she was holding her breath until she finally let it pass. The last thing she heard before her eyes went dark was Cressida, and she remembered how she pleaded to stop, how she offered her freedom instead. It was the reason she lost her remaining consciousness, she tried to stand up and debate, but her mortal body limited her. “Daphne and Kate are there too, they’ve been there since midnight.” Eloised tried to mask her concern, but Michaela seemingly smelled it on her instantly. “They found her crying, she was having a nightmare, and Cressida refused to go back to sleep. Kate suggested to distract her instead.” Nodding, she thanked Michaela for being honest with her.
Waking the still sleeping Francesca, she was about to argue but then she saw Eloise looking at her, “Eloise!” Hissed Eloise, she pointed to her ears and Francesca quickly understood. “Sorry…” She whispered.
Footsteps on wooden floors, from their sat figures they know it was from the door. Then a knock, followed by a creek. Violet slipped while holding a tray of milk, her eyes widened when she saw Eloise sitting upright. Michaela and Franchesca both gestured to their ears, Violet nodding, showing them that it was understood. She sat in the remaining space. The lingering question was still unasked, so Violet spoke, “Cressida is on her way darling,”
Coincidentally, the doors opened, “Glad to see you are still impatient sister,” That was Benedict opening the door for her sisters. “Mhm,” she giggled, the best effort she could muster. A figure entered, and Eloise knew who it was even without looking up–she would know every single detail of Cressida, she knew it too well. “You’re awake…” Awe evident from her voice.
The woman looked lighter, thousands of needles removed from her skin. “I love you,” A force was attracting her to go near Eloise. “I love you Eloise Bridgerton,” There, her whole family made to watch, and they got to hear it–their unison of love. She smiled, opening her arms to offer the space for Cressida. Branching her arms around her–head rested at the top of her shoulders, Eloise whispered, “I love you too Cressida Cowper,” Kissing the shoulders that gave her shelter, “I…” Gripping her waist tighter, “Love…” it went up and wraped her shoulders, “You.” Their lips then found each other.
