Archive of Our Own

Battle Fury

It is almost eery how quickly Eloise loses control – or any semblance thereof she thinks she possesses.

She doesn't get away from Morrison's grip and hissed demands. He holds too tight and Eloise spots her mother's concerned expression second too soon. So she doesn't raise her voice. Hosts remember, echoes in her head, the old known feeling of being a disappointment to her mama turning her feet into lead and that moment of hesitation costs her everything.

She finishes the dance. She is forced to stay for another. And the next, the skin under her gloves burning where Morrison holds her firmly. When she finally manages to escape, it is to Violet's excited coos of delight over finding such a kindred spirit for her rebellious daughter and Penelope's happy giggles over being entertained. Something dark and heavy settles in her stomach and Eloise flees the ballroom without telling her mother off, without protesting what just happened.

She thinks, hopes, this will be a one time occurrence. After all, while taking care nobody could accuse her of causing a scene and embarrassing the family, she has made her feelings more than clear to the man himself.

Yet he comes back, calls on her the day Bridgertons return to London. Charms her mother, strengthens her in her conviction that Eloise has met her match. After all, the passion in their interactions could be collected by a bucket. Eloise tries to protest then, but it is met with only more smiles and happy recollections of her parents passionate courting. Her mother believes this is love and will hear nothing else.

And then all it takes is one argument too many, held just private enough to cause a different kind of stir. Morrison baits her, Eloise bites back and they do it in the deserted corridor of their host's house, somebody alerting the ever-nosy ton to the fact Eloise has left the room and her “suitor” has followed. They are discovered standing too close, faces flushed and that blasted passion dripping off them in rivulets.

They are married two weeks later, Anthony, who Eloise hoped would finally step in, refusing to hear any of her protests as well and point blank telling her she made her bed and unless their family name is to be dragged through mud, she is to lay in it. She is married in haste, the ton graciously turning a blind eye over the speedy wedding, since the couple was courting already in their minds, absurd notion of this being a passionate love match softening the usual harsh judgement.

Morrison laughs at it all. Eloise only hisses more. He baits and she bites, scratches and slaps and hates him for making her find any kind of excitement in this whole arrangement, even if it is only between the sheets, during the darkest of nights. He taunts her, goads her, tortures her with his words every time he wrings pleasure from her body. Mocks her and her rage and laughs when her body betrays her mind and follows his into ecstasy.

Their life is constant battle, one fight after another, on all fronts, all the time. Eloise never wants to rip his hair out more than in the moments when the “rebellious spirit” her mother saw as reason enough to build something on, shines through her husband's patronising smirks. It hurts maybe more than any other blows to her dignity he deals her. For in those moments she can see he is smart, well read, with mind capable of complex or even intriguing thoughts. He can see the things she sees, the wrongs the society hefts on its subjects. He sees and decides to do nothing, because the state of things suits him just fine as it is.

The only kindness he ever gives her is his disinterest in having children, potent enough to rival her own. He has nothing to prove, nothing to inherit and pass on to his sons. Enough income from his older brother's estate to fund their lives as they are. No need to leave a mark on the world in a form of his progeny.

“It is expected of a man of my standing to marry. I gathered, I might as well marry someone amusing.” He tells her, an insult not even pretending to be anything but when she asks him why, why he pursued her so, the rare moment of almost peaceful stillness between them as they lay side by side, sheets tangled around their naked bodies, sweat cooling in the brisk night air.

Amusement is the last thing Eloise feels when she literally kicks her husband out of her bed.

Impostor

Benedict's laughter rings over the garden, followed by softer tones coming from Sophie. Both are eventually drowned in the high, shrill shrieks of their children, all of them mixing together, filling the air with the cacophony of unbearable bliss.

The window to her room his open, letting the early fall air in. When Eloise raises her head, she can just about see two brightly coloured kites fluttering in the sky above the hedges, strings leading to a place where her brother's family is, chasing each other on the grass. It is a picture of perfect happiness and as always, Eloise feels a stab of annoyance penetrating her heart, followed quickly by shame and self-inflicted chastisement over her surly thoughts.

Countryside was never her first choice of residence, but when her dearest brother offered her a place in his household, free of any expectations placed upon her should she stay under her mother's thumb, Eloise didn't hesitate to accept. What was supposed to be temporary, an off-season respite from the ton, has turned into a more permanent arrangement and to be fair, Eloise doesn't need anyone to tell her she lucked out enormously.

She has freedom here she never experienced while in London. No discerning eyes following her every move, judging and dissecting everything she does and says. No unceasing voices behind her back, providing commentary nobody cares for. No insistent whispers in her ears, pleas and advices and thinly veiled orders to soften, mellow, give in.

Her brother gives her a room and some amount of freedom to exist outside the narrow lines her birth drawn for her. He doesn't push her to the things she detests, drags her with him and Sophie when there is an assembly in the village, with music and dancing and drink aplenty, but never forces her to participate beyond her own comfort. When some young local men express an interest in her, he relays their words to her and doesn't argue when she asks him to report her polite refusal back. She can read whatever she wishes and talk about whatever she wants and nobody tells her to be less like her.

By all accounts, she should be happy. And most of the time, she thinks she is. Yet there is certain discontentment lurking in her soul, rearing its ugly head from time time, reminding her with unforgiving clarity that none of this is actually hers.

She has to ask for money when she wants to buy her books and ask permission when she wants to go to the village to discuss them with the couple of more educated people in presence. She is still being dressed in clothes picked out for her and obeying the ring calling her for dinner like a dog.

Sometimes, usually deep into the night when sleep eludes her and her mind runs wild with thoughts and memories and dreams unfulfilled, she wonders about paths not taken. Sometimes, she almost manages to convince herself that she might be brave enough to take one of them now and try for something else. It never holds come morning, only a bitter feeling of something lost before she ever had it, lingers behind her ribs. She had it beaten out of her, this confidence in herself and her ability to do more than her position allows her, by her years in the ton, by people constantly telling her to behave. The hopes and dreams she once held now lay buried deep in the black corners of her mind, labelled fantasies unfit for real world.

This is the reality. This is the best she can hope for.

“Aunt Eloise! Aunt Eloise, come play with us!” Loud scream rouses her from her pondering. Eloise raises her head once more, looking out of the window. Little Violet is sitting on her father's shoulders, giving her the height needed to see over the hedges and into the house. Automatically, Eloise responds to the summon with a wave and a nod.

Book left on the table, she walks through the halls and then gardens until she reaches her brother's family and with a smile on her lips gets swallowed by the happiness not her own.

Caged bird (with company)

He bursts back into her life ten years after they say goodbye and this time, Eloise does not let Theo Sharpe walk away from her.

What once was unsaid is now declared aloud, shy affection growing into unashamed love and no-one, nothing, dares to tear them apart. Quite the opposite. Their courtship is supported, celebrated even. The man finally winning the hand of prickly Miss Bridgerton is given hearty pats on the back. The woman all already wrote off as a lost cause is engulfed in many a hug, from family and strangers alike, toasting her miraculous last minute rescue from the dreaded spinster fate.

Eloise pays the circus around very little mind. Theo is here, the newly acquired title hanging of his shoulders, his journey from a poor printer to lost heir intriguing and salacious enough for the ton to welcome him with curiosity enough to overlook any of his shortcomings for the time being. It matters not to her, his new name or new clothes. Under both, Theo is still Theo, bright and kind and warm and hers. In his company, her old curiosity and spirit awakens and when they ride into the sunset together, obnoxiously happy and in love, there is nothing that could bring that feeling of absolute rightness down.

That love never wavers. Be it their blessing or a curse, they never stop loving each other and at times, that is the only thing that makes sense in their lives.

Eloise holds onto it when the whispers start, the truth about their first acquaintance from years before making its way through the drawing rooms and kitchens alike. She holds onto it with ferocity unmatched when taunting snickers reach her ears, mocking her love, mumbling behind fans and champagne flutes about how she only married her husband after he came into money.

She holds onto it when the real life catches up to them, the duties and responsibilities coming with their position knocking insistently on their door, refusing to be left waiting any longer. They try to keep it out as long as they can, but the world's leniency runs out eventually and before she knows it, Eloise finds herself entertaining wives in their drawing room while Theo discusses business dealings with men in his study.

She clutches it close to her heart when she finds herself living the life she once hoped to escape. Life of duty and outward obedience and false smiles and strained patience. Life of soirees hosted by her to make contacts, to allow Theo find allies for the politics he never stops pushing for. Life of (in)voluntarily taking a step back from openly doing the same, for there is a difference between an outspoken, radical man of the ton and a woman running her mouth about issues she has no reason to trouble herself with.

They fight it, together, for as long as they can. Refuse to bow to the demands their roles ask of them, refuse to compromise what makes them them. It is Theo's insistence that she does and says as she sees fit anyway, regardless the damage it causes to their standing in society, that makes the love in her heart ever lasting. It is the love he holds for her in return that makes her stay when every instinct in her body tells her to run.

They give in eventually, the threat of losing the little of the influence they (Theo) have too great. Their debates and discussions move behind closed doors. They work on the policies Theo hopes to present to the lords from his seat in the parliament together, but only Theo gets to talk about them. They write and both publish their more daring pieces, the real, untamed labour of their minds, under false names, while pursuing more conservative course in front of their peers.

Eloise hosts parties for influential men to help (them) with their goals. She discuses seating arrangements with the housekeeper and compiles menus with the cook. She joins about every women's club there is, befriending the men's wives and sisters and mothers and daughters and mistresses, sneaking her thoughts to them like contraband, hoping they will take root and spread further, influence the men from other source as well. She plays charades she once swore she will take no part in. She puts on the role of a dutiful wife, hostess, helper, supporter, always visible just enough as not to eclipse those beside her. She still gets to do more than many of other women in similar positions. And she has the actual loving relationship to hold her above water when she starts sinking. And yet…

“Sometimes I dream of times I had less and fought for more.” Theo whispers to her one night, confession not allowed in the light of day. He's haunted by thoughts of selling his soul to the position he now holds and questionable power it brings. He's haunted by thoughts of trapping her there with him.

Eloise holds him and loves him through it all.

But sometimes – sometimes she hates him too.

Harpy

She learns to live in a constant state of alertness, always ready to pack up and leave at the moment notice, always ready to go where the demands of her family point her. For that is the price she agreed to pay for her continuous spinsterhood. Without household of her own, she is to rely on the generosity and benefaction of her siblings, forever moving between their homes, being helpful and generous in return without complain.

She never dares to complain, not while her mother can hear and even beyond that. The few sighs she let escape at the beginning were thrown back into her face quickly enough. These are the duties of the spinster, if you don't like it, there is still time to marry, her mother told her, something between hope and anger still shining in her eyes back then.

She refuses to marry and her mother refuses to forgive her for that and the discord between them grows and grows, spreads like poison through the veins until the whole family is infected. Where once was easy chatter and good-natured teasing, now only cutting remarks and frustrated air resides. Eloise tries, at the beginning, to make the best of the situation still. She tries to claw to more and she doesn't succeed.

She grows bitter, having all her tries to broaden the spinster life thwarted and derailed. She grows resentful when all that everyone starts to expect of her is to realise herself through chaperoning her younger relatives and silently reading her books. She did expect this treatment from the society as a whole – after all, Kate warned her of such years ago. She did not anticipate her own family get on with the programme and keep her firmly at the edge of things, reducing her to the poor, pitiable character at the back of their lives.

“Isn't it what you always wanted? To be left alone with your books?” Gregory asks her once, guileless smile on his lips. It doesn't hurt that much from him, the fact that he knows her so little to think this of her. It breaks her heart though when Ben and Francesca repeat the slight variations of such. She grits her teeth and holds her anger in, repeating herself to be grateful, to not complain. She always holds it in until she doesn't, resentment bursting out of her. Harsh words, mean and uncaring take hold of her for a second, never staying long, quickly followed by contrition and shame. In her pain she hurts those she loves, causing the rift between them to widen until it spans more than just miles.

She never stays at one place for too long after.

By the time Anthony finally sets her up with a small cottage in the countryside, the children in the family all grown and her services as their convenient minder no longer needed, there is scarcely anything left of the woman she once was.

Flower behind the glass, cut

She thinks she should have went with dying instead.

She was not ready to end her life the night before her wedding, but now, years into the marriage that was ill conceived in the first place and did not grow into something more despite her mother's assurances and pleas to give it a chance and be patient; now she thinks she can see the reason in such decision. She wonders if Phillip's first wife thought the same before she went to the lakes that fateful day. She wonders if it was with that idea in mind Marina surrendered to the illness that eventually claimed her life.

She doesn't know, for she is not allowed to ask any such questions, but she does wonder.

The wondering is not too strong as to act on it. Yet. But there is the underlying fear curling around her neck, making it hard to breathe sometimes. Fear that one day, it will get strong enough for her to follow its call.

She knows she cannot. She has responsibilities now, duty to those she would leave behind. She bore two children already, third on its way, making its presence known just days ago. In her darkest moments, Eloise thinks her children, both by blood and by marriage, would be better off without her anyway. Sometimes she thinks she doesn't love them enough, that all consuming feeling she was promised to come the second she holds the labour of her, well, labour, in her arms, never making itself known. She is fond of them, of course. Protective and always making sure they are well cared for, safe and fed and happy. But she cannot help but wonder – maybe Phillip's next wife would do a better job of raising them.

She makes a mistake of confiding these feelings in her husband once. Ignoring his orders to never tell him if she's unhappy, she foolishly follows her mother's advice and tries with patience to build something between them that goes beyond physical pleasures and one sided interest. He calls her selfish, tells her once more she knows nothing about unhappiness and repeats what he said before – never to complain.

And so she doesn't. Chained to this life by the children she has no choice but to bear, Eloise stays, silent and dutiful and slowly withering inside. She stops talking unless she is asked to, for she is apparently always talking otherwise. She uses her mouth for whatever her husband desires. She starts looking at the portrait of Marina with envy instead of pity.

Her husband oversees this with pleased smiles. As long she is available to him in the evening, an ear to listen to his talk about the day's work in the greenhouse and pliable body to share the bed with, he rarely requires anything more. Gives her freedom to spend her days as she wishes. From time to time, he makes a show of taking her shopping or bringing her flowers, unsaid demands to be appreciated for these displays of affection lurking behind his strangely bashful smiles.

“I hope this one is a boy. With Oliver away at school I feel rather overwhelmed by the feminine airs and sensibilities in this household.” Phillip laughs, pleased by the news Eloise tells him that evening, caressing her stomach and puffing his chest out with obnoxious manly pride when he feels the slight roundness already forming beneath Eloise's dress.

She does her best to reciprocate, her happy face strained and for a second Eloise worries Phillip will call her out on it, will berate her again for being unhappy.

She is in luck. He doesn't notice.

Eloise Bridgerton

“If Hyacinth's charms on their own are not enough to catch her a suitable husband I cannot be held responsible, no matter what I do.”

Her sister responds with huffed Hey! to her barb but smiles anyway, her confidence in herself and her appeal never wavering even when faced with the possibility of disgraced older sister as an obstacle. While Eloise long ago decided that her own happiness shall come first for a change, she is still glad seising her life does not alienate her from her family at the end of the day.

Well, not too much anyway. Eloise has a feeling that her mother will not accept her decision as long as they both live, but that is Violet's burden to bear, not Eloise's. After all, even Anthony, from his supposed position of power over the family eventually concedes, rolling his eyes in annoyance when Eloise tells him the only way to keep her away from the life she longs for is to lock her into an asylum.

She is ready to leave, getting ready for the moment for years at this point. She puts aside her allowance and makes some extra money by anonymously writing and publishing in various periodicals. She writes letters and makes contacts and has John teach her how to boil a kettle and scramble eggs. Under the guise of curiosity she soaks in everything Sophie has to share about life outside the golden cages of Mayfair, so when she comes before her family, announcing, not asking, her plans, they do not catch her unaware.

Money saved buy her a room in a respectable boarding house, with hot dinner every night. Ben helps her move, kissing her goodbye after they're done. He invites her for tea any given Sunday and whispers into her ear how proud he is. Daphne stops by for a visit the very next day, giving the room a searching look and declaring she will bring some fresh flowers next time. Gregory brings her a home-warming gift in a form of intricately painted chamber pot and cackles at his own joke while Eloise valiantly tries to remain unaffected. Her family comes and goes and they never desert her.

She works as an editor first, for one of the reputable ladies' magazine circulating in the ton. Nothing too scandalous is ever printed there, but that doesn't stop her from trying to push the envelope constantly. She starts publishing her real thoughts and ideas under her own name, finally taking claim for the words that ruffled feathers in the past. She remains unapologetic in the face of adversity, of people calling her too forward, too bold, too much in general.

She writes and she eventually speaks, the correspondences she nourished over the years with various women and men transforming into personal meetings and debates held in drawing rooms and pub halls alike. She doesn't become the face of revolution, a figurehead for other rebels to hide behind, her name, while shocking at first, not playing a role in the long run, only her work and words speaking for her. Eloise takes care not to become a puppet for others to use, never again allowing herself to be guided where she does not wish to go. She's content to be a footsoldier, surrounded by like-minded individuals, forging friendships build on kindred spirit and shared passions.

She grows and learns and she thrives.

She is loud and brave and she is happy.

For the first time ever, she is in control of her own life.

And then, one day, without her seeking it or chasing it or building her understanding of happiness on it – she meets the boy she once knew again. He is a man now, grown and self-assured and her happiness grows a bit more, her world getting wider, growing in a direction she did not expect.

She is a chief editor in her own right by then, only taking couple of years to claw her way to the top, efficiently transforming the magazine into something she would have loved to read as a girl herself, on the way. She gets tasked with finding a new printer, since the demand for their work is ever increasing and the old arrangements no longer suffice. Theo Sharpe meets their requirements to the tee and they shake hands as partners at the end of the meeting.

“We will have the contract for you by the end of the week.” Eloise says, not even bothering with hiding the pleased smile curling around her lips. Theo is not faring any better.

“I'm looking forward working with you.” The ambiguity over which you he means, her personally or the magazine itself, is more than blatant. It only makes Eloise's smile grow.

“So do I.”