Chapter Text
Elliot Bridgerton had become the season's most eligible bachelor.
Seemingly, much to his absolute horror.
It was odd– the entire ton’s eyes resting upon him, only for him to essentially try to escape with every escalation of interest. It even confounded Queen Charlotte, who believed he was the perfect match for this season’s diamond.
A perfectly pleasant young lady that Elliot could not recall the name of for the life of him.
What was even more confounding, though, was the Bridgerton matriarch’s acquiescence of her son's revulsion from the spotlight. Unlike with her previous children, in a completely uncharacteristic turn of approach, she did not meddle. Did not put in the same amount of effort that Lady Danbury was putting forth– if anything, she was impeding the match.
This was a situation in which Cressida Cowper did not know how to make heads or tails of. Which was an extremely unusual situation.
But then again, Elliot Bridgerton was an extremely unusual man.
He was handsome, she supposed, in the typical Bridgerton fashion– though his features, unlike his brothers’, bordered on delicate. Eyelashes long and almost fluttering in the bright sunlight of the outdoors as he slowly promenaded with Penelope Featherington across the green.
Another completely unusual behavior. So openly befriending an eligible lady while she was open on the marriage market. Did he not see how he was completely upending any, admittedly small, chance she had in finding herself a husband?
Three seasons already, they remained steadfast companions. Elliot, not looking any more keen to propose to Penelope as the first day Cressida had seen them together. Arguing about one thing or another.
It was infuriating.
And the fact that he was now fighting off the attention of every eligible woman in the ton? Cressida gritted her teeth. He had done absolutely nothing to deserve the treatment he was receiving.
She had tried with him– her first season out– applying her charm in exactly the way her mother had taught her, only for his mouth to set into an expression of distaste and for his first words to her being, “I would rather die."
The memory still made her ears flush in anger. The absolute gall of that man– the complete social ineptitude that he carried around with him as though it were a shield.
It made her sick.
His loss– everyone's loss if they couldn't see him for the bumbling fool he really was. Dropping plates left and right. Injuring his wrist trying to kick a high branch, of all things, in a bet he made with his idiot brother Benedict.
Cressida found her mind wandering to the thought of accidentally smacking into him, elbowing the stupid white gauze medical wrap around his arm. Seeing him wince in pain– seeing him look at her with anything except distaste. But whatever it was that Penelope Featherington had whispered into his stupid sun freckled ear had most definitely shaped his view of her.
Not that she cared.
Not that she ever cared about what a man thought of her.
And that's why she absolutely hated him. Elliot Bridgerton. The season’s prince.
“He's just so… cute.” A debutante in her first season whispered to her friend from behind her fan.
Cressida fluttered her fan even more aggressively when she glanced over to see as Mr. Bridgerton scratched his chin when he looked at the collection of sweets before him. He bent down to look at a cluster of sweet rolls more closely– trousers stretching slightly around his shapely behind–
She looked away sharply, glancing back at the tittering girls beside her. Her nose wrinkled in distaste when the lot of them swooned at the sight.
“He has to know what he's doing in those…” A girl sighed and Cressida immediately rolled her eyes. Elliot Bridgerton and his slightly too tight trousers. It had become a running joke in the ton. One that none of the girls were very keen on revealing to him though, lest he went to the tailor and starved them from one of the very essential sights in Mayfair.
No. Nobody wanted that, did they?
Cressida had half the mind to make a dig at him the next time she passed him by on the street. She wouldn't though, of course. She didn't want to be excommunicated.
She excused herself from the group and gingerly sat down on a bench underneath the shade of a large flowering tree. She closed her eyes, growling to herself when the image of Mr. Bridgerton flashed before her eyelids.
“Oof.” The sound of the bench creaking beside her as somebody sat down beside her made her scowl.
Her eyes opened and she sharply glared at the offending being– taken aback suddenly, when the image of Elliot Bridgerton came into focus in reality this time.
“Mr… Bridgerton.” Cressida said weakly at the man, watching as his tongue darted out to lap at the top of a small cake topped with icing.
“Hmm?” He turned to look at Cressida. “Oh– Miss Cowper. Just had to get out of the sun, you know how it is.”
“I… yes.” Cressida settled on, blinking at him with confusion. When exactly was the last time he had sat beside her on purpose? Never, she supposed. If anything, he always ran the other way at the sight of her. At first it had offended her, but now she had seen that behavior as a gift. Not having to speak to him. Though now, she was feeling an impending sort of doom settle in her sternum at the sight of him so close in proximity to herself.
Something was definitely amiss.
Mr. Bridgerton took a bite from the cake, crumbs collecting on his lips and smooth cheeks. Cressida glanced around the park– where exactly had Penelope gone? The two were normally attached at the hip.
“Finally shaken off your shadow?” Cressida asked, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. She suppressed a pleased smile when he scowled mightily.
“No.” He snapped before his eyebrows furrowed, “I mean, well, she's not my shadow, but, yes.”
“Yes?” Cressida was taken aback. What did he mean by yes?
“Yes, I’m no longer someone who considers her a companion. I thought she was my friend, but it seems as though friend was a bit too generous– and why exactly am I telling you this?” He grimaced as though he suddenly remembered who it was that he was speaking to.
Cressida, for her part, merely shrugged. “I suppose because I asked. Though, this must be a joyous occasion for every woman vying for your attention.”
“Not you though?” Mr. Bridgerton asked, tilting his head to the side as he looked at Cressida curiously. The crumbs still steadfastly remained on his cheeks– making him look like a little boy who had gotten access to a cake that he wasn't meant to have.
She let out a disbelieving laugh. “You think much too highly of yourself, Mr. Bridgerton.”
He smiled at her before wiping his face off with the back of his non-injured hand. “Rather the opposite, Miss Cowper. I am a massive disappointment to my family and I am absolutely dying to rid myself of this ridiculous obsession with courting and marriage.”
Cressida snorted. “Easy for you to say– your family is not exactly forcing you to find a match as quickly as possible.”
“And yours is?”
“If I don't find myself a match this season, I am to be pawned off to some older gentleman my parents have chosen for me.” Cressida suddenly felt the weight of her words settle in her chest. She felt tired– clearly, if she was confiding in Elliot Bridgerton of all people.
He sat there looking despondent for a moment before his eyebrows furrowed together in thought. Cressida was almost concerned that he was going to injure his mind as well with the effort he was clearly using up to think. “Well. That's perfect, then.”
“What?” Cressida jolted upwards, spine straightening in absolute shock at his words.
“Seeing as though we both have something to gain from being off of the marriage market, why don't we make an agreement?” Mr. Bridgerton’s body had completely turned towards Cressida, knees slightly bumping against her own. “And before you say no, just hear me out–”
“What exactly do you have to gain from being wed?” Cressida asked before she could stop herself. She tensed when Mr. Bridgerton’s unbandaged hand gripped at her gloved wrist. She could feel her pulse quicken at the touch–
“I need my privacy– I need to stop being a part of this ridiculous circus–”
Cressida barked out a laugh. “And you choose me for this harebrained scheme? You can't even stand the sight of me-!”
Mr. Bridgerton blew out a sigh. “You've got me there. But maybe that's a good thing?” He tried, voice upturning almost desperately with his question. She suddenly noticed the bags underneath his eyes– the delicate skin creasing with exhaustion, and he very much looked his age for once. Rather than the inordinately young boy that Cressida had always seen when she looked at him. It was completely unnerving.
“You don't want to follow in the footsteps of your family and marry for love?” Cressida asked, a mocking edge colouring her tone.
“I'm afraid that would be completely impossible for me.” He replied quietly.
A jolt of anxiety rippled through Cressida. Did he know she–? Was that why he had come up with this plan? Did he also… suffer from the same ailment that she did?
“Alright.” She said, blinking at him with surprise at his candor.
His mouth dropped open at her response, hand clenching her wrist more tightly before a beautiful smile lit up his face. “Great. Incredible. Yes–” A flush rose up his neck, “We'll– yes–”
Cressida snorted at his expression and rolled her eyes. “You're going to have to court me properly if you want this to be believable.”
“Court you? Oh– right. Yes.”
She pried his hand off of her wrist. “Wonderful. Now please leave me alone.”
“Leave you–? Oh, right. Okay.” He said, jumping to his feet unsteadily.
Cressida rubbed her temples with irritation. “Now, Mr. Bridgerton. And take my first dance tonight– can you remember that?” She asked patronizingly, unable to help herself.
She watched as he heavily swallowed and nodded at her quickly. “First dance. Of course– why wouldn't we dance together? It makes absolute sense.” He babbled as if he too was also unable to help himself. This was the man that the ton was enamored with? She'll never understand what exactly happened to make this a reality. “I hope it is a quadrille– It's the only dance I’ve really practiced–”
“Mr. Bridgerton.” Cressida deadpanned.
“Leave. Right.” He straightened up under her unimpressed gaze before his shoulders slumped irritatingly underneath his black jacket. “Must you be so mean at all times?”
A wave of irritation spread through Cressida. She gritted her teeth at him. “And must you be so completely inept at all times?” She shot back.
He grimaced and turned on his heel, muttering to himself. “Great– already a wonderful start…”
Cressida let out a sharp sigh of irritation.
What had she gotten herself into? Her mother and father would probably be overjoyed at the news of her impending betrothal but all she could think about was how absolutely irritating Elliot Bridgerton was with every chance he got. Never in her entire life had a man vexed her so thoroughly.
It made her feel sick.
And now she was essentially going to be wed to him– tied to his ridiculously sentimental family for the rest of her life. She shut her eyes tightly, a shiver running up her spine at the disgusting thought. But no– this was her only chance, her last chance of choosing a future for herself. One where perhaps she shared a very similar predicament as the man she was tying herself to.
Though, she still felt a shuddering feeling of dread overcome her psyche. Elliot Bridgerton.
It was unthinkable.
It would be unbearable.
But it was her only option now.