Chapter Text
Growing up with seven brothers and sisters, Eloise had learned through force and experience that sharing was more than just kind—it was necessity. In her adolescence, it had saved some of her toys from destruction, her books from an ill-fated end, and allowed for her to attend events like county fairs and outdoor excursions more readily than if she had been alone, requiring a maid to chaperone her larks throughout the countryside in Kent.
She had never much assumed she might have to share people, though; but this season was proving surprising in more ways than one.
“Mama has given me permission to escort you all in the row boat!” Gregory beamed, his too-large hat cocked jauntily atop his head for promenade about the Long Water.
He and Hyacinth had scurried up to where Eloise and Cressida were standing at the lakeside. Eloise’s brows crawled up her forehead incredulously only for Cressida to elbow her in her ribs and mouth be nice as she fluttered her fan playfully to hide her face.
Eloise merely groused, tilting her brother’s hat so that it sat correctly upon his head. Then, she brushed at a leaf that had attached itself to the shoulder of his overcoat, turning a critical eye toward the docks. She had wanted to avoid the water today despite her fondness for the activity, for Lords Cho, Fife, and a smattering of other bachelors who Colin had been entertaining for much of the season, were causing such disruption with their atrocious behavior it had put off many others in search of genteel recreation.
The day had been cooler than others that week; a stirring wind shook leaves from branches and gathered them up into great clumps at the water’s edge, providing rather poor conditions for debarking near the docks. Small whitecaps licked at the hulls of the row boats and attendants fought with the ropes to tie off the vessels. The group of loud Lords, perhaps drunk, perhaps hungover, feinted this way and that with their own boats, setting the few brave ladies who ventured out all a-twitter with their antics.
Eloise noted how the wind cast large ripples over the surface of the waters, only for the current to change directions sporadically as one flow drifted into another. The fluff of pond foam, typically a thin film of algae and sediment, thickened as the Ton dipped their paddles in and out of the churning waters. One boat twirled in place so quickly it reminded Eloise of a trick performed on horseback at a fair that she had seen a decade ago in her youth. It had been so dazzling, the rider glittering, the horse dancing—the memory stuck with her all this long while. But there was an agility, a flexibility in that trick that was absent this day.
There were no rapids or circus horses at Hyde Park, but it did look rather adventurous. A rollicking mid-morning of rowers combating waves in the waters surrounding Mayfair.
Eloise’s mind felt similarly; roiling, churning, more quietly reflective this morning than others.
Cressida had made a rather shocking revelation to Eloise two nights previous, but to Cressida, the declaration seemed like a foregone conclusion: her father had revealed he was in the early stages of selecting a twice-widowed colleague for her to marry to save their family from the shame of having a daughter out beyond her third season. With this discovery, Eloise’s temperament had mirrored the weather, rather grey and gloomy.
“It unsettles me,” Cressida had confided within her as they sat next to each other at another God-awful musicale. She had watched as Cressida crumpled the night’s program in her grip before clutching at her own chest. “If only I had not been such a fool before—”
“You are no fool.”
“I allowed so many chances to slip by me—”
“Chances? Cressida, these are people—I mean, they are men, so barely—but I wish you could see beyond all of that.”
Cressida had sighed then, and Eloise had watched as the hint of tears clouded Cressida’s usually sharp gaze in the low-light of the room, viola and cello humming melodies that landed discordantly upon her ears.
It should not upset Cressida so much—not ‘winning’ some prize of a man on the Marriage Mart. Couldn’t Cressida see that there was more to life? Couldn’t she see that she had more to offer the world? What that was, Eloise could not immediately point out, but certainly Cressida had interests beyond marriage. Certainly she was intrigued by something.
During a break in the program, Eloise found Cressida in a flowering courtyard, looking for all the world like a maiden with her chest pressed upon a knife’s point in some classic Grecian play—needlessly dramatic and all the good bits happening off-stage. Eloise took a seat beside her and smiled, waving the program aloft with a careless flick of her wrist.
“I’m certain I cannot sit through another hour of this,” Eloise gushed, “Between the concert and Francesca’s return from Bath my head has been so overrun with music I can hardly hear myself think.”
“Well, take your leave, then,” Cressida had mumbled. “Though I rather admire them.”
“Who?”
“Mr. And Miss Staten,” Cressida said, assessing the Staten’s courtyard casually. “They are quite attuned to one another.”
“Comes with the territory.”
“Territory?”
“Of siblings,” Eloise answered gruffly. “Always in each other’s business, knowing one another so well, in all sorts of scenarios, knowing how he or she might respond—I suppose it makes sense that the pair of them were able to form a little band, if you will. It is stronger, though, with some pairs and trios.”
“Especially with a family as large as yours, I imagine,” Cressida responded.
Eloise placed a finger to the tip of her nose, and pointed toward Cressida with her other hand. “Got it in one.”
Cressida grinned, and Eloise felt a surge of affection swell within her at Cressida’s response to her antics. It was not unlike the happiness she felt when she was able to make Anthony and her mother smile—joking came more naturally with her other siblings, but those two… they expected more from her. Why Eloise felt the same with Cressida, she could not parse out.
“And which of your siblings do you have such a relationship with?”
“Is it not obvious?” Eloise asked.
“Benedict?”
Eloise snorted. “Yes, Benedict.”
“Although, I have seen you guide your sister, Francesca, and save her from awkward discussions, even if you had not intended to,” Cressida told her. “You seem… protective of her.”
“I can see how it would seem that way,” Eloise acquiesced to Cressida’s shrewd analysis. “Benedict, Francesca and I—we do not fit the mold so readily,” she explained. “Benedict has forever known he was the spare, artistic and bohemian in many respects. I could not care less for society, and Francesca hates to perform anything that isn’t music. These insipid interactions do not sit well with her.”
“And the others?”
“Daphne and Anthony have always known their destinies as the eldest son and daughter. Colin—I honestly have no idea what Colin wants, these days he is gallivanting about with all sorts.”
Cressida nodded, her focus so perfectly attuned toward Eloise’s explanation she could almost feel the weight of it. Cressida paid near-constant attention; it was odd that she had not taken more readily to her studies.
“And Gregory and Hyacinth?” Cressida asked. “Still figuring themselves out, I suppose?”
“Indeed,” Eloise answered. “They’re rather smitten with you, the pair of them.”
“What?” Cressida asked, clearly taken aback. “How so?”
“You are the most gorgeous woman of the Ton, of course Hyacinth can speak of nothing else but your gowns and hairstyles,” Eloise said flippantly, noting the way Cressida rubbed her fingers together in her lap. “She is thrilled to have someone to speak to about all things society.”
Cressida stared at her and then her attention dipped back toward her hands. “And—” She stopped, took a moment to clear her throat, and Eloise almost wondered if Cressida’s shawl was too heavy for the atmosphere. She seemed thoroughly flushed, from her neckline all the way to the tips of her ears. “And Gregory?”
“Wishes to be man of the house more than anything, a gentleman of the most honorable sort,” Eloise spoke with great affectation, nasally and mimicking refinement. “He wants nothing more than to hold the door for you whenever you come to visit.”
“They are lovely,” Cressida said. “It has given me a sense, however briefly, of what life must be like with siblings who care for you, even as they vex you within the very same breath.”
“Brothers and sisters are quite adept at the duality,” Eloise remarked, tilting her head and holding her tongue while they listened to the night around them. A fountain overrun with lily pads and water grasses burbled nearby. Then there was the chittering from garden bugs, and a lonely owl’s cry. Otherwise, their position on the stone bench afforded the women a rather silent sanctuary, at least from other voices in the Ton. Eloise took a deep breath, wishing she had more to offer Cressida than a paltry recitation of her own family’s eccentricities.
“I have been thinking of what you said earlier,” Cressida told her, the night air engendering an unexpected chill in the garden. Eloise watched in the glow of the lantern light as Cressida tugged the rather elaborate shawl more snugly around her arms to ward off the discomfort. Her charming flush has passed, and Eloise found herself struck by the thought.
Since when had she found anything about Cressida charming?
“About seeing… beyond all of this,” Cressida mumbled.
“I will continue to press upon anyone who will listen about the ridiculousness of peerage strictures,” Eloise returned. “The rules are utterly contrived.”
“I understand your stance, but for some of us—I just feel—” Cressida huffed, turned her elegant chin toward the moon overhead and held the tears that had been collecting in her eyes all evening so expertly at bay. It was a miracle that she could stop herself from feeling with will-power alone.
Eloise had never possessed that much control.
“Your sister-in-law, the viscountess, she has a great love for horses, does she not?”
“Kate?” Eloise asked, somewhat taken aback by the change in topic. “Why, yes… she rides daily. Astride, if you can believe it. Perhaps we should move to India forever and find ourselves rather more liberated.”
“Based on the last pamphlet you gave me, I do not believe the peoples of India are feeling particularly liberated at present.”
“You read the pamphlet on the local tax in the Bengal province?”
“I read everything you give me, Eloise, as long as I am able to hide it from—I mean…it is neither here nor there,” Cressida pushed past the topic, but Eloise wanted to argue. Cressida could anticipate her action so readily, holding a hand aloft to silence what she knew would be a ferocious rebuttal. “Let me get this out, Eloise, and then you can rail against the East India Company as you wish.”
Eloise rolled her eyes and made a silly sound of displeasure, gesturing grandly for Cressida to continue.
“I was never taught to ride horses,” Cressida said. “But with the races at the track since I made my debut, I began to notice something…”
“That Kate and Anthony are utter fools when it comes to competition?”
Cressida tittered, and inclined her head with a slight concession. “At least they are passionate about… something. Anything. Something that they love. Like you.”
“And what exactly am I passionate about, in particular?”
“Besides everything?” Cressida teased, before she untucked her hand from beneath her shawl to squeeze lightly at Eloise’s forearm. “Injustice, I believe.”
Eloise blinked then, gaze dipping down to where Cressida grasped her affectionately. Her pastel-pink gloves sported iridescent sequins. They glimmered, contrasting with the skin between her elbows and excessive sleeves—so bare. So pale. It was not often that Eloise saw a part of Cressida unadorned, and it made her squirm in her seat. “You are not wrong,” Eloise murmured.
“But, back to those races,” Cressida withdrew her hand, pointing instead ahead and making a strange attempt at miming horseback-riding. “Have you noticed the horses? Their… outfits?”
“Their… harnesses?” Eloise tried to guide her. “Halters? Saddles? The reins?”
Cressida frowned at herself. “What’s the strap that goes on their heads?”
“When racing, with the bit in their mouths, that’s the bridle.”
“The bridle,” Cressida repeated, almost sneering at the word. “Of course.”
“What’s so perturbing about that?”
“It is an interesting word, is it not? Something so close to a bride, being steered round the same race course with just as many other beasts, season after season—“
“Careful, you’re starting to sound like me,” Eloise said.
“I have noticed,” Cressida wavered, “That some of the horses have these accoutrements attached to their eyes, blocking all other paths from their vision beyond where the riders point them—straight ahead, as it were.”
“Oh,” Eloise said, still unsure where Cressida was taking this conversation. “I had not noticed.”
“I notice everything,” Cressida said, shutting her eyes momentarily. “I have to.”
She paused, then stood and crossed toward one of the arches at the entrance of the courtyard, seemingly watching out for other individuals so that they would know when to return for the second portion of the musicale. Her head fell back against the stone column and a tendril of blonde hair fell over her shoulder. Eloise wondered if she cared any more, fated as she was to be married despite her wishes.
What was a dislodged braid in the grand scheme of an unwanted arranged marriage?
“I feel like one of those horses with the accessories blocking their vision,” Cressida said, finally addressing her main argument. “Many of the other mounts don’t have them, so they can see what is beside them, around them, where they stand within the heard of others. There is… awareness of circumstances beyond their own. But I…I’m simply staring ahead, whipped to gallop as quickly as I can, thundering past anything else with my vision glued to the one thing I’ve been trained for my entire life, all else blocked from me.”
“I can hardly look around me, let alone eject the rider from the seat behind me because everything is going so fast—all eyes on me, all the time. I know it is silly, to compare women to horses, but I cannot help but feel I will be shot upon the very track I run upon if I do not win. If I have not lived up to my purpose. I understand that you could never live a life like that, and I am grateful that you do not have the same thoughts that plague me,” Cressida leaned against the archway, forlorn expression softening every inch of her. “I would not wish it upon anyone.”
Cressida’s control finally slipped—Eloise remembers the tears, almost beatific in the moonlight, trailing down from Cressida’s eyes. But she did not look sad, or even melancholy. She looked angry. Angry that she felt that way, that those were her thoughts and that she could not articulate them any more clearly than through a metaphor of horses and races. They had spoken of similar issues on promenade earlier in the season, but not with the same righteous veracity.
In her anger, Eloise noted a hint of Cressida’s desperation, and it hurt her own heart to bare witness to such indignation.
“Cressida, does…I’m sorry, I do not know how to ask this delicately—but…” she had long wondered about some of the grander houses of the Ton, had once heard her mother and Daphne whispering about Simon’s childhood, had heard worse about Lord Pelham and his wife, his daughters left for days without a servant in an unattended country cottage. “Does… does your father—does he strike you?”
Cressida shut her eyes again and smiled, and it was in that moment that Eloise felt vastly inferior. As if Cressida, who often said of herself that she was not intellectual, knew more than Eloise ever could.
“…they do not have to hit me to hurt me, Eloise.”
Cressida expertly dried her tears with the gloved tip of her middle finger and readjusted herself, drawing her shawl about her arms to gracefully cover the skin on display between sleeve and glove, to enshroud any part of her body that Cressida could not cover with the armor of her outfit. “The second act will begin soon. Shall we go in?”
That had all happened two nights ago, but Eloise was determined to provide what comfort she could, even if all she could offer was her presence. And sometimes, that required promenading on a day that was likely to rain.
Despite the less than ideal forecast, Cressida and Eloise had passed a rather splendid hour at the park thus far. They sought each other’s company and perched beyond the bulk of the boating crowd beneath one of the willows along the Long Water. Eloise observed the spectacle of couples struggling against Mother Nature and the lake’s atypically rough waters, along with the idiots Colin found himself accompanying these days, splashing at passersby.
She actually quite enjoyed boating and swimming both, but much preferred the relative peace of the countryside with only her family for company. At Hyde Park it was impossible to ignore the Ton in all of its superficiality, bringing boats round and nearly ramming their neighbors in a show of feigned expertise or lack thereof.
“Are you really the escort if Mama had to grant her permission for you to serve as such?” Hyacinth jibed at Gregory within their mismatched quartet, just as Gregory pulled a face of utmost affront.
“I am certain that Gregory will captain the vessel perfectly,” Cressida said, bestowing a dazzling smile upon the youngest Bridgerton brother.
“As you’ve never had the pleasure of a paddle before, I am not certain you would know the difference between expert and novice,” Eloise joked amongst them all.
“What’s that?” Hyacinth checked her elder sister, staring wide-eyed and attentive at Cressida, who was dressed in blushing pink with ginormous sleeves, a cyclone of fabric draped round her body from the high cinch of her waist all the way down toward her feet. She resembled a thundercloud of tulle and muslin, all puffed up and occasionally threatening amongst a backdrop of blue—Eloise took note of her sibling’s attire and her own, not much for sartorial pursuits but wishing she herself could break from the Bridgerton mold perhaps through color selection alone.
“You have never been boating, Cressida?” Hyacinth asked. “Truly?”
Cressida gave a polite shake of her head but offered a congenial smile at Hyacinth’s worry. “I fear it was not something my parents cared for in my youth, and a suitor has never extended an invitation.”
“Well!” Hyacinth clapped her hands together, soldiering past the rather depressing notion of Cressida’s childhood. “We are delighted to be your first escorts!”
“What a motley crew we shall make,” Eloise remarked, much to Hyacinth and Gregory’s chagrin. “Oh you two, I am only teasing. If you truly wish to set out, best go wait in line to claim a boat. Cressida and I will be along presently.”
The youngest Bridgertons hastened away at a remarkable clip, Hyacinth tripping Gregory quite blatantly so that she might be the very first in line.
“Make sure to request one of the larger passenger boats!” Eloise yelled brashly, flapping her arm above her head to get Gregory’s attention. “Else we might not be able to accommodate Miss Cowper’s skirts!”
“Eloise!” Cressida smacked her hand from the air and rounded on her. But Eloise simply crinkled up her face and shot her friend a knowing smirk. “My skirts are the—”
“Height of fashion, regaled in Paris, sure to attract the most genteel of suitors, yes, yes, you’ve been through this,” Eloise finished for her, bursting into a fit of giggles when Cressida could not suffocate her own laughter at the notion.
Eloise was secretly grateful that Cressida felt comfortable enough to nudge her shoulder away in mock disgust, to roll her eyes at her, to make a sound under her breath of impatience at Eloise’s antics. It meant only that their closeness had grown tenfold since the season’s start. That they had now reached a point in their irregular friendship that allowed for such teasing, and that Cressida perhaps did not take Eloise quite so seriously.
It meant that Eloise knew Cressida rather better than many others in the Ton, which is why, as she tucked Cressida’s arm into her own and began making headway for the dock, she noticed the look of consternation on the taller girl’s face.
“Pence for your thoughts?” Eloise offered, waving ahead as Hyacinth pointed excitedly toward one of the passenger boats she and Gregory had acquired from the dock attendants.
“It is nothing,” Cressida murmured, squeezing Eloise’s arm a bit tighter in her grip. “I am being silly.”
“Best reveal yourself now or else you’ll not get a word in edgewise with those two as our ship mates.”
“It is only… I have never been on the water before,” Cressida said.
Eloise’s brow pinched together. “Yes, as you said…”
“What I mean is… I have never been in the water, not at all. Leisure in my household was practically non-existent, so I cannot—I am just a little afraid because… Eloise, I cannot swim.”
Eloise jolted to a momentary stop, tugging Cressida to a brief pause in step before righting herself and moving forward again, causing the girl on her arm to stumble.
“Oh, Cressida, I’m sorry—I—I did not mean to jerk so,” Eloise apologized as they readjusted and approached the dock. “If you would rather stay ashore—”
“And break their hearts?” Cressida looked ahead at where Hyacinth was bobbing in and out of the other couples, waving excitedly.
“Cressida!” Hyacinth hollered, and Eloise all at once flashed back to her own youth, remembering the wild way she yelled for Benedict. “Sit by me!”
“I am not so cruel as all that,” Cressida murmured discreetly to Eloise.
“Hyacinth is still learning to swim, so you will not be the only one,” Eloise said. “And even in rougher conditions, the boats are still quite safe. I do not expect tragedy to befall us in the middle of Hyde Park.”
“With my luck, I would not speak so soon.”
“Perhaps we will row all the way down the Thames,” Eloise said, attempting distraction. “You, me, Hyacinth and Gregory—through the Serpentine and straight out of London, across the Channel, where we shall start new lives on the continent! Who needs husbands when we already have two energetic adolescents to oversee?”
“Sounds rather like a dream,” Cressida smiled genuinely, just as she approached the front of the queue where Miss Malhotra and Lord Durham were shoving off. Gregory was pulling at the rope of the next boat with one of the attendants who couldn’t be much older than Gregory himself.
“Steady there, Hyacinth.”
Eloise heard Cressida carefully chide her younger sister as she lifted the hem of her dress and shakily boarded the boat. She noted how soft Cressida was with Hyacinth versus how severe she could be with fellow debutantes. Her demeanor, so oppositional with her peers as opposed to a younger charge, was like night and day with all of their contrasts. Eloise had seen the same kind, familiar tone applied toward Cressida’s lady’s maid, toward Eloise herself, and wondered which of Cressida's demeanors was the real one.
“You simply must sit beside me so that I can hear all about your dress!” Hyacinth exclaimed. “The color is truly gorgeous, and you wear it so well. You could be in one of those French courts, or Parisian fashion houses!”
“And what do you know of French courts?” Eloise asked as she stepped down into the boat, sitting beside one of the paddle handles and waiting for Gregory to take his place to her right.
“I read as well!”
“Pamphlets that Mama does not want you to read!” Gregory bickered.
“The same could be said about Eloise,” Cressida remarked as she boarded, where only Eloise could hear.
Gregory extended a hand and helped Cressida crouch down into the boat in her bevy of skirts, just as Eloise offered her other hand for Cressida to grasp for balance.
Eloise and Cressida shared a knowing look before Cressida fully settled herself beside Hyacinth and she set her regard upon Gregory.
“How gallant!” Cressida said, smiling while Gregory passed his hat over to Eloise. He prepared to hop in the boat as he worked with the attendant to shove off into the water, his foot still hovering over the dock. He clumsily fell into the seat next to Eloise, which caused the boat to rock unsteadily.
"Gregory, do take care!" Eloise grunted.
They'd already been jostled by an unruly wind that had doubled in severity upon the open water. Eloise watched as Cressida tensed, her left hand grasping at the edge of the boat extremely tightly. Tighter even than some of her elaborate hairstyles.
“Sorry, sorry—I’ll get it here in a moment!”
They bounced along the shallows for a while longer, but once Gregory settled and reached for the oars, their excursion commenced with relatively little issue. They began paddling down the lake on the open water, Gregory expertly avoiding the other boaters at Eloise’s behest, her eyes scanning the area for Fife and Cho. She didn’t much care about the rest of the Ton, but did not care to run alongside individuals who had been causing enough of a scene to find themselves in Whistledown already. She, Cressida, Gregory and Hyacinth nattered on endlessly, the four of them having a very pleasant excursion indeed.
“Oh look, there is Mama!” Hyacinth said, thrusting her arm overhead and signaling toward Violet with an immense wave. Eloise looked over her shoulder to where Violet stood with Lady Danbury, exchanging pleasantries with Francesca and Lord Kilmartin, who rarely left her sister’s side while out in public. Despite barely saying a word to each other, they got on rather well.
Eloise watched as her mother alerted the group to their location, all waving congenially at them even as Gregory released his grip on the paddle to wave as well. The oar slipped from its framing but Cressida quickly snatched the handle before it fell perilously into the water.
“Oh, blast, I’m sorry!” Gregory said, reaching down and getting back to the business of rowing, a light sweat forming on his brow despite the cool, blustery wind blowing across the lake.
Eloise reclined and looked out over the water, one ear open to Hyacinth and Cressida’s chattering, this and that about ball gowns and fascinators, pearl-buttoned gloves and dangling earrings with gems and the finest adornments for one’s reticule. Eloise was quite happy that Cressida and Hyacinth shared this commonality—Cressida did not press Eloise for such talk, for she knew her uninterested; and Hyacinth still had a figure in her life who paid attention to that which fascinated her.
Eloise had noticed Hyacinth’s occasional bouts of despondency since Daphne had taken up her role as Duchess at Clivedon, but Eloise could no more sit about and speak on dresses than she could smile prettily and accept the first match her Mama passed her way. It would ring hollow, and Hyacinth would know it, and would likely result in more harm than good.
Eloise listened with her other ear toward the slap of the paddles against the surface of the water, Gregory’s labored breathing turned to grunting as he steered with great effort through the currents. His shoulders were beginning to broaden, and it stunned Eloise how quickly she had watched her brother, her only younger brother, begin to lose the trappings of boyhood and start engaging with adolescence—ill-fitting suit jackets, voice changing and hitching at odd intervals of conversation, and a flush of embarrassment upon his cheeks whenever Kate or Cressida noted his gentlemanly behavior. He would be off to Eaton soon and Eloise envied him the opportunity.
“Watch yourself, brother,” Eloise spoke directly into Gregory’s ear. “Those blow-hards have been causing a stir with other boaters all afternoon.”
Eloise pointed impolitely toward Fife, Cho, and two other young misters she hadn’t the misfortune to meet—their caterwauling and cries of bets and races echoing off the canopy of trees lining the waterway. Gregory piloted their craft past them in the opposite direction, finding a scenic lagoon with low-hanging branches and a curtain of shimmering leaves to grant them the illusion of privacy. Gregory brought the oars up as they idled in the water, enjoying their moment of peace from the rest of the Ton.
“Don’t look behind you, Hyacinth,” Gregory said. “There’s a frog on that tree branch.”
“WHERE?!” Cressida yanked her hand in from the edge of the boat, and Hyacinth mirrored her action. Eloise could not help but smile at their matching antics.
Gregory cackled, but Hyacinth knew better than to let her brother have the last word. She yanked one of the draping branches from within her reach and used the leafy end to whack Gregory, the leaves trailing over both him and Eloise like snowflakes at Christmastide. It was silly, and Hyacinth was relentless, but Cressida was laughing and the delight was evident.
“If you two are quite finished disrupting Miss Cowper’s very first boat ride—”
“I believe the only thing that is disrupted is your hair, Miss Bridgerton,” Cressida replied, leaning forward to snag leaf after leaf from Eloise loose coiffure, her unabashed grin brightening her countenance to such a degree that Eloise could scarcely look away.
Eloise was unsure how long Cressida’s fingers skimmed gently through her hair, but Gregory quickly shook them from their reverie as the boat jostled once more. He tossed his head to and fro like Newton working to shake his bath water right upon her eldest brother’s pant leg, and the action caused a rolling wave to slam into the side of their boat.
“Watch it, Gregory!” Eloise said, grasping hold of the port side.
“That wasn’t me!” he argued, brushing the pile of leaves off the top of his hat. He was so proud of it even though it fit him so poorly. He'd kept the piece tucked securely between his feet, insistent that he shouldn't soil it.
“Even so, it is probably best we head back,” Eloise couldn’t help but feel poorly about Hyacinth’s and Cressida’s matching pouts, the other debutante doing little to assist Eloise in reminding her younger siblings of their schedule. “It is nearly luncheon.”
“I’m famished,” Gregory agreed, taking his grip upon the oars once again and fighting with waves that began to crest against the sides of their boat. “What on earth…?”
“Cressida should join us for luncheon!” Hyacinth said, holding onto Cressida’s knees as the boat tossed them all about. Gregory steered them round so that he could pilot them out from beneath the tree branches, the surging waves at his and Eloise’s backs.
“She certainly should,” Gregory grunted as he made one immense pull upon the oars, pushing them out from underneath the curtain of leaves and onto the lake water proper. “That is, if I can get us out of this strange eddy—“
“Gregory!" Cressida shrieked. "Look out!”
Eloise hadn’t the time to turn round before a massive wave smashed into them, followed closely by the prow of another boat racing through the water. The collision splintered wood and flipped their vessel entirely, crunching the boards like twigs with the force of the relentless current. The loud patter of water on water echoed in Eloise's head, and only then did she notice that it had started to rain rather violently, thunder and darkness adding to the bedlam around her.
Eloise’s last glimpse above the water was Cressida Cowper, skirts drenched and tulle torn but her jaw set like a Roman legionnaire, covering Hyacinth’s body with her own in their rapidly sinking quadrant of wreckage. A rogue paddle flew towards them and struck Cressida squarely across her chest, even as Hyacinth clung desperately to the remaining pieces of their craft. Cressida slumped over Hyacinth's shaking body as her head too made contact with a piece of splintered board, but then another wave rushed up and Eloise lost sight of everyone.
A screech, more splashes, and the cacophony of water-logged confusion echoed across the lake, with Lord Fife falling from his perch aboard another boat and smacking his head against the railing.
They were, all of them, saturated to the bone and swiftly sinking into the water below.
There was an ear-splitting crack, followed by a series of snaps and screams from across the lakeside. The bitter chill overwhelmed her and Eloise found herself fully submerged, her skirts weighted and unmanageable as a sea of murky red exploded in front of her vision. Eloise yanked and wrenched, scooping water into her palms and propelling herself heavenward as she kicked with all of her might.
“GREGORY!!!!” Eloise shouted when she broke the water's surface, coughing as water poured from her nostrils and filled her throat. The heaviness of her dress was almost too much so she tore at fabric beneath the water, treading manically while chaos broke out all around her: grown men were sinking face down in waist coats and her youngest brother’s terrified body bobbed before her, shivering from the cold and the fear. “Gregory, thank god! Where's Hyacinth, and where’s—Jesus, Cressida!”
Hyacinth was afloat, thank God, clinging to a broken piece from the vessel and crying out despondently: “Cressida!!! Cressida, no!”
Gregory and Eloise knocked debris from their path as they swam toward their sister, stirring up more lake foam as Cho dove into the surf and flipped an unconscious Fife upon his back.
“Gregory, get her to shore!” Eloise instructed, pushing Hyacinth and the floating wreckage toward her brother.
And then Eloise dove amongst the white foam tinged pink, tearing at her skirts, knowing with a dreadful certainty that there was too much blood in the water for all of them to leave this calamity unscathed.