Chapter Text
Eloise Bridgerton, a well-known lawyer based in London, had a problem. Well, she had many things that people might describe as problems, most of which she brushed off until they resolved themselves. This one, however, was an entirely different story.
She had been approached by a client recently who was looking for a divorce lawyer. Marina Crane, she believed her name was. Now, Eloise was not a divorce lawyer, she specialized in corporate law, but she figured one exception couldn’t hurt.
Marina’s wish to divorce her husband seemed valid, at least from the way she explained the situation. Her husband, Phillip, was a botany professor at Oxford. A respectable enough job, in Eloise’s opinion. Apparently, though, he liked his plants more than taking care of his wife and children, Amanda and Oliver.
Marina continued, explaining that she had finally had enough of his “obligation to his students and fellow professors,” and had decided to divorce him. She knew that alone wouldn’t be a strong enough reason to separate from someone, especially after two children, but she figured she could use his neglectfulness to her advantage.
Eloise thought about it for a moment and decided to sleep on it before giving Marina an answer. The woman was kind enough to understand.
As soon as Marina left her office, Eloise opened her computer and, well, stalked the man of the hour.
He didn’t have Instagram, but thankfully he did have a professional Facebook page. There were no posts, save for his profile picture, which appeared to be a water lily. His bio listed his job and university, but little else in the way of personal information.
Now, Eloise might have decided to refer Marina to a colleague who was an actual divorce lawyer. Still, she couldn’t quite scratch the itch this man left behind. He might have been engrossed in his studies and busy, yes, but neglectful? Eloise couldn’t imagine it.
Yet the feminist in her wouldn’t let the matter rest.
She might have been insane, but that afternoon she drove to Oxford to see for herself what kind of man Phillip Crane really was.
Eloise arrived at University of Oxford and asked for Professor Crane’s office. Another professor was kind enough to direct her.
She approached the door and knocked.
Whatever horrors Eloise had imagined waiting behind it, she was utterly wrong.
A man opened the door, clearly confused by the sight of her. He stared for a moment, his expression openly questioning, until Eloise cleared her throat.
“Hello. Is this Professor Crane’s office?” she asked.
“Yes,” the man replied. “I’m Professor Crane. And you are…?”
“Oh, right. Sorry. I’m Eloise Bridgerton. I work for Nash & Blake Law.” She said it as if that alone might resolve the confusion.
“Right,” he said slowly, still leaning against the doorframe, the door only half open. “Is there a problem?”
Eloise noticed, against her will, that he had a surprisingly nice build for a botany professor. His hair looked soft, and she decided immediately that she liked his short beard far more than she should.
She snapped herself out of it.
“No, there isn’t,” she said quickly. “Well, nothing urgent. I was told by one of my bosses, Patrick Nash, that there might be a complication regarding your father’s will.”
The lie slid out more smoothly than she expected.
She had done her research. Phillip Crane’s father had once retained her firm for his company’s legal matters. Eloise imagined the now-deceased man hadn’t been thrilled that his son had walked away from the family business, leaving it instead to his business partner.
She would absolutely be fired if Patrick Nash ever discovered this.
Phillip straightened slightly. “What sort of complication?”
“Well,” Eloise said, choosing her words carefully, “your father’s will included several conditional clauses. Nothing unusual for someone who owned a company, but one of them concerns inheritance rights that may not have been fully executed.”
His brow furrowed. “Executed how?”
“In short,” Eloise continued, “some assets were placed in a trust with the expectation that they’d eventually revert to immediate family, provided certain professional or advisory roles were fulfilled.”
“And I didn’t fulfill them,” Phillip guessed.
“Correct,” she said. “However, there’s ambiguity. The language doesn’t explicitly require you to take over the company, only that you remain informed or consulted. Which, depending on interpretation, could still be argued.”
Phillip exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was told everything was settled years ago.”
“It was,” Eloise said gently. “Mostly. But when companies restructure or when trustees change, old documents tend to resurface.”
He studied her for a moment, then stepped aside. “You might as well come in.”
Eloise raised an eyebrow. “You’re not even going to ask for identification?”
“I figured,” he said dryly, “that no one invents that much paperwork purely for fun.”
She smiled despite herself and stepped into his office, which smelled faintly of soil and something floral.
“I should be clear,” Phillip added, closing the door behind her. “I have no intention of getting involved in my father’s company.”
“That’s not my job,” Eloise replied. “My job is to make sure no one tries to involve you without your consent.”
He looked at her then, really looked at her.
“Well,” he said, “I suppose I’m glad you came all this way.”
So was Eloise.
Though she had a feeling this situation was already far more complicated than a will.
Eloise and Phillip continued discussing the entirely fabricated situation, trusts, clauses, and hypothetical interpretations, until Eloise, as casually as she could manage, asked, “So… are you married?”
Phillip blinked, clearly caught off guard.
Before he could answer, she gestured vaguely toward his hand. “Sorry, that was intrusive. I just noticed the ring.”
He glanced down at it, then shrugged, seemingly unconcerned. “Yes. Married.”
He didn’t elaborate, merely stepped farther into the office. “Would you like some tea?”
Eloise nodded. “Yes, please.”
While Phillip busied himself with the kettle, it was his turn to ask, “And you? Are you in a relationship?”
It was a reasonable question, she had opened the door.
“No,” Eloise replied easily. Too easily. “Well, no, not currently. I mean, there was someone, years ago, back in university. We almost eloped, actually—”
She froze.
Phillip turned toward her, eyebrow raised but expression amused rather than judgmental.
“—which was a terrible idea,” she rushed on. “Absolutely unhinged behavior. His name was Theo Sharpe, and we were twenty-two and thought we understood the world, which we very much did not.”
Phillip smiled faintly, pouring hot water into two mugs. “You don’t seem like the impulsive type.”
“That’s because I repress it aggressively,” Eloise said. “Anyway. That was years ago.”
He handed her a cup, not commenting further, and she was strangely grateful for his lack of curiosity.
Eloise cleared her throat, squaring her shoulders. “Right. Back to the matter at hand.”
Phillip leaned against the desk, listening.
“As I was saying,” she continued, “the issue isn’t whether you want anything to do with your father’s company, it’s whether the trustees might try to argue that you were obligated to be informed about certain decisions. If that happens, it could open a door you probably don’t want opened.”
“And what would you suggest?” he asked.
Eloise met his eyes, professional once more. “That we close it before anyone even thinks to knock.”
Phillip studied her for a moment, then nodded. “All right. I trust you.”
She wasn’t sure why that made her chest tighten, but it did.
Eloise nodded once. “I can handle it from here. I only came to confirm that you didn’t want any involvement. That’s all I needed.”
She finished the last of her tea and stood, smoothing her jacket. “And thank you. I’m sorry for bothering you. I imagine your job isn’t exactly light work.”
Phillip shook his head. “It’s what I enjoy. I spend most of my time researching plants. It’s… grounding.”
Eloise smiled faintly. “And what does your wife think of that?”
The question slipped out before she could stop it.
Phillip didn’t seem to notice anything amiss. “Marina’s always been supportive of my work,” he said easily. “I’m the sole provider, after all. She stays home with the children, Amanda and Oliver, so this arrangement made sense to both of us.”
The words hung in the air.
It was Phillip’s turn to freeze, realization dawning a second too late at what he had just revealed.
Eloise went still as well.
This man, calm, soft-spoken, almost self-effacing, was not the neglectful husband Marina Crane had described. Not at all.
“I—” Eloise began, then stopped.
The silence stretched, suddenly heavy.
“I should go,” she said quickly, far too quickly. “I have everything I need.”
Phillip nodded, though his expression had shifted, something uncertain settling behind his eyes. “Of course. Thank you for coming all this way.”
Eloise managed a polite smile, already reaching for the door. “I’ll be in touch if anything else comes up.”
She left before either of them could say anything else, before the questions she wasn’t supposed to ask had a chance to surface.
As she stepped back into the halls of Oxford, one thought echoed uncomfortably in her mind:
Someone, somewhere, was not telling the full truth.
And Eloise Bridgerton was now irrevocably involved.
*****
Eloise drove back to London with her thoughts in knots.
She had already recommended another lawyer to Marina, and truly, even if Marina hadn’t been entirely truthful about why she wanted a divorce, it wasn’t as though Eloise could stop her. People were allowed to leave marriages for reasons that weren’t legally dramatic or morally tidy.
Still, Eloise had the unmistakable feeling that her involvement in this matter was far from over.
That suspicion was confirmed the moment she walked into her office and saw Marina Crane sitting stiffly in one of the chairs across from her desk.
Marina stood as soon as she saw her. “The lawyer you recommended spoke to me,” she said without preamble.
Eloise set her bag down slowly. “And?”
“He said he couldn’t prove neglect,” Marina continued, her voice tight. “And that if we proceeded with the divorce as things stand, the children would most likely stay with Phillip. He’s employed. I’m not.”
Something heavy settled in Eloise’s chest.
She had never felt so deeply for two strangers in her life.
“I’m sorry,” Eloise said honestly. “He’s right. From a legal standpoint, that argument wouldn’t hold.”
Marina’s hands clenched in her lap.
Eloise hesitated, then spoke carefully. “Marina… it’s obvious there’s something else going on. If you want my help, I need you to be honest with me. What’s the true reason you want to divorce him?”
For a long moment, Marina didn’t respond.
Then she laughed softly, bitterly. “He isn’t neglectful,” she admitted. “Not really. He provides. He’s present. He’s kind enough.”
Eloise stayed silent.
“All he ever talks about is his work,” Marina went on. “Plants. Research. Students. His mind is always somewhere else, even when he’s sitting right next to me. I feel like a spectator in my own marriage.”
She swallowed. “I grew bored of it. Of him.”
The honesty landed harder than any accusation.
“But my children,” Marina added quickly, panic creeping into her voice. “They’re all I have. I can’t lose them just because I don’t want to be married to their father anymore. That wouldn’t be fair.”
Eloise exhaled slowly.
This wasn’t neglect. This wasn’t cruelty. This was incompatibility, and the law was rarely kind to women who simply wanted more.
“I won’t let you walk into something blind,” Eloise said finally. “But I also won’t promise you an outcome I can’t deliver.”
Marina nodded, eyes shining. “I just want to keep my children.”
Eloise met her gaze, resolve hardening.
Then we’ll have to be very careful about how we proceed.
And somewhere in the back of her mind, unbidden, rose the image of a quiet office in Oxford that smelled of tea and flowers, and a man who had no idea his life was about to be dismantled.
*****
Eloise went home that night and did very little sleeping.
She lay awake, turning the situation over and over in her mind. She had, in no uncertain terms, told Marina that she would take her case.
Which meant facing Phillip in court.
She had no idea how she was supposed to pull that off.
Long past midnight, she sat on her sofa with her laptop balanced on her knees, searching for suitable jobs for Marina. If there was even a chance of Marina keeping her children, she needed stable employment, something respectable, something the court would look kindly upon. Eloise bookmarked listings, rewrote CV drafts in her head, chased every possible angle.
Halfway through scrolling, her fingers stilled.
Did Phillip really deserve any of this?
The man didn’t even realize what was happening. He was tending to his plants, teaching his students, trusting—completely unaware that his marriage was already being dismantled behind his back.
That thought sat heavily with her.
In the morning, she sent Marina a secretary job offer she had managed to secure through a professional contact. Along with it, she attached the divorce papers.
The easiest outcome for everyone would be for Phillip to simply sign them. Marina would take primary custody, he would have visitation every other weekend, and the matter would end quietly.
But Eloise knew better.
Phillip wouldn’t agree. Not without a fight. Not when Marina had only just begun working.
By midday, Eloise was back in her office, rereading notes, when her phone rang.
Patrick Nash wanted to see her.
She swore under her breath. She had almost forgotten about the meeting, the one she had fabricated, involving a conveniently vague client and a very real trip to Oxford.
Patrick was confused when she entered his office. Then angry.
Eloise apologized, thoroughly, sincerely, repeatedly. It was only due to Alexander Blake’s calm interjections about her track record and her undeniable skill as a lawyer that she wasn’t fired on the spot.
Eloise suspected his defense had less to do with professional respect and more to do with the handful of dates they’d gone on, dates that had ended in very pleasant nights at his absurdly expensive penthouse.
Still, she didn’t question her luck.
She explained everything. The client. The divorce. The conflict. The ethical mess she had walked herself into.
Patrick Nash listened in silence.
Finally, he sighed. “You’ve made this far more complicated than it needed to be.”
“Yes,” Eloise agreed quietly.
After a long pause, he added, “But you started it. So you’ll finish it.”
He allowed her to handle the case on her own.
Eloise left his office with relief coiled tightly around dread.
Because now there was no backing out.
And sooner rather than later, Phillip Crane would realize exactly what was being asked of him.
And exactly who was standing on the other side.
*****
As expected, Phillip did not sign the papers.
Instead, he accused Marina of cruelty, of blindsiding him, of reducing their marriage to a transaction. Within days, he had hired his own lawyer, and by Friday morning they were due in court.
The judge assigned to the case had a reputation for being reasonable, pragmatic. Eloise was confident. Prepared. Certain she could win.
That confidence shattered the moment she stepped into the courtroom.
Because standing at the opposing table was none other than Colin Bridgerton.
“What the bloody hell are you doing here?” Eloise hissed, stopping short.
Colin turned, equally stunned. “I could ask you the same thing.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You’re representing him?”
“I was hired,” Colin shot back. “You know how law works.”
Eloise laughed sharply. “Oh, spare me. Since when do you even practice in London? I thought you were too busy playing American success story.”
“I went to Harvard University,” he said tightly. “I came back. Shocking, I know.”
She scoffed. “Yes, well, some of us didn’t feel the need to cross an ocean just to avoid our family.”
“And some of us,” Colin replied coolly, “didn’t feel the need to work for Nash & Blake Law just to prove a point.”
Eloise stepped closer, voice low and furious. “You didn’t even tell me you were back. Or that you were dating my childhood best friend.”
Colin’s jaw clenched. “Penelope is not a footnote in one of your grievances.”
“Penelope Featherington is my family,” Eloise snapped. “And you thought it best to keep secrets?”
“Because every time I tell you anything personal,” he shot back, “you interrogate me like I’m on trial.”
“Funny,” Eloise said coldly, “seeing as you seem quite comfortable putting me on one.”
At the corner of her vision, Eloise caught Phillip’s expression, mirroring her own shock, confusion etched plainly across his face. Phillip Crane looked between the two of them as if reconsidering every life choice that had led him here.
“This is unbelievable,” Eloise muttered. “You’re really going to do this.”
“I’m doing my job,” Colin replied. “Something you taught me to take seriously.”
“That’s rich—”
BANG.
The judge’s gavel struck the bench.
“Counsel,” the judge said sharply, eyes flicking between them, “save the personal matters for outside the courtroom. We are here for Crane v. Crane, not a family dispute.”
Eloise straightened instantly, professionalism snapping back into place like armor.
“Yes, Your Honor,” she said.
Colin mirrored her movement. “Of course, Your Honor.”
They took their seats, siblings turned adversaries, history simmering beneath pressed suits and legal pads.
And for the first time since this case began, Eloise Bridgerton wasn’t certain who would walk out of the courtroom victorious.