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But perhaps you should like to find a looking glass, rather than looking at me.
Eyelids shakily fluttered close as Eloise once again heard the words echoing in her mind, plaguing and gnawing the deep crevices of her usually mental solitude more than she wished to admit. Two days passed since that fateful conversation but there was no waking moment, despite her mighty attempts, that Eloise did not find herself haunted by the broken, almost breathless voice of her friend. Even at night, when she wishes slumber to engulf her and force every thought she has reduced into nothingness, images of downturned, pinkish lips and the crease between delicate, blonde brows kept her laying awake. Eloise blinked through the darkness of her room that dawn, staring at the fading blue paint of her ceiling, thinking how similar the hue was with the somber eyes that bore into hers.
It was truly baffling on how much it consumed her. Then again, however, it was not that surprising either. Despite what people make of her and her headstrong personality, Eloise Bridgerton was no stranger to guilt. Even she considered herself a weak opponent against it; not that adept in maneuvering her emotions which most of the time disastrously led to crass decisions. Or worse, bottling it up to eat her alive. With everything that has occurred these past seasons, it was tiresome.
But Eloise continues to try.
She really does.
It would be a downright lie to say she was spared from any shortcomings and even wrongdoings, Eloise herself was aware, which was why she woke up one morning as though she had an epiphany and determinedly set her entire day making amendments. Or try doing so, at least. Eloise, well-versed that she is, was not good at expressing what comes out of her chest.
Still, she tries. That was why she had found herself across the street at the Featherington House to seek out Penelope and apologise. It was truly not her intention for how circumstances were at that moment, with the ton now knowing what goes between her and Colin from Lady Whistledown that Penelope herself wrote—Eloise already understood, somberly, on why she had to write such—which all started from her own mistake. Eloise felt the tightness around her chest somehow loosened when Penelope did understand, saying that it was the reason why she did not reproach her. A glimmer of hope must only have rekindled having to amend some part of their relationship, and Eloise would have considered Penelope’s invitation to show her the new books she claimed, but the gentle rejection almost came out of her lips so easily that Eloise was surprised herself.
Deep within, Eloise knew that it was not because of how she is not yet ready to fully commit in starting anew with Penelope. Rather—
I’m meeting a friend.
Eloise confessed such to Penelope for the reasoning of her nonacceptance, inwardly flinching when the words came out weak as though it sounded an excuse, yet Eloise knew it was anything but. If one strained to hear, the syllables uttered were only dripping with every sense of conviction. She knew that the tightness in her chest would never completely go away without having to address the culprit that took up a major fraction of its space—with her elaborate hair and even more elaborate sleeves.
And so, that is how Eloise found herself presently sitting in one of the chairs inside of the ice cream parlour that Daphne apparently visited with Simon. She had to ask her mother.
“Miss Bridgerton, shall I serve you our complimentary refreshments whilst you wait for your expected companion?” came a voice that pulled Eloise out of her thoughts. She allowed her eyes to open but immediately squinted when her vision adjusted to the glaring light of her surroundings, only now realising it has been a while since she sat there with her eyes shut close.
Finally, Eloise gave a tight lipped smile to the polite seeming lady, one of the servers she reckoned, “That would be lovely, thank you.”
With that, the server was off to fetch Eloise her refreshments, whatever that may be. It was most probably just lemonade. Or tea. Or lemonade, hopefully. Eloise would have preferred it so, having to be under an especially hot weather in Mayfair today. A lemonade would do wonders for her rather drying throat begging for something icy and cool. Perhaps one that is tinged pink, a variety of lemonade apparently mixed with another fruit such as cranberry, one that instantly became Cressida’s favourite when they tried it back in Bath that summ–
Cressida.
Almost instantly, Eloise’s throat dried up worse than she even thought possible as Cressida came barging back into her mind, the mental image of a broken look gracing fine, sharp features almost shattered Eloise once again. She suddenly remembered why she was in that ice cream shop in the first place. To meet her.
To make amends with her.
But how could Eloise possibly show herself to Cressida after having done such a cruel thing to the one person that has lately shown her patience and kindness when no one else did, apart from her family? Cressida would not have sprung into conclusions—not like Eloise. She would have still been patient, and kind, and comforting because that is how Cressida is after genuinely knowing her and allowing Eloise beyond the walls that she came to know Cressida only built to fend for herself against harsh society. And now, she did this.
Is she truly worth Cressida’s forgiveness? Would Cressida even forgive her? Eloise has only realised, if the creeping fear she currently felt was of any indication, that she may probably not stomach the dejection she would feel if Cressida did accept her invite for ice cream, only to end the short-lived friendship they built. Eloise suddenly felt as though the room was spinning.
Perhaps it would have been better. For Cressida to be without Eloise. She would certainly do better without a humanized volcano ready to erupt in any unfortunate moment. Though, Eloise would not be better without the anchor Cressida surprisingly gave her, but it does not matter—not any longer. Before Eloise could abandon her seat to go home like the coward she believed she was and mourn at the loss of another friend, the chime of the ice cream parlour rang as the door opened to welcome a new visitor.
It could have been anyone, and Eloise would still be carrying out where she left. Except, funnily enough, it was not anyone.
It was the very offender that wreaked havoc in her maddened state of mind.
Standing tall at the doorway was Cressida Cowper, donned in a pale pink dress that was more modest in comparison to the extravagant ones she is seen at balls yet somehow accentuating her elegant looks better, with the intricate designs adorning her dress that reminded Eloise of the embroidery her mother stitches in their drawing room. The simplicity of Eloise’s powder blue ones could never rival Cressida’s—not that she was trying to. Eloise would allow Cressida to outshine anyone in that room. However, beautiful as she was, Eloise felt as though she was winded to the chest at the sight of the woman, guilt and anticipation constricting her exceptionally that the involuntary act of breathing now became voluntary. Cressida started searching across the room and Eloise watched with a hitched breath, fully knowing that it shall not take long for Cressida to find her when the room was occupied with a number of people Eloise can count on one hand.
At last, pale blue eyes landed onto hers and Eloise was positive that an imaginary steed kicked her right to the chest. She must have looked truly funny, because Eloise cannot think of any plausible reason as to why Cressida was faintly smiling at her—a far contrast from the look of resentment and betrayal that Eloise was expecting to be regarded with.
Air no longer felt rare when Eloise drew an easy breath.
“Cressida,” Eloise greeted when the woman in question finally approached the table she was occupying and, because she was raised to have manners, stood up to extend a proper greeting, “You are here.” The moment she had done so, however, Eloise was quick to find herself almost getting knocked back to her chair by the whiff of lavender scent.
“Eloise,” Cressida returned, the corner of her pink lips stretching just minutely wider as she halted before the brunette, seemingly oblivious from the response her perfume ignited, “Here you are.”
Eloise, there you are!
Eloise almost barked out a laugh when the cause of her upheavals was already standing before her yet still managed to consume her present thoughts. Shaking her head, she moved a tad forward to awkwardly extend an arm towards the opposite chair.
“Please, have a seat,” Eloise hastily offered, wincing when her voice came out a squeak at the end which immediately prompted her to clear her throat as discreetly as she could. It mustn't have been as discreet as Eloise thought it be, mentally cursing when she did not miss how Cressida glanced at her. She almost looked amused. “You must be parched from the heat outside,” Eloise tried again, overjoyed when her voice sounded steadier.
Cressida hummed, gracefully taking the offered seat as she scooped the skirt of her dress and straightened it out to avoid any undue wrinkling. She looked back up to Eloise, “It is quite warm at town today. Almost unenjoyable if I might say,” Cressida tilted her head to the side, “but I fear your seat would lose its own warmth if you ought to remain standing for the rest of the day.”
With that, an uncharacteristic stutter left Eloise’s lips, her mind valiantly trying to form some coherent defense but every word somehow blended into an indiscernible mess, until she finally forced herself to be a dignified human being and choked out a simple, “Right.”
Amusement was no longer vague on Cressida’s face. It was gleaming.
“Are you quite well, Eloise?” Cressida asked as her eyes followed Eloise scrambling back to her seat, her voice mixed with concern but mostly curiosity.
“Quite.” Eloise curtly replied, not trusting her voice to blurt any intelligence at all.
She almost committed an unladylike act of slapping herself when Eloise saw how Cressida’s smile slowly fell, now being replaced with a small, worried frown. “Are you certain?”
The server finally returned with two beverages instead of one and served each drink across the table before departing, but Eloise hardly even noticed nor she heard what the server had said—most likely an apology about a delay or such, she was entirely not sure—when all Eloise could do was look at Cressida, her attention unapologetically captivated by the blonde woman whose bluest of eyes were swimming with concern for her.
Eloise’s heart clenched. How is that Cressida being the one who had received Eloise’s harsh accusations, something that Eloise will eternally regret, still regard her with softness and genuine worry as though Cressida was the one who committed offense? She should have not worried for Eloise, should have not graced her a smile at the door, should have not even showed up today and Eloise would understand. But Cressida did nothing of sorts. Nothing but proving to Eloise that she was incapable of being cruel with her.
She may not deserve Cressida’s forgiveness, but Cressida deserved Eloise’s apology.
“Cressida, I’m afraid it is with other intentions when I invited you here to share sweets with me,” Eloise started cautiously, allowing a smile on her face when she finally caught sight of the pink lemonades, her eyes then flicking back to Cressida’s awaiting ones, “Though I did wish it were the only case. To simply enjoy ice cream with you. But… but…” Her gaze suddenly fell downcast as nerves began to crawl their way back to Eloise, causing disruption to her train of thoughts and confidence. She tried to fight her way through it, forcing her throat to open up and vomit words her muddled mind could manage—because Cressida needed to hear her. “But I have wanted to see you. I do not think it can go another day without having to say what I am about to say, lest Benedict will notice the dark circles under my eyes because I’ve been losing much sleep from… from—”
From this guilt. For God’s sake, say it, Eloise.
Her knuckles turned white under her gloves from how tightly her hands were gripping one another, and Eloise feared that the intensity of the pressure she was putting might break the glass table supporting her upper limbs. She gritted her teeth, shutting her eyes close as nerves finally came flooding in, unable to be kept at bay. No matter how hard she tried, Eloise could never seem to be freely open, and that infuriated her to no end. She once thought that expressing one’s thoughts and one’s feelings were two sides of the same coin, though that probably held true for others, but Eloise came to learn many years back that the two were far from being similar, at least for her. She wished it were not the case, wished that she could be articulate with her feelings the same way she was with her ideas, but Eloise feared being open.
Mostly, she was afraid of being too vulnerable.
A sudden weight sat on top of Eloise’s gripped hands and whatever turmoil that was happening within her completely stilled at the sensation, her eyes now opening at an instant. Quickly, her gaze zeroed in on her hands, finding a pink gloved one mounted atop of hers. Strangely enough, the sight somehow calmed her.
“Breathe, Eloise.”
She looked up, eyes then rapidly blinking when Eloise was finally aware of the slight burn on her eyes, a sensation which she knew would undoubtedly transform into those dreaded waters if she dwelled a second longer in her emotions. At last, her vision slowly cleared in front of her, and Cressida’s smile looked brighter than Eloise had ever seen.
“Very good, Eloise,” Cressida crooned, “Do not stop breathing.”
“Yes, well, I would be dead otherwise.” Eloise brilliantly replied.
The laughter was like chimes in Eloise’s ears, pleasant and calming, and for the first time in quite a while, Eloise smiled.
Perhaps, with Cressida, it was fine being vulnerable.
“Cressida,” Eloise began, now with unwavering confidence and genuinity as she flipped her palms open and gently held Cressida’s hand in between, “I was a fool and a bad friend. All the words you have said to me the other day, you were right. For all the blabbermouth that I was, I sure was not the most careful, and it was even worse when I wrongly blamed you. I was cruel, Cressida… so quick to see the fault on others before I could see myself, and my biggest mistake was that I did it to you. When all you ever did was being kind to me. I do not deserve your forgiveness, but I do hope you know that I truly apologise.”
Silence hung in the air after Eloise had finished, visibly panting just a little after having to say everything in one breath, though the silence was quickly becoming too long for comfort that Eloise could feel her peace starting to crumble once again. Perhaps she should take it a good sign that Cressida has yet to withdraw her hand from her hold, even daring to say that it only tightened, otherwise nothing would be anchoring her and Eloise will once again find herself in a spiral. Finally, Cressida spoke.
“Always one for melodrama, Eloise.”
Eloise’s jaw dropped. “After everything—that’s all— what? ”
Cressida laughed once more, this time, both her hands now grasping Eloise’s as she locked eyes with the brunette’s incredulous ones, her smile creating soft wrinkles around her eyes, “I appreciate and accept your apology, Eloise. In all honesty, I did not think you would be willing to talk about this again, nor was it needed. I understand you. But seeing that you just opened this up yourself, I can feel your sincerity. And, well, hearing this from you…” Cressida smiled wistfully, “I do not think I ever had a friend to mend things with. Though I may only have one, the truest that is, I imagined friends are there to call out each other’s wrongs and to help them right it.”
Eloise smiled brightly, “And you are nothing but right. I am glad I have a friend like that in you, Cressida.”
“And I with you,” Cressida held her smile for a beat or two before her eyes then glinted of something more playful. “Now, shall we continue dilly-dallying or get ourselves some creamy delight?”
Eloise grinned and quickly raised her hand up to call on a passing server, the overdue ice creams will finally no longer have to wait. The argument and subsequent apology almost did not feel it happened for how elated Eloise felt, but she would not have it any other way. The slight bump that had happened between her and Cressida was needed for Eloise to grow, and perhaps for the both of them, otherwise she would not have reflected and unintentionally continue repeating her mistakes. When the server arrived and they finally got to order, Cressida began to talk away. Usually, it was Eloise who would vent the first thing coming to her head, but she found that listening to Cressida was as enjoyable as it was enthralling. She could not take her attention off her friend even if she wanted to.
“I was surprised you ought to go for strawberry,” Cressida commented when the ice creams were finally served and they were once again left alone for the next considerable amount of time, “which is classic of me, by the way. You, however, well… it is only right I get vanilla.”
An amused brow quirked up on Eloise’s fine features. “Because I chose your favourite this time, it gives you the right to steal mine?”
“And who said vanilla was of your sole ownership, Eloise Bridgerton?” Cressida countered, the corner of her lips stretching into a smirk. Eloise rolled her eyes fondly, deciding it was simply wise to give Cressida the last word and most definitely not because she wanted to, so she unwittingly grabbed her pink frosted treat when Cressida continued, “I hope you do not mind me doing this.”
“Hm?”
It was said that discoveries about oneself sometimes come in the most unexpected of moments, and oftentimes, these kinds are the ones that are life-altering, so shattering it leaves one to question everything they ever knew about themselves. That was why when Cressida pinched the tip of her gloved finger and, without warning, pulled the material off her hand, the very system that made Eloise function went completely haywire at the revelation of Cressida’s dainty, long fingers, the muscles twitching as she flexes her digits back and forth.
“That is better,” Cressida sounded satisfied, subsequently removing her other glove with her free hand, “The sweat was becoming increasingly annoying from how humid it is.”
Eloise tried to make a sound, but nothing came out so she ended up looking like a fish out of the water, her mouth hanging agape. Gradually, frustration started to build within her. It was not the first time she had seen Cressida without her gloves, so she cannot— for the life of her —understand why it was affecting her so madly at the moment. She gripped her spoon tightly as she raised it and Eloise glowered, as if finding fault on the unsuspecting ice cream for the reason of her distress.
“My, I gather ice creams love to be stared at now.” A cheeky voice quipped in from across.
Of course, Eloise being Eloise, she was never one to shy away from half-hearted mockery, always finding delight to retort a few words. So she looked up, momentarily forgetting why she averted her eyes in the first place, and Eloise almost dropped her spoon by the sight gracing her. Cressida had her elbows propped daintily against the table while her chin rests on top of her intertwined fingers. Her fingers . Eloise shamelessly watched those damning hands again, the complexion of it being so pale Eloise could trace a few veiny prominence scattered beautifully across the skin.
She gulped. What is happening to her?
“Is something the matter, Eloise?” Cressida asked, her eyebrows slightly coming together, not minding the bead of sweat forming along its edges until it lost traction and ran across sharp cheekbones, then settling on the junction of an equally sharp jaw. Eloise felt something scorching within her, the feeling startling her so much she violently shoved the spoon into her mouth and gulped the ice cream down.
“Ow,” Eloise clutched her head as she grimaced drearily, grumbling in pain when the frost went up to her brain.
Cressida sat up straight and leaned forward, alarmed, “Eloise, careful.”
Eloise tried to wave a hand off, “Yes, I am fine,” she chuckled, “I am fine, Cressida. I’m–”
A warm, soft hand clasped around Eloise’s one that was pressed against her temple, the contact of bare skin seeping through her thin glove alarmed every fiber of her body that it sent an electrifying shockwave across everything that was her. Cressida’s fingers tightened around the back of her hand, tugging slightly to remove them from her temple but not enough to scare Eloise into prying their hands off.
“Careful.” Cressida repeated in a whisper, an unnameable expression on her face.
The hairs on Eloise’s arm collectively stood up. “I am careful,” she insisted rather hastily, stripping her hold off gently from Cressida’s before flashing a reassuring smile, “It got too warm, that is all.”
The furrow between her eyebrows indicated that Cressida was not all that convinced, but she nodded nonetheless, finally leaning back, “Alright.”
“Alright.” Eloise nodded as well, picking up her spoon once more and began to feign scooping.
It did not even take more than five seconds before her eyes traitorously flicked right back up.
See, Eloise never understood the metaphor she reads in fiction books of one’s world “slowing down”, even finding it incredibly tacky and unrealistic. Though Emma was one of the few romance novels that was a delight to read, Eloise would argue. Still, she could not imagine it happening in real life.
Until Cressida proved her wrong.
Eloise watched as Cressida dipped her spoon into the ice cream before raising a generous amount in front of her mouth, the world seemingly slowing down when Cressida moved to part her lips and a flash of tongue peeked out to usher the entering cutlery. Right away, a blazing heat ignited inside Eloise and blood quickly rushed to her ears that she started hearing her own pulse. Cressida did nothing at all but worsen everything for Eloise as the woman fluttered her eyes close with a crane of her neck, and a muffled moan sounded off her throat.
The pink lemonade almost got knocked down when Eloise inadvertently jolted. It seemed the movement somehow alerted her companion as Cressida opened her eyes and it was too late for Eloise to look away, helplessly gawking back with flushed cheeks and blown pupils. A glimpse of surprise flashed across Cressida’s eyes before it morphed into something more set, more purposeful. Eloise did not know what to think at what she saw, but the change unnerved her like it was witnessing a prey turning into predator.
Cressida dipped her spoon again into the frosted cream and this time, the world need not slow down as the blonde’s own movements were dragging, almost tactful if Eloise dared to think. Normally, Eloise would have felt shameful having to be caught red-handed, making no mistake to repeat her deed and restore her focus back on what she truly came for: eating godforsaken ice cream. But there was something about the present circumstance, about the way Cressida looked, that Eloise cannot— does not —break their eye contact.
It seemed her decision to dwell on her bravery made Cressida conceal a smirk, now deliberately moving with grace and purpose as she bore a half-filled spoon into her mouth, her gaze never leaving Eloise’s. When she thought there was a window of moment she could blink, Eloise quickly found out there was no such mercy when Cressida pulled the spoon off her mouth to swipe an unabashed amount of tongue across her moist lips.
Dear lord.
“Is it tasty?” Cressida spoke out of the blue, cutting through the silence and unspoken tension.
Eloise, always the bearer of intelligence, replied. “Huh?”
“Your ice cream,” Cressida shifted on her seat, her eyes twinkling with mirth, “Strawberry. Is it tasty?”
When the ringing in her ears slightly subsided and the world got its sound back, Eloise finally registered what was said and looked down on her food—a total of two scoops scarcely consumed. “Yes,” Eloise said regardless.
“Truly?” Cressida smiled a little too sweetly, “Can I try?”
There is always an inkling that suddenly surfaces when one senses danger, and naturally, the human instinct was to avoid such potential peril. But for the past couple of minutes, Eloise had her own inkling that her human faculties suffered some sort of devolution. So, her primal instincts have taken over and welcomed the danger that took form of Cressida Cowper.
“By all means.”
Eloise would like to argue that it was her attempt of asserting dominance, not giving Cressida the satisfaction to think that she would always have the upper hand. By agreeing to her request, Eloise knew she would not come off shy and nervous throughout the entire ordeal, and she was proud of that idea. Unbeknownst to her, however, she only dug her grave deeper.
“Wonderful.” Cressida beamed, and Eloise waited for the woman to scoop her spoon into her dessert.
Only that, it did not come. Instead, Cressida leaned forward and reached across the table to—Eloise dreadfully watched—pick her own spoon before she sticks a spoonful of strawberry ice cream into her mouth, moaning delightedly.
Eloise was set on fire and it had nothing to do with the heat outside.
“Thank you!” Eloise yelled, her answer most inappropriate as if she was the one who received the offered food and not Cressida, lurching across the table and grabbed her spoon back from her friend who looked like she was about to burst in a fit of giggles. Eloise glared at her, adamantly ignoring the drumming of her heart and the wearying of her knees, suddenly grateful she was seated. “Are you satisfied?” she scowled.
“Yes,” Cressida nodded demurely, smiling, “You tasted sweet.”
A few heads turned at the sound of a clank resonating in the room when Eloise dropped her spoon on the glass table. Cressida raised a hand with a dismissive smile when a server seemed to want to approach them, signaling that there was no need of tending, so the server reluctantly remained on her position. Really, both women knew that all Cressida wanted was not a single soul disturbing them.
“Apologies,” Cressida did not sound apologetic, “A mere slip of the tongue. I meant to say the strawberry flavour tasted sweet, which was why it is a favourite of mine.”
Eloise pointed an accusatory finger. “You have your own spoon.”
“True,” Cressida picked up her cutlery, inspecting it nonsensically, “But that would mix with my vanilla and ruin the flavour, would it not?”
Eloise could only gape at the painfully lousy attempt of an excuse but Cressida did not care, she did not care when all she could think about was Eloise and how she could drive the brunette to her every edge because, heavens help her, it was exhilarating. Addicting even. Cressida could not stop.
If Eloise heard what was running through Cressida’s head, she would first pretend to disagree, then realise she was not fooling anyone, especially not herself. Eloise would not want Cressida to stop.
With an effort of finality to start something that was only beginning, Cressida took her spoon and dug another generous amount of ice cream before disposing it into her mouth, finding herself enjoying the taste as she consistently had. The number of deliberate licks she did on the spoon must have surely been unnecessary, but Cressida had half a mind being conscious to her every action, not when she knew Eloise was watching her closely. Finally, Cressida placed the metallic thing back to the mass of vanilla and she set aside Eloise’s strawberry dessert, pushing her own treat to the woman in front of her.
“Your favourite, Eloise,” Cressida said, “I do not think it wise to continue eating from your own when the spoon sadly got discarded. Though, do take your time,” she propped an elbow and leaned her head against a palm, once again peering with predatory intensity, “We have all afternoon.”
When Eloise went home and asked Benedict for an explanation regarding what she had felt with Cressida earlier that day, describing to her brother that the feeling was akin to a heat pooling just beneath her stomach, Benedict himself almost lost his footing climbing up the stairs.