unlikely friends

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eloise & henry.

There had been moments when Eloise began to wonder if she was the only one within the ton who felt the way she did. It seemed impossible that she would be, that nobody else felt quite as different, quite as stifled, quite as trapped, but nobody ever seemed to want to be open about it. All she wanted, truly, was some sense of equality, some sense of freedom, wanted to be able to travel, to study, to make her own way in the world...to smoke, to drink, to be awarded the same freedoms as the men. As she grew more aware of her privilege, she came to realise that there were others who had different ways of thinking, different passions, different interests. There were more like her, and she wasn't quite such an imposter after all. Maybe compared to the young ladies and gentlemen she was expected to socialise with at soirees and balls, but she'd come to realise there were other events that might be more to her liking.

While Eloise knew little of Henry Granville, she knew he'd been a friend of her brother's, knew he was the artistic type, and he seemed to be on a similar wavelength. He was hardly the type of friend her mama might wish for her to have, he was no debutante, no young lady who might convince the rebellious Bridgerton to rein herself in a little, but with Penelope and Theo no longer in her corner, she'd take what she could get. He was, in her opinion, a far better option for company than the likes of Cressida Cowper, and if Benedict had trusted him, then so did she. Why wouldn't she? There was nothing untoward about standing speaking with him, and while she was blunt and forward with everyone, she was all the more certain he'd understand what she was saying. Didn't all artistic types? "I must admit, I envy you, Lord Granville. You went to art school, I presume? I can only dream of being able to attend university, of being permitted to do anything with my novel..."

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Henry usually finds himself a wallflower at these things.  The prim and proper way of the Ton never quite sit well with him -- all controlled and perfect.  Henry prefers more chaos in his life, something that feels REAL.  Alas, he must make these appearances;  it is required of him, after all.  Plus, it continues to get him work.  He stands with a drink, observing, though his mind wanders as he considers the theme of his next party.  Perhaps they should do something Roman.  That could be fun. . .  He'll have to talk to Lucy about that, of course -- --

His brow raises curiously as Eloise Bridgerton approaches him.  Benedict's younger sister, yes.  He has not been introduced to the whole family, but Benedict spoke highly of Eloise and her talents.  He sips his drink, listening carefully as she speaks.  A smile forms across his face.  "Envy, Miss Bridgerton?"  He asks, tilting his head.  "Not many do, considering I am not my brother."  Though, he understands.  There are many women in his circle shafted by society, having their talents hidden away.  He's quiet for a moment. 

"While University might be beneficial," he starts, tilting his head curiously, "it is not necessary to work on your craft. You have a novel, you said? I have friends that can look at such a thing, should you be interested." He could help her out;  it's only natural for him to want to foster creativity. 

Tag: @eloisebridgerton

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eloise & henry.

The words, the offer of showing her novel to people, it made her breath catch in her throat. How many times had she wished she had those opportunities, wished she could publish her novel? Instead, she continued to scribble in her journal, knowing she’d never be able to publish. Women did, certainly, but not women in her position; she was supposed to attract a husband, not have her name written in the front pages of books. Nobody would take her seriously enough to even consider what she had to say…except perhaps the people Henry knew. There was so much about him she didn’t know, but if Benedict trusted him, then so did she. Benedict tended to be the one person whose opinions she valued above all others, the one person she trusted above everyone else. By default, she’d trust anyone he did — except perhaps certain gentleman of the ton, but Henry seemed different, and he certainly wasn’t trying to dance with her.

“Do you truly mean that, Mr Granville?” There was something so thrilling about the offer, though she did not dare to get her hopes up. Looking at it was only the first step…she hadn’t even finished it, seeing as she’d truly believed that she couldn’t take it any further. It was exactly why she’d encouraged Benedict to be so bold — out of the two of them, he was the one who could actually make something of his creative passion, he was the one who could actually allow the world to see his art. “It isn’t finished. Seeing as I am a woman of a certain position, and I am expected simply to marry, I did not imagine anyone would wish to see anything I’d written.”

Perhaps, bold as she tried to be, she was the one holding herself back. If there were truly people who would give her novel a chance, what was stopping her from continuing? Disappointing her mother terrified her, yes, but could she really disappointed in any of her children pursuing something that made them happy? “You would really do that?”

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