Wooing Lady Whistledown - A Bridgerton Story

Chapter 1: A Spirit, yet a Woman too

Eloise frowned, slumping deeper into the pale blue armchair she had claimed a few hours ago. The wisps of hair that laid flat on her forehead failed to cover the creased brow that had haunted the room all morning. She glanced idly at the book in her lap, untouched since she sat down with the intent to finish it.

She had lost her chance— her one shot at knowing the identity of the lady writer.

In the few days after she warned the woman of the Queen's trap, she had felt morally justified— a savior of journalism and a martyr for all the gossips in town, she was! But increasingly, she began to feel her motives might have been more selfish than she had allowed herself to think. Did she really think the queen would have done something horrible to Lady Whistedown? Whistledown, surely, was too smart to write without a plan for her discovery by the public. Today, like yesterday and the day before, Eloise was stuck on the idea that perhaps she had warned Whistdown not because she valued her safety, but because the secret of her identity was most valuable when it was hers alone.

Initially, she found joy in daydreams of unmasking the writer, her brothers smiling approvingly and her mother musing that perhaps were indeed suited better for the literary world rather than the marital one. But the more she read, the more she thought, the more she felt as though she and Lady Whistledown had the kind of bond that would only be weakened by the gaze of the outside world. And despite her dream of praise, adoration, and freedom that might come with unmasking Lady Whistedown, she couldn't imagine being satisfied without just a moment in which she alone knew Lady Whistedown. Even just a moment of calm, to look at the other woman as a colleague, and perhaps to have her look back at Eloise with a brow raised in begrudging respect.

But, as it had been so many times since that night, the daydream was crushed as Eloise remembered the carriage fading away into the alleys. Even Penelope was growing sick of her anxious pacings, the other girl still upset by Colin's departure. It's not that Eloise wasn't upset, but her fondness for Colin, and of Daphne, for that matter, was much outweighed by her quiet, restless thoughts.

Mama entered the room again, the third time this morning, frowning with concern rather than displeasure.

"Eloise have you read a single page?" she asked, a mix of worry and disapproval marring her pleasant features.

Eloise didn't bother to look up at the figure in the doorway. "When did you become so terribly concerned about my reading habits? Other than their interruption of your social life?" Eloise replied, the words coming out sharper than she had intended.

Mama's frown deepened "You're right" she said slowly. "Perhaps I am not quite as passionate about your stories as you, but I know that you sitting there with a closed book in front of you means that something is troubling you."

Eloise flicked her eyes over to her mother, dressed for callers and company despite the emptiness of the house. Elegant as always. "Mama, you must be much more troubled than I, two of your children gone in the space of a month." she tried to say with sympathy.

Mama laughed "You are not as clever as you think you are, at least not yet. Changing the subject will not be the end of my concern. I miss Colin and Daphne both, of course. But I am blessed with the children that remain with me, and I will not pretend as though their displeasure does not pain me"

Eloise groaned "Fine, Mama, alright?" she said, exasperated, as she opened to a random page in the book.

Her mother smiled, not quite pleased but satisfied for the moment. Turning out of the room, she smiled again at the daughter she least understood. "Perhaps after you're finished reading your romance in protest, you might visit Penelope. I don't believe the Featheringtons have any callers today," she suggested, hoping that the other girl's company would soothe whatever ache pained Eloise.

But Eloise, without meaning to, was already engrossed in a poem, both to spite her mother's good intentions and because she did, ultimately, wish to be distracted. But Wordsworth musings on the perfect woman-- his "phantom of delight" who was "a spirit, yet a woman too" only reminded her of her close encounter with Whistedown. Both a phantom and a woman, an apparition and a human form the writer was, and yet Eloise was no closer to knowing who she was than when the season had begun. Without finishing the poem, she shut the volume, intent to begrudgingly follow Mama's advice and distract herself with Penelope's pleasant company.

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She was a phantom of delight
When first she gleam'd upon my sight;
A lovely apparition, sent
To be a moment's ornament;
Her eyes as stars of twilight fair;
Like twilight's, too, her dusky hair;
But all things else about her drawn
From May-time and the cheerful dawn;
A dancing shape, an image gay,
To haunt, to startle, and waylay.

I saw her upon nearer view,
A Spirit, yet a Woman too!
Her household motions light and free,
And steps of virgin liberty;
A countenance in which did meet
Sweet records, promises as sweet;
A creature not too bright or good

For human nature's daily food;
For transient sorrows, simple wiles,
Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.

And now I see with eye serene
The very pulse of the machine;
A being breathing thoughtful breath,
A traveller between life and death;
The reason firm, the temperate will,
Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill;
A perfect Woman, nobly plann'd,
To warn, to comfort, and command;
And yet a Spirit still, and bright
With something of angelic light.

- William Wordsworth, 1804