Lady in Waiting: A "Bridgerton" FanFiction

Prologue

When the bell rang over the front door, I turned my head to watch the tall, slim figure of a cloaked woman walk in. The other patrons of the pub turned to her, whispering among themselves. Even with her hood up, her clothing gave her away. Her dress had delicate trimming and a vibrant bowed collar hugged her lean neck. Usually, those who so clearly came from high society avoided the likes of this grimy pub. 

And for good reason, as proved by the jeers and whistles of the gruff drunks who circled the bar and sprawled lazily in chairs. 

"Little lamb is far from home, ain't ye, love?" An older bearded man called after her as she strolled past. Although she looked entirely out of home, she walked with purpose and ignored the calls of men who were undoubtedly very beneath her. 

The man's pride must have gotten ruffled by her ignoring him. He tried again, yelling over the laughs of his prides, "Ah, too good to say hello?" 

"But you were not," she said coolly, hopping into the bar stool that faced me. I slowly sat down the rag that I was using to buff pint glasses. "You were not greeting me in a gentlemanly manner, so why should I regard you as such?" 

As he took a long drag of his pipe, slurring the words stuck up, pretentious, and conceited to himself in a drunken ramble, she smiled at me. 

She pulled back her hood and casually ordered a pint of beer, as if she was a regular and this was nothing out of the ordinary. I snorted to myself as I placed the frothy mug in front of her. "I think you might have hurt his pride back there." 

"Mm," she sighed after a sup, "I imagine he will recover and soon be back to bothering young ladies who mind their own business." 

"He may be a prick, but he had a point," I commented, "You are far from home." 

"Ah, yes. You would be right, barmaid. I may have wandered a bit too far in my walk. Well, carriage. I took a carriage, go out, then walked. It's easier to clear your head when you don't have people stopping you on the streets." 

"So, it's easier to clear your head being gawked at? I'm sure you know, but your clothes give you away." Even as I said this, I felt self-conscious of the modest smock I wore. I rubbed my calloused hands on the front of my blue skirt and turned from her, hiding my flushed red cheeks. 

"Yes, because they don't know me. Even here, being objectified by that disgusting man, he has no idea who I am." 

"Are you someone of consequence?" I asked, cursing myself for being so bold. What if she was a young woman with power? She could ruin me with a bad report to my boss, who would be all too eager to cut me loose. More often than not, my quick tongue gets me into trouble I can't back out of. 

She laughed. Not a lady-like, reserved chuckle, but rather a full-snort, bubbling, deep laugh. "Oh god, no. Well, my family might be, but I'm hardly the most important one." 

When I looked at her again, her blue eyes were alight with laughter and her pretty lips were pulled into a wide grin. Her deep brown hair was held back by thin ribbons, and her skin was fair and clear of any blemish. She looked like she should be a perfect porcelain doll but acted as if she were one of us. Someone who had to scrape by and survive on their wit and cunning. 

"Who are you?" She asked me. 

"No one." 

"No, you misunderstand me. I don't care about your status. Who are you? What's your name?" 

"Oh," I swallowed sheepishly, "I'm Viola." 

"Well, Viola. I'm Eloise Bridgerton. I think I really like you. Can I ask you to come to tea?"