Philloise Re-Written

Chapter Two

. . . and then, I'm sure you will not be surprised to hear, I talked far too much. I simply couldn't stop talking, but I suppose that is what I do when I am nervous. One can only hope I have less cause for nerves as the rest of my life unfolds.

—from Eloise Bridgerton to her brother Colin, upon the occasion of Eloise's debut into London society

"Sir Phillip?"

Her voice broke him out of his reverie, though before he had a chance to respond she said, at quite the speed of lightning, "I'm so terribly sorry to arrive unannounced, but I really had no other option, and to be honest, if I'd sent notice, it probably would have arrived behind me, making the notice really quite moot, as I'm sure you'll agree, and..."

Phillip blinked, certain he was supposed to be following what she was saying but no longer able to make out where one word ended and the next began.

". . . a long journey, and I'm afraid I didn't sleep, and so I must beg you to forgive my appearance and . . ."

She was making him dizzy. Maybe he should try just focussing on her mouth?

". . . didn't bring very much, but I had no choice, and . . ."

This had clearly gone on far too long, with no response from him and he did not want to appear dense in front of her nor did he wish to rudely interrupt her mid-flow. He was also getting concerned that she would swoon from lack of breath and hit her head on the floor. He stifled a cringe at his impending impertinence.

"Madam," he said, clearing his throat.

If she heard him, she gave no indication, instead saying something about the coach that had apparently conveyed her to his doorstep.

"Madam," he said, a little louder this time.

". . . but then I—" She looked up, blinking those beautiful grey eyes at him, and for a moment he felt frighteningly off balance. "Yes?" she asked.

Now that he had her attention, he seemed to have forgotten why he'd sought it. "Er," he asked, "who are you?"

She stared at him for a good five seconds, her lips parting with surprise, and then she finally answered, "Eloise Bridgerton, of course."

Eloise was fairly certain she was talking too much, and she knew she was talking too fast, but she tended to do that when she was nervous, and while she prided herself on the fact that she was rarely nervous, now seemed like a rather deserving time to explore that emotion, and besides, Sir Phillip—if indeed he was the man before her, gaping like a guppy—was not quite what she had expected.

"You're Eloise Bridgerton?"

She looked up into his bewildered face and felt the first stirrings of dread. "Well, of course I am. Who else would I be?"

"I could not possibly imagine."

"You did invite me," she pointed out, simultaneously thinking (or perhaps praying) please say I didn't misread something obvious again.

"And you did not respond to my invitation," he returned.

She swallowed. At least she knew she definitely had been invited. Though he did have a point. A rather large one, if one wanted to be fair, which she didn't. Not just then, anyway.

"I didn't really have the opportunity," she hedged, and then, when it seemed from his expression that that wasn't enough explanation, she added, "as I mentioned when I spoke earlier."

He stared at her for longer than made her comfortable, before the edges of an apologetic smile stretched across his face. "I didn't really understand much of what you said."