A Bridgerton Story: the music, the mournful, & the muse | Francesca Bridgerton

SONNET 1

Castle Kilmartin,
Kilmartin, Scottish Highlands, Scotland
09:46

Francesca Bridgerton-Stirling could not look at a pianoforte without nausea piling in her throat.

Granted, she was not always like this. In fact, it was the only thing she truly loved - aside from the obvious being her husband, John Stirling, The Earl of Kilmartin. But he was dead, and the pianoforte stood in his place; serving as an eerie reminder of what she lost and loved simultaneously.

She hadn't played in weeks, despite receiving correspondence from The Globe Theatre to arrange a composition for a performance that was set to be held at her mother, Dowager Lady Violet Bridgerton's, esteemed masked ball. She hadn't done anything with the request because it was once thing to decline a job (she knew how important it was to carry one—having had the unfortunate experience to take care of Castle Kilmartin in John's passing) — but a completely different thing to decline one's own mother's invitation to join her after so many years apart.

And she did miss her mother. Her whole family, for that matter.

Francesca sat on the sofa in the strangely large parlor, her hand clutching the parchment of the theatre's request. She stared, albeit went adrift, mindlessly in front of her; choking on the silence that once brought her immense comfort. God.

"oh! There you are! I was looking for you all morning!" Chirped Eloise as she slid into the parlour with ease, her riding boots perfectly muddy and perfectly her. Her smile was bright like the sun. "Guests are in the east wing." Her voice dipped into a softer register, her eyes flickering to the parchment in her hand.

Francesca cleared her throat, blinking at the mention of guests. Thankfully she was dressed and ate in the parlour alone (it had been her routine for years), but she was not prepared for guests. At this hour? She held up her hand with the note. "Does it have to do with this?"

Eloise strolled near the sofa, her muddy boots imprinting a stamp trail of her whereabouts on the polished hardwood floor. "Ah," she said, acknowledging the news, "that."

Francesca raised a brow. "Well?" She asked her, chest beginning to tighten. She loathed surprises. And Eloise was full of them.

Eloise grinned. "In sort."

"In... sort?" Francesca swallowed, cheeks reddening. Oh, the anticipation was itching. "Eloise-"

"Yes!" Eloise finally admitted, raising her arms up defensively. She laughed. Francesca was not amused. She pulled her off the sofa with both arms. Francesca let the parchment float behind her and slide under the sofa.

She'd never take it. She'd simply... ignore the post. That would have to give the theatre a proper hint that she was not interested. And besides, the ball was weeks away. She didn't have enough time to finish the project.

As Eloise and Francesca made their way to the east wing of the castle, she forgot how much she longed for proper companionship. This was nice, being arm and arm with her sister, it felt much like how when they were children. She missed the chaos, the constant. And to think just years ago she longed for quiet—it suffocated her in memory of what once was.

She and John would sit in silence together.

Francesca's heart skipped a beat upon hearing the clamoring pitter-patter that slowly rose to high volume as they approached the east wing. She inhaled sharply, bracing herself for the impact. At least she knew something: the guests were to the request. But who was the real question Eloise conveniently forgot to answer.