5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Eloise

"You mean to say I can ask this machine any question, and it will give me the answer?" Eloise demanded. She gazed at the computer, for once wholly distracted from the marvel which was Ava… Ava Something. Eloise simply must discover her family name. She itched to know absolutely everything about her.

Ava leaned over, her shoulder touching Eloise's as she directed her on use of the computer. "Sure. You type your question in there, press enter, and it'll show you the results. Be careful, though. Anybody can put information online; it can be hard to be sure what's true, sometimes."

Eloise thought on the numerous gossip sheets which had permeated the Ton throughout her lifetime, of whispers and insinuations and teasing done by her brothers which only served to remind her of information she did not have.

"I can ask it anything?" she asked. "Anything at all?"

Ava looked at her sideways. "Why? What are you going to ask it?"

Eloise set her jaw and reached for the keyboard. How does a woman come to be with child?

Over her shoulder, Ava spluttered into a laugh, just as articles lined themselves up. 'How to explain where babies come from?' one headline asked, and Eloise lunged for it, opening up a long-winded discussion about talking to children which had no real information in it.

"Here," Ava said through more laughter. She leaned over, and typed into the bar, How to get pregnant. "There's your sex ed. Knock yourself out."

Eloise pressed her lips together, trying to deny the flush which wanted to chase its way up her cheeks. "Mother always said it was an unladylike topic of conversation," she said.

"You're definitely old enough to know the birds and the bees." Ava leaned back in her chair, eyes dancing with merriment. Then she blinked, shook herself, and turned to her own computer. She attacked the keyboard with relentless abandon, navigating page after page of complex-looking images and text. Eloise turned back to her own screen, determined to find answers to all the questions nobody had answered for her.

After several informative pages, it seemed as if a weight were lifted from Eloise's shoulders. Pregnancy out of wedlock suddenly made a lot more sense (though she could not imagine why any young woman would be tempted by the act she learned of). A thousand jokes made by her brothers came into awful clarity, and she determined she would enact revenge upon them all as soon as she saw them again.

And then she allowed her mind to run free. She discovered how clouds were formed, and learned the blue colour of the sky was a touch more complex than she could understand, but was the result of some phenomenon called Raleigh scattering. She learned how a book was bound, and the marvellous evolution of moving pictures. She learned the shape of the globe and spent a good long time exploring the map function, especially after Ava leaned over and showed her how to shift from map view to street view.

She looked sideways at Ava as another question rose in her mind. Ava was lost in her work, a furrow tucked into her brow as her eyes scanned the screen in front of her, her pen nestled between her teeth.

Eloise hesitated, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. Then she plunged onwards, throwing all propriety to the wind. She was here to learn, and she would. Her stomach twisted itself into knots as she discovered gay marriage had been legalised only recently in the United Kingdom, and many countries still prohibited the act. That many countries openly persecuted those with the affinity, even though many reports said a portion of the population had always leaned thus, and that no amount of willpower could change the affinity a person was born with.

She did not know if that was the answer she wanted, but she was not here to find nice answers, only truth. These thoughts, once unlocked, would not easily be suppressed, and to do so would serve only to bring her misery.

She wondered what Ava's thoughts might be on the matter, and glanced sideways again to find the girl leaning back in her chair, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling, her thoughts clearly miles away. It would be tremendously rude to interrupt what was clearly an intense train of thought.

So, staring at the blinking cursor in that question bar, Eloise chewed her lip and typed in Eloise Bridgerton.

A greyscale, slightly faded image of her appeared, and her heart stuttered in her chest as she took in the titled links lining the page in blue. She stabbed at the articles, entitled 'The grand fall of the Bridgerton fortune', 'The most famous names of the nineteenth century', 'Viscount Anthony Bridgerton and his fall from grace'.

"No," she whispered. "No, it cannot be."

The articles were stories of horror. Of a Viscount pouring a fortune into the search for his missing siblings. Of a mother lost once more to grief, and a family cursed. Eloise felt tears well in her eyes as she took in the picture of an aged Anthony, hollows in his eyes and a grief in his mien.

If they did not return home, their disappearance would break him.

"Eloise?" Ava's voice snapped Eloise from her reverie. Her next words were almost a whisper. "Oh my God, is that your brother?"

"He never found us," Eloise croaked, her hand trembling on the computer mouse. "He has been so responsible for us all since Father died; he must have taken our disappearance as a failure of his own, and ruined himself finding us." She spun in her chair, grabbing Ava's arms. "We cannot allow this to happen. We must return home, as soon as possible."

Ava's eyes went wide, a fresh veneer of panic blooming within her. She nodded, and Eloise immediately regretted her outburst. Of course, Ava would do everything in her power to return them home. Eloise had only added pressure to the already overwhelming task. She wished she could take back her words, but of course it was too late, so instead she leaned in. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

Ava's jaw worked, and then she slid her notebook over to Eloise. "I need you to research and write down every electrical storm which occurred that summer you went missing, anywhere in the country, and discover if there's any record of a specific strike hitting a specific place, like a statue or a pillar, or even a tree."

"I understand," Eloise said, closing away from Anthony's broken expression and squeezing the pen in her fist. She must find a way to fix this. To fix her family. "Oh," she added, looking at Ava. "Please do not tell Colin what I saw. He is already desperate to return home. This will only upset him."

"If that's what you want," Ava said. Then she turned back to her research, and Eloise dove determinedly into her own studies, even as her own heart broke and she thought of all she would lose of this world when she had to return to the rules and restrictions of her own time. She would lose Ava, after such a short time of knowing her. She would lose the breadth of accessible knowledge (where, back home, could she possibly have attempted to learn of particular lightning strikes of a specific summer?), and she would lose the small piece of peace and understanding which blossomed from the realisation of what she truly was.

Her affinities would have no place back home like they did here.

Eloise devotedly jotted down every piece of information she could find on lightning strikes of the nineteenth century, and swallowed hard to hold back the tears which stung behind her eyes. She supposed she would indeed be destined for life as a spinster, always trapped on the edge of things.

She would never truly know the love her parents had; that Daphne and Anthony had. She had awoken a part of her which had been sleeping; Ava had awoken a new part of her, and Eloise did not know how she could ever return that part of her to its slumber.

Colin

"I insist, it is your turn," Penelope said, casting her eyes across the library floor. They were several storeys up, having walked the length and breadth of the building. It was emptier up here, amidst the dusty fat tomes. They were alone.

Colin watched her unabashedly. She was so familiar, and yet quite unlike the Penelope he had come to know. She seemed relaxed here in a way he had never seen her back home. As he watched, she reached to brush her locks over her shoulder, and Colin's hand spasmed as if to reach out and touch her.

"A game," he announced, bringing his hands together to keep them under control. "Okay, Miss Featherington. I charge you with finding a fictional book in which features… a pirate."

"A pirate?" her lips curved into a smile.

"And I shall time you," Colin said. "After your success, you shall challenge me, and we shall determine who was faster."

"In that case, you shall regret giving me so easy a challenge," she said, eyes sparkling like the sea under a perfect blue sky.

"I doubt that very much," Colin said, pulling out his pocket watch as an excuse to tear his eyes from hers. "Time is ticking, Miss Featherington, and yet you stand quite still."

She gasped, her lips falling open in dismay. "You—you cad!" she declared, before taking off through the library at a pace Colin had not realised she was capable. He released a deep laugh and took off after her as she charged for the staircase.

Four minutes and seventeen seconds later, she stood triumphant with her prize: a blue-skinned novel entitled All the stars and teeth.

"Amora must master the monarchy's dangerous soul magic," Penelope read from the back cover. "But when her demonstration goes horribly wrong, Amora is forced to flee. She strikes a deal with Bastian, a mysterious pirate."

Then her eyebrows creased, and her lips moved faintly as she continued to scan the rest of the blurb. "Why, she is a princess destined to inherit a throne," she declared. "How forward."

"It sounds intriguing," Colin agreed, reaching for the book and flipping it open. "Oh, there is a map."

"Really?" Penelope's eyes lit up, and she leaned so close he could breathe the scent of the coconut soap they had been loaned that morning, layered with something deeper and more unique. His mouth went dry.

"It appears to be a triumph of a novel," Colin mused, his voice a little hoarse as he closed the book once more to read the quoted triumph. "A bestseller, indeed."

"And written by a woman," Penelope whispered.

He watched her, remembering only too well the snatches of a night-time conversation he should not have been privy to and of which he had understood less than half. "If you were to write a novel, what topic would you choose?" he asked softly.

Penelope smiled down at the book, and then slipped it back onto the shelf. "I do not know," she said. "Perhaps there will be an adventure through time."

God, how her eyes sparkled when she spoke of her passions. How had Colin gone so long without letting her enthuse about herself? How had he been so blind to the flush of her cheeks and the surge of her breath when she was excited? He figured he could spend a lifetime in her presence and never know all the depths she held.

"When it is written, I should very much like to read it," he announced.

"I believe it is your turn," Penelope told him. She drew herself to her full height, which was an adorable head shorter than his. "I challenge you to find a non-fictional which features…" she cast her eyes around for inspiration. Then she grinned the cheekiest smile Colin had ever seen. "Instructions on crafting the perfect cup of tea."

He almost choked. "Penelope Featherington," he exclaimed. "You are cruel."

"Time is ticking, Mister Bridgerton."

He stared, absorbing the truly enticing flush colouring her cheeks, and then he spun on his heel and charged off on his search, Penelope's giggles chasing him all the way to the cooking section.

It took him only three minutes and forty-two seconds to pluck the appropriate book from the shelf, tip it open, and crow in triumph. "I believe that is my victory, Miss Featherington."

"I do not understand," Penelope declared, reaching for the book with her soft-skinned, gloveless fingers. "Where in here does it state that one must remove his shirt and dunk it in boiling water? You must have chosen a faulty book, Sir."

"That is simply the Bridgerton special," Colin said, dropping his voice when another library patron gave him a sharp look. "The trick is in the humiliation."

"I do not believe you have ever been humiliated," Penelope told him. "You are far too confident in that regard."

Colin reached for her, daring to take her hand in his own. "You would be incorrect in that assumption," he told her. "My naïve words and foolish actions have indeed humbled me greatly." He swallowed. "Miss Featherington… Pen. I do not believe I shall ever be worthy of your forgiveness, but I would gladly take any humiliation in my endeavours to achieve it."

He bowed, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand, wishing for a long breath that he might keep hold of it forever, and then he stepped away.

Her cheeks were flushed indeed, a pleasant pink which made Colin feel warm all over. She dipped her head, as if they were at a courtly dance and had just completed a quadrille or a waltz. Good God, but she was gorgeous. He had to admit that now, if only in the quiet of his own mind. The way her dress flowed over her curves made him long to bunch the fabric into his hands. The rich colours made her pale skin look somehow dreadfully kissable, and the way her chest heaved as she looked at him…

It was enough to make a man fall to his knees in worship.

"I think perhaps we should return to the others," Pen said, that delightful twinkle lost from her eye in favour of some darker shade. Colin blinked at her, and he wondered just how many shades of blue he could coax from those eyes of hers.

Then he imagined for the first time what her lips might taste like, what she would do if he lunged for her now, cupped her face in his hands, and kissed her with reckless abandon, and good God what had come over him? These thoughts were entirely improper.

Penelope was his friend. His best friend. He was not supposed to feel like this, like his skin might just burst into flames for standing in her presence. Like her every word was a melody carried on the wings of a dove.

How many years had she been at his side, and he had never noticed her? When had she changed from the girl he knew into the most desirable woman he had ever laid eyes upon? It seemed as if a veil had been lifted from his eyes over the course of the day, and now he was truly lost.

"Colin?" Pen said. "Are you well?"

Colin. She called him Colin. His name was finally returned to where it belonged; on her lips. In her mouth. Hers.

He was hers. Now, and forever.

"Yes," he managed to say. "Yes, we must return to the others."

He offered his arm, desperation churning inside him at the anticipation of her touch, and once she slipped her arm into his, it seemed his entire being was consumed by the contact. He could focus on nothing else. It felt so wholly right to have her at his side, and his heart broke inside his chest at the depth of the certainty which burst inside him.

He was in love with Penelope Featherington, had likely been in love with Penelope Featherington for a long time. And he was entirely unworthy of her.