Eloise & Darcy, Pt. 3 (Interlude)

Title: Eloise & Darcy, Pt. 3 (Interlude)
Author: ExcentrykeMuse
Fandom(s): Pride & Prejudice / Bridgerton
Pairing(s): Mr. Darcy/Eloise Bridgerton
Word Count: 1.6k
Rating: G
Warning(s): We don’t like Penelope, Snuff (Tobacco), No Elizabeth

Pt. I | Pt. II

Darcy stood in the courtyard in front of Bridgerton House, looking up at the upper windows where he knew his Eloise was most likely breakfasting.  He had come early because he knew that the Bridgerton family—sans the Viscount and his new Viscountess—would be traveling to Aubrey Hall that morning in anticipation of his wedding to Eloise Bridgerton.

A tall man, Darcy stood over six feet three inches.  By the age of fourteen, he had towered over his own father who was of no mean height.  His own Eloise came up barely to his chin and he fancied they made the odd couple when on promenade when he wore his tall mourning hat atop his head.

He quickly went to the door and knocked on it twice with his walking stick, stepping back while he waited.  Darcy was greeted by a servant and quickly shown into the drawing room, which was devoid of Bridgertons.  He was in no doubt that they were still at breakfast.

Taking up his usual place staring out the window, he contemplated the townhouse across the square which housed the Featheringtons—including Miss Penelope Featherington, who had been unmasked the night previous as Lady Whistledown.  The idea still vexed him.  He could not fault Eloise for her longstanding friendship with the girl; Eloise had been completely blinded and just as hurt by the discovery.  However, he did not like being in close proximity to the girl and was glad that after this weekend, Eloise would be his wife and removed to Grosvenor Square—more specifically, to Darcy House.

The sound of footsteps in the hall interrupted his thoughts and he turned to see Eloise entering the room with her favorite brother—the second eldest, Benedict—behind her.

“Lord Ashmoure,” Benedict greeted, nodding politely before he withdrew to the other side of the room. 

Eloise’s bright blue eyes immediately alighted on him and, with a nod from her brother, she came up to Darcy, a slight crease in her forehead.  “Is anything the matter?” she murmured as she reached out to touch his hand but thought better of herself.

Realizing that his Eloise had thought that he had come with ill tidings, he immediately reached out for her and intertwined his fingers with hers.  “All is well, my love,” he promised.  He glanced over at Benedict who was assiduously minding his own business.  Returning his attention to Eloise, he squeezed her fingers, “I just wondered if you had a letter in Miss Featherington’s hand, and I thought to procure it before you left for Hampshire.”

Eloise’s bright blue eyes widened before she nodded.  “You are going to the queen then.”

“I think we have no other option,” he explained.  “It is not just we who are injured.  Miss Edwina Sharma—” he paused and took a breath “—I saw a doctor enter Lady Danbury’s townhouse late last night.  I do not believe that Miss Edwina’s health has fared well with all of Lady Whistledown’s writings concerning the Bridgertons and Sharmas.”

Eloise pondered and then nodded.  “I hope she is well,” she murmured.  Then, “I will be but a moment.”

Benedict looked up as she left the room and turned the page of his book.  He looked over at Darcy, “Do you know if my sister intends to return?”

“She will be but a moment,” he promised, his voice solemn.

Benedict only nodded.

Darcy turned to look out the window again.  Lost as he was in his thoughts, he was startled when he felt Eloise’s hand on his arm.  He turned and offered her a small smile.

She held out a letter to him.  “Pen sent this to me this summer.  It has her signature.  She also discusses Lady Whistledown, if that is of any consequence.”

Taking the letter, Darcy reached for her hand and kissed the back of it.  “I will see you at the altar,” he promised her, “when I make you the Marchioness of Ashmoure.”

She smiled at him widely.  “I will hold you to that, Darcy.”

Their eyes held for a long moment, but Eloise was obliged to leave as the household was making ready for its departure.  The carriage had been brought out front when Darcy exited the house, trunks piled on the ground around it, and he reminded himself that it was only four more days before he would be in Hampshire himself.

Gaining an audience with Queen Charlotte was easier than he believed.  He merely presented himself at court with his card and told the servant that his business pertained to Lady Whistledown.

The Queen was a woman of great refinement with several ladies in waiting, each holding a small dog.  She sat regal and upright, a large wig on her head, and the room was so perfectly choreographed that Darcy was quite in awe of the queen’s majesty.

“Lord Ashmoure,” Queen Charlotte greeted, all elegance and solemnity.  She petted a little Pomeranian on her lap.  “I hear you have news of Lady Whistledown.  I am quite surprised that a gentleman would take an eager interest in a gossip sheet though you,” (and here the queen pierced him with her dark gaze) “have been an active topic of conversation of late.  Tell me, is it true?”

Darcy was immediately uncomfortable with the question but he sought to keep his outward expression unreadable.

“Which particular rumors do you elude to, Your Majesty?”

She laughed charmingly and then immediately looked back at him.  “There are so many.  I meant whether or not a certain son of a steward will be present at a family affair that is to take place in a week’s time.”

Wickham.  The queen wanted to know about Wickham.

“That particular gentleman and I have no contact with each other,” he told her solemnly, “as we no longer have any connection to each other.  It is true that I served as best man at his wedding to Miss Lydia Bennet but that is only because I knew the Bennet family so well.”

Queen Charlotte turned her head in interest.  “The Bennet family?—I’ve never heard of them.”  She looked over Darcy for a long moment.  “Well, then.  You have information.”

“In truth, it is my fiancée who has information,” he told Queen Charlotte boldly.  “I believe you tasked her to unmask the writer last Season and she managed it last night.”

The queen’s hand stopped petting the dog in her lap and she leaned forward.  “Miss Eloise Bridgerton unmasked the lady?  Tell me, was it a tradesperson?”

Darcy reached into his breast pocket and pulled out the latest column in Penelope Featherington’s hand and the letter Eloise had supplied him with.  “No, Your Majesty.  The lady is in fact a debutante in her second season.  When she entered society her first season—last year—she began as Lady Whistledown and has continued ever since.”

Gasping the queen motioned him forward.

Darcy, uncertain what to do, took several steps forward.  The queen crooked her finger and Darcy leaned forward until he was mere inches from the Queen.  “Which debutante?” she asked delicately.

Not hesitating, he told her: “Miss Penelope Featherington.”

The queen leaned back and Darcy took several steps back. 

“I have, with me, the latest column in Miss Penelope’s own hand and a letter she wrote this summer to Eloise to confirm her hand.”  He indicated the papers he was holding.  A footman approached with a plate and he placed them on them, only to have the plate presented to the queen half a moment later.  She picked them up and she began to examine them.

After several long moments, the queen looked up and took in Darcy.  “I am most pleased with Miss Eloise Bridgerton and, by extension, you, Lord Ashmoure.  I always send a wedding present when a favored debutante makes a match, but Miss Eloise will receive something for the truly favored.”  She nodded to herself.  The queen turned and called, “Brimsley!”

A fat man in livery approached and bowed to the queen. 

“Do we have any puppies left?”

Darcy stood there and looked at the ladies were all holding horrible little yappers.  He honestly didn’t know if Eloise would like such a present.

“One or two, your majesty,” this Brimsley responded.

“Bring the cuter one,” the queen instructed, looking pleased.  Turning to Darcy, she told him, “I bred these beauties myself from the original Pomeranian the king gifted me with during our honeymoon.  They make the best pets for ladies and they’re so much easier than a baby.”

She then proceeded to invite Darcy to tea.

“Ashmoure, Ashmoure,” she murmured after taking a large snort of snuff.  “Where is that exactly?”

“Derbyshire, your majesty,” he told her.

She leaned back her head regally, the tall wig leaning back precariously but fortunately staying on her head, and then the queen nodded.  “Indeed.  Derbyshire is cold country but quite lovely.  Do you live near the Peak District?  How like Germany it is!”

The little dog was presented in a basket with a bow around its neck, and Darcy accepted it on behalf of his bride with all the equanimity of a man in the presence of his queen.  He was only too glad he took his carriage to the Buckingham House that morning as riding while carrying a basket (with a puppy!) would have been most precarious.

He was curious how Queen Charlotte would now respond, but he would probably not know for several weeks.  He had his marriage in a matter of days and then he was retiring to Derbyshire with his beautiful wife.  All was well.

To Be Continued…