by-blows//bridgerton oc

seven

These days, the modern young lady must display a miscellany of talents in her quest for a suitor. She must be a witty conversationalist, an accomplished musician, and an expert in the art of the swoon. For managing to faint with nary a petticoat out of place is a most coveted talent indeed. Of course, not everyone has fallen victim to the royal fever sweeping through London Town. One diamond in particular seems quite immune... making this author wonder if the crown has lost its luster.

I sit in the drawing room with Daphne and Eloise. Daphne is playing pianoforte as Elois reads. I myself am reading today's issue of Lady Whistledown.

"Oh! Enough! I beg of you," Eloise remarks.

"Perhaps you should join me. You will need to be proficient on the pianoforte soon enough," Daphne tells her.

"You could use the practice, I'm sure," I tease.

"On second thought, continue. You will frighten away the duke, the prince, and any other eligible suitor clear across the North Sea," Eloise taunts.

"And you would wish that upon me, would you, Sister?" Daphne questions.

"If it kept Mama's attentions focused on you instead of me, I might," Eloise admits.

"You can take your reading outside," Daphne tells her.

"You say that as if reading were a bad thing," Eloise states.

"I meant no such thing," Daphne assures.

"But it won't gain me a husband? That what you meant?" Eloise questions.

"Eloise..." I start.

"You wish to follow your heart, and I wish to nurture my mind. Let us leave it there," Eloise states.

"Can you at least try to understand? You never see things from my perspective. You are not the only one with troubles, Eloise. You have no idea what it... It does not matter," Daphne says.

"Is it an original?" Eloise asks.

"What?" Daphne questions.

"That song, did you compose it yourself?" Eloise asks.

"In a manner of speaking," Daphne tells her.

"What is the name of it?" Eloise asks.

"It does not have a name," Daphne states.

"Every song has a name," I insist.

"It is just a song," Daphne says.

"If you need to practice, then do so. Just... come up with a name for it, at least," Eloise says.

I stand up. "Daphne, your playing is rather lovely." Daphne smiles. "But I have had enough of it. Do think of a name while I am gone."

I pass Benedict all alone in one of the studies. He is tearing a page from a sketchbook. I walk into the room and close the door behind me. Benedict looks at me curiously.

"I cannot stand to hear Daphne play that song any longer," I tell him.

Benedict laughs. "I had not been listening."

I pick up one of the sheets of paper crumpled up on the floor. "These are not bad."

"They are fine," Benedict states before shaking his head. "They are abominable. I could not stand to look at them."

I laugh as I sit beside him. "I believe that is why they call it a sketchbook. It is for practice after all. You simply need to keep at it."

"Juliette..." Benedict starts.

"If you enjoy drawing but need practice, then practice," I tell him. "Hire a drawing master. Find a young lady to act impressed. If you desire the sun and the moon, all you have to do is go out and shoot at the sky. You are the second son after all." Benedict laughs. "Be bold, brother."

"Speaking of second sons," Benedict says. "Weston is rather taken by you." I can feel myself blush. "He speaks of you almost every time I see him."

"I enjoy spending time with him," I assure Benedict.

"It would appear he feels the same," Benedict states.

While Daphne and the duke are promenading, so are West and I. West is telling about the time he spent with Benedict at Cambridge and Eton. I am not surprised by the pranks they pulled.

"Does it bother you?" I question. "That Benedict is my brother?"

"Not at all." West laughs rather loudly. "Does it bother you that Benedict is my best friend?"

I shake my head. "If anything, it is rather nice. I already know that Benedict is fond of you. He should be able to persuade the rest of my family. Well Anthony really."

"Your brother is not fond of me?" West questions.

"He is not fond of anyone who has called on Daphne or I," I explain. "He is rather protective."

"He should be as the viscount," Weston insists.

I sit on the end of Eloise's bed. She is busy at her desk writing feverishly.

"Lord Weston sent flowers again this morning," I state.

"It is always about Lord Weston," Eloise remarks.

"What do you expect, El?" I question. "I am out in society. I need to start thinking of my future."

"What if your future could be more than just marriage and babies?" Eloise questions.

"I have been thinking," I tell her. "Are you Lady Whistledown?" I gesture to her desk. "You're an accomplished writer, always scribbling in that diary of yours. You certainly know everyone else's business. You have more opinions than anyone else I know in London."

Eloise smiles slightly. "I am not Lady Whistledown. Though if I were... do you honestly think that I'd admit it?"

I laugh as I shake my head. "I guess not."

Daphne has gone out with the duke this afternoon. I am surprised when I hear her come rushing through the front door.

"Did something happen, miss?" Rose asks. Daphne does not answer. "Miss? Miss?"

"Leave me be, Rose," Daphne tells her.

I do not bother to knock on Daphne's door before entering her room. She is crying on her bed.

"What has happened?" I ask.

"The duke," Daphne states.

I sit down beside her. "What about the duke?"

"We are through," Daphne tells me.

I look at her surprised. "But you two seemed so very happy together."

"It was a lie. It was a ruse," Daphne tells me.

"Surely you cannot mean..." I start.

Daphne interrupts me. "It was a lie. And it is over."

"Daphne..." I start.

"I think I should like to be alone," Daphne tells me.

"Did you two have a fight?" I ask.

"It does not matter. The duke has made it very clear that he no longer wishes to have anything to do with me," Daphne tells me.

"Daph, I'm sorry," I offer. "I will leave you be."

Could it be true? The season's diamond even more precious and rare a stone than previously thought? For it now appears this treasure is set to join the likes of the queen's ever-so-cherished crown jewels themselves. The Duke of Hastings, I hear, was left looking rather tongue-tied last night, as Miss Bridgerton seems to have finally grown tired of waiting for him to pose that all-important question. Or, perhaps, the young miss has simply traded up. Surprising? Quite. Unreasonable? Of course not. After all, why settle for a duke when one can have a prince?