Chapter Text
“Yes, I know it is best for me to stay away. But I just… I just miss him so terribly much, Pen. Theo’s so interesting. He is as delightful as a man can possibly be, which is actually quite a bit when the man in question treats women with respect.”
Penelope, once again her friend and closest confidant after three conversations drowning in tears and approximately seventeen letters exchanged between them (not counting the many angry missives written, crumpled, and hidden by both parties), sighs wearily from her perch on the foot of Eloise’s bed.
“Eloise. We have gone over this several times. You regret how you acted. You miss Mr. Sharpe. He was one of the best and most intriguing parts of your terribly dull, uninteresting life. You wish you hadn’t fallen out. You know you shouldn’t attempt to reconcile. You miss Mr. Sharpe even more. You should, at the very least, apologise. And on, and on. Must we pick over it again?” Penelope fixes her with a knowing look (Knowing what, though? Eloise pushed the slightly uncomfortable thought aside for another day) as she continues, “now, how about a change of scenery? Perhaps a promenade in the park?”
“Oh, alright, then,” Eloise says with a rueful smile. It's clear that Penelope is not in the mood for any more of her Theo-logical deliberations (She’d nearly snorted after Eloise had made that, quite honestly, exceptionally amusing pun), and since the threads of their newly-repaired friendship are still delicate, Eloise does not seek to test the bounds of Pen’s patience. Instead, she appeases her with a topic sure to draw interest. “Penelope, how is your new dress coming along? Will you finally be in possession of the long-desired blue skirts?”
Dearest Gentle Reader,
Mamas all over the Ton are in a flutter today after the arrival of Lord Denmead, recently returned from a tour of the Orient and apparently in search of a wife. With money, good manners, and apparently magnanimous inclinations, I predict the new (for his father met our Creator only three fortnights ago) Earl of Denmead’s name will be attached to many fine bouquets in the coming weeks. Speaking of matrimony, the man anticipated to be the Season’s most eligible bachelor is now off the marriage mart. Yes, you read that correctly- Lord Spencer married his beloved, Miss Lydia Norman, in a hasty little ceremony only last Tuesday. Much shock was felt among those who received an invitation to the happy event, for it has been barely two weeks since the Season’s open. The bride and bridegroom seemed quite enamoured of each other, and this Author overheard quite a few debutantes sighing in jealousy over the purported love match. However, dear Reader, things are not always as they seem. After the fascination and novelty of a budding relationship dies, the blissful newlyweds might find that they regret risking the thorns.
Until next time,
Lady Whistledown
April 1815
