Eloise, of all people, understood that need perfectly.
“I should complain that I’m being denied my proper moment of glory as the mother of the bride,” Violet said to her daughter as she folded her lacy veil and placed it gently on top of a bureau, “but in truth I’m just happy to see you a bride.”
Eloise smiled gently at her mother. “You’d quite despaired of it, hadn’t you?”
“Quite.” But then she cocked her head to the side and added, “Actually, no. I always thought you might surprise us in the end. You frequently do.”
Eloise thought of all those years since her debut, all those rejected marriage proposals. All those weddings they’d attended, with Violet watching another of her friends marrying off another of their daughters to another fabulously eligible gentleman.
Another gentleman, of course, who could now no longer marry Eloise, Lady Bridgerton’s famously on-the-shelf spinster daughter.
“I’m sorry if I’ve disappointed you,” Eloise whispered.
Violet gazed at her with a wise expression. “My children never disappoint me,” she said softly. “They merely ... astonish me. I believe I like it that way.”
Eloise found herself lurching forward to hug her mother. She felt awkward doing so; she didn’t know why, since hers was a family that had never discouraged such displays of affection in the privacy of their own home. Maybe it was because she was so perilously close to tears; maybe it was because she sensed her mother was the same. But she felt an awkward girl again, all gangly arms and legs and bony elbows and a mouth that always opened when it should be closed.
And she wanted her mother.
“There, there,” Violet said, sounding very much as she had years ago, when fussing over a skinned knee or bruised feelings. “Now,” she said, her face turning pink. “Now, then.”
“Mother?” Eloise murmured. She looked very strange indeed, as if she’d eaten bad fish.
“I dread this,” Violet muttered.
“Mother?”Surely she couldn’t have heard correctly.
Violet took a deep, fortifying breath. “We have to have a little talk.” She leaned back, looked her daughter in the eye, then added, “Dowe have to have a little talk?”
Eloise wasn’t certain whether her mother was asking her if she knew of the detailsofintimacy or if she actually knew them ... intimately. “Uhhh ... I haven’t ... ah ... If you mean ... That is to say, I’m still ...”
“Excellent,” Violet said with a heartfelt sigh. “But do you—that is to say, are you aware ... ?”
“Yes,” Eloise said quickly, eager to spare both of them undue embarrassment. “I don’t believe I need anything explained.”
“Excellent,” Violet said again, her sigh even more heartfelt. “I must say, I do detest this part of motherhood. I can’t even recall what I said to Daphne, just that I spent the entire time blushing and stammering, and honestly, I have no idea if she left the encounter any better informed than when she arrived.” The corners of her mouth turned down. “Probably not, I’m afraid.”
“She seems to have adapted to married life quite well,” Eloise murmured.
“Yes, she has. Hasn’t she?” Violet said brightly. “Four little children and a husband who dotes upon her. One certainly can’t hope for more.”
“What did you say to Francesca?” Eloise asked.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Francesca,” Eloise repeated, referring to her younger sister who had married six years earlier—and was tragically widowed two years after that. “What did you say to her when she married? You mentioned Daphne, but not Francesca.”
Violet’s blue eyes clouded, as they always did when she thought of her third daughter, widowed so young. “You know Francesca. I expect she could have told me a thing or two.”
Eloise gasped.
“I don’t mean itthatway, of course,” Violet hastened to add. “Francesca was as innocent as ... well, as innocent as you are, I imagine.”
Eloise felt her cheeks grow hot and thanked her maker for the cloudy day, which left the room somewhat darkened. That and the fact that her mother was busy inspecting a torn hem on her dress. She wastechnicallyuntouched, of course, and she’d certainly pass inspection if examined by a physician, but she didn’t feel quite so innocent any longer.
“But you know Francesca,” Violet continued, shrugging and looking back up when she realized that there was nothing she could do about the hem. “She’s so sly and knowing. I expect she bribed some poor housemaid into explaining it all to her years earlier.”
Eloise nodded. She didn’t want to tell her mother that she and Francesca had in fact pooled their pin money to bribe the housemaid. It had been worth every penny, however. Annie Mavel’s explanation had been detailed and, Francesca had later informed her, absolutely correct.
