Eloise felt her eyes widen with surprise.
“But don’t let your impatience become all that you are,” Violet said softly. “Because it isn’t, you know. There’s a great deal more to you, but I think sometimes you forget that.” She smiled, the gentle, wise smile of a mother saying goodbye to her daughter. “Give it time, Eloise. Be gentle. Don’t push too hard.”
Eloise opened her mouth but found herself entirely incapable of speech.
“Be patient,” Violet said. “Don’t push.”
“I . . .” Eloise had meant to say I won’t, but her words fell away, and all she could do was stare at her mother’s face, only now realizing what it truly meant that she was married. She’d been thinking so much about Phillip that she hadn’t thought of her family.
She was leaving them. She would always have them in all the ways that mattered, but still, she was leaving.
And she hadn’t realized until that very moment how often she sat down with her mother and just talked. Or how very precious those moments were. Violet always seemed to know just what her children needed, which was remarkable, really, since there were eight of them—eight very different souls, each with unique hopes and dreams.
Even Violet’s letter—the one she’d written and asked Anthony to give to her at Romney Hall—it was exactly right, precisely what Eloise had needed to hear. Violet could have scolded, she could have hurled accusations; she would have been perfectly within her rights to do either—or more.
But all she’d written was, “I hope you are well. Please remember that you are my daughter and you will always be my daughter. I love you.”
Eloise had bawled. Thank goodness she’d forgotten to read it until late in the night, when she was able to do so in the privacy of her room at Benedict’s house.
Violet Bridgerton had never wanted for anything, but her true wealth lay in her wisdom and her love, and it occurred to Eloise, as she watched Violet turn back to the door, that she was more than just her mother—she was everything that Eloise aspired to be.
And Eloise couldn’t believe it had taken her this long to realize it.
“I imagine you and Sir Phillip will want some privacy,” Violet said, placing her hand on the doorknob.
Eloise nodded even though her mother couldn’t see the gesture. “I shall miss you all.”
“Of course you will,” Violet said, her brisk tone obviously her way of recovering her composure. “And we shall miss you. But you won’t be far. And you’ll live so close to Benedict and Sophie. And Posy, too. I expect I shall be coming out this way more often for visits now that I have two more grandchildren to spoil.”
Eloise brushed away tears of her own. Her family had accepted Phillip’s children instantly and unconditionally. She had expected no less, but still, it warmed her heart more than she would ever have imagined. Already the twins were playing raucously with the Bridgerton grandchildren, and Violet had insisted that they call her Grandmama. They had agreed with alacrity, especially after Violet had produced an entire bag of peppermint drops that she claimed must have fallen into her valise back in London.
Eloise had already said her goodbyes to her family, so when her mother departed, she felt well and truly Lady Crane. Miss Bridgerton would have returned to London with the rest of the family, but Lady Crane, wife of a Gloucestershire landowner and baronet, remained here at Romney Hall. She felt strange and different and chided herself for it. One would think, at twenty-eight, that marriage would not seem such a momentous step. After all, she wasn’t a green girl, and hadn’t been for some time.
Still, she told herself, she had every right to feel that her life had changed forever. She was married, for heaven’s sake, and the mistress of her own home. Not to mention mother to two children. None of her siblings had had to take on the responsibilities of parenthood so suddenly.
But she was up to the task. She had to be. She squared her shoulders, looking determinedly at her reflection in the mirror as she brushed her hair. She was a Bridgerton, even if it was no longer her legal surname, and she was up to anything. And as she wasn’t the sort to tolerate an unhappy life, then she would simply have to make certain that hers was anything but.
A knock sounded at the door, and when Eloise turned around, Phillip had entered the room. He closed the door behind him but remained where he was, presumably to offer her a bit of time to collect herself.
“Wouldn’t you like your maid for that?” he asked, nodding toward her hairbrush.
“I told her to take a free evening,” Eloise said. She shrugged. “It seemed odd to have her here, almost an intrusion, I think.”
He cleared his throat as he tugged at his cravat, a motion that had become endearingly familiar. He was never quite at home in formal attire, she realized, always tugging or shifting and quite obviously wishing he was in his more comfortable work clothes.
How strange to have a husband with an actual vocation. Eloise had never thought to marry a man like that. Not that Phillip was in trade, but still, his work in the greenhouse was certainly something more than what most of the idle young men of her acquaintance had to fill their lives.
She liked it, she realized. She liked that he had a purpose and a calling, liked that his mind was sharp and engaged in intellectual inquiry rather than horses and gambling.
She liked him.
It was a relief, that. What a bind she would have been in if she didn’t.
“Would you like a few more minutes?” he asked.
She shook her head. She was ready.