Voltue catches Eloise’s stare from across the floor. She turns away quickly, darkly, keeping her eyes fixed on Penelope as they talk.

Huh. He wouldn't have thought it. "Is that so? I haven't ridden in some time. Perhaps you would like to ride with me one morning?" Oh no he's about to do the thing he apparently did with Eloise again- "I am sure we can arrange a suitable chaperone." He has no idea what that means.

She beams. “I would be delighted.”

Gasps and hushed whispers fill the room, and everybody’s eyes turn towards the door. Lord Ophel has arrived.

The music falters for a half-second, before the band plays again with renewed vigour.

The elf rarely accepts social engagements. For him to have shown his face at two in a row… Surely, he seeks a bride! Instantly, he is surrounded by eligible – and not so eligible – women.

He meets Voltur’s eye. I am watching.

Again the stuttering of his heart. The elf bothers him, he wants to see that smug look wiped off his face. 

He nods to the Lord Ophel with cool politeness, bids Cressida farewell with a not-exactly-perfectly-courtly bow, and goes to find a drink. 

Deep breath. 

He approaches Eloise. 

"Miss Bridgerton. Miss-" he pauses for a moment, floundering, but memory flicks a card. "Featherington, I believe."

She doesn’t speak.

He remembered her name, albeit after a moment’s hesitation. That is better than most.

Penelope blushes and curtsies. “Duke Voltur.” She manages not to stutter over something as simple as the man’s name.

He turns the full force of his gaze on Miss Featherington. "Please forgive me for my intrusion. I should very much like to make your acquaintance properly. But I came to say-" he turns to Eloise. "Miss Bridgerton- Eloise, if I may still say so. I am sorry. I responded very foolishly to what was in retrospect your brother's perfectly understandable irritation, and spoke words I would not in my right mind have countenanced. I will make a formal apology to your family at the earliest opportunity, but I wronged you personally as well, and wished to apologise to you personally. I have also ensured that your writing came to Her Majesty's attention." 

Deep breath. It's done. 

She’s managed to stay strong – until, that was, he mentioned the Queen.

And finally, she looks at him, though she doesn’t meet his eye. “You… actually spoke to Her Majesty? What did she say?”

Penelope regards the two with fascination in her big eyes.

He glances at the Featherington girl and smiles at her encouragingly. ...It's not an etiquette breach to smile, right?

"She accepted it without a word, and when I left she had read beyond the first page, which is as stirring an endorsement as I have seen from her. Her Majesty does not enjoy being handed things to read. But I, ah" promised to give up my dignity and be a good little Duke in exchange for her taking it seriously "employed the greatest leverage I could with her to encourage her to act upon it. Her Majesty's mind is her own, and she tends to move cautiously, but I believe you have at the very least succeeded in capturing her attention."

He frowns and scratches his ribs again, adjusts his tunic. 

"Ahem. I hope I will be able to keep you abreast of any further developments."

Eloise swallows, her mouth suddenly dry. The Queen is reading her manuscript. The Queen… knows who she is, knows of her opinions, oh gods what if this all backfires and the Queen hates her and her ideas and her family and–

“Thank you,” she manages, her voice small.

Penelope frowns, touching her friend’s arm. “Eloise, this is good. The Queen has been made aware of your ideas. You might be able to make a difference!”

“Right. Ha.” She gives her friend a watery smile, before turning to Voltur. “I suppose I… appreciate your apology. Just. Talk to my family. My mother is all but heartbroken, and– gods, just, it’s a good thing he’s so caught up with Miss Edwina right now, because if Anthony sees you right now talking to me, I don’t know what he’ll do. Just– go for now, okay?”

She doesn’t hate him. She can’t stay angry at him.

Eloise is learning a lot about her feelings today.

He inclines his head. "You are very- you are most welcome. It is but a small part of what I feel I owe you in light of my actions. I... hope that in the end this can be put behind us."

His hand starts towards his tunic, then stops. 

"I shall-" he glances lightning-fast at Ophel. "I shall approach the Dowager Viscountess in good time, yes, not at once, and take my leave for now. And Eloise- I really am sorry."

 He turns away from her mostly smoothly. He can do this, it's like a charge, the key is just to keep moving so you're not on the back foot.

"Miss Featherington. I wonder if you will forgive my ignorance, and my forthrightness, and dance with me?"

“With… me?” She all but whispers.

"Yes, Miss Featherington, with you. ...If I may be frank - I sought to repair the injury I inadvertently committed against the Bridgertons," even though Anthony definitely deserved it, "and Eloise in particular, and it strikes me that I was impolite to you in so doing." It's a safe bet that he's done something rude in any given conversation. "I can only ask your pardon, being very new-come to the customs of the ton. I will not be offended if you refuse."

Her eyes are wide and full of stars. She looks at Eloise for a second, helplessly, seeking some kind of… permission? Confirmation that this is real? She doesn’t even know.

She shrugs.

“…I– I do believe I have some room on my dance card, I– would be delighted to dance with you, my Lord. Ah– Your Grace.” She smiles wide, all freckled and innocent.

She glares.

He smiles a little as well, and inclines his head. "Do not worry - I still forget my title myself, I will take little notice." He extends a hand. "Come."

Oh, gods oh gods–

…She will pinch herself later. For now, she carefully balances a hand on Voltur’s, tiny by comparison, and follows him onto the floor.

”I’ll be back,” she mouths silently to Eloise, her cheeks red.