She was young once. She can creep out of a room very softly indeed. 

That's... more forgiving than he expected. Maybe that's how it's done in posh enough circles. Maybe the Viscount calculates that he cannot afford a powerful enemy. Or maybe Anthony isn't as stupid as he looks and also doesn't want to spend his life in pointless feuds over a drunken quarrel. 

He's absolutely not going to stop listening to Eloise, though. 

...How to put that diplomatically...

"She is a very clever woman. You should be most proud, Lord Bridgerton."

He gives him an empty sort of smile. “She is her own sort of woman, that is to be sure.”

Anthony stands and crosses the room, drawing two crystal glasses from an elaborate globe in the corner. A bottle of port wine soon follows.

He hands one of the glasses to Voltur. “If we are to be brothers, I do believe a drink is called for.”

"She... reminds me of someone I know."

He takes the glass, raises an eyebrow. "You, Lord Bridgerton, have never said truer words."

They drink. 

Well, it could be worse. He's not having to try to duel the man without hurting him. 

He sighs.

"If we are to be brothers, Lord Bridgerton, there is something of great importance you ought to know about me."

"I cannot stand port wine."

He cracks a small smile. A genuine one, this time.

“I admit I find your directness somewhat refreshing.” He places his cup down. “Whiskey, then?”

"Please."

He takes a small sip. Looks at the Viscount. 

It's not bad whisky, actually. 

...What do you actually say as a lord talking to another lord?

He makes a small gesture towards the portrait. "Your father, my lord?"

“Ah.” The smile disappears. “Yes. A great man. I could only aspire to live up to his memory.”

He takes rather a large gulp of the drink.

“And yours?”

"I am sorry." He tilts the glass, takes a rather large drink himself. 

"I never knew him. He died when I was very young. An accident, I am told." He sips again. "Unreliably."

He nods. “I am sorry to hear it.”

At last. An understanding.

They drink now together in contented silence.

He can do that. 

He still isn't sure what really happened to his father. Drink, possibly. Or something darker. 

When he'd been very small, he'd invented all sorts of stories of what had really happened. Perhaps his mother had done the same, in her own way. 

... Perhaps he ought to write to her. Instruct a servant to read it aloud. 

At some point Anthony pours out more whisky, drinks, stares into the fire. Voltur joins him. 

Minutes pass. 

"Isn't it a marvellous day, my lord?" she enthuses, trying to inject some merriment into the man she intends to marry. Kate follows behind her, most probably trying to drill holes in the Viscount's skull with her gaze again. She is fortunate to be so protected, but really, she is sure the Viscount will win her sister over in the end.

Lord Bridgerton seems distracted. She hopes it isn't that frightful Whistledown woman again. She does not really understand why the English attend to her so.

He approaches carefully. Bows slightly. "Lord Bridgerton. Miss Sharma. Miss Edwina."

He turns to her. Lowers his voice a little. "Eloise."

Eloise stares dead ahead. Her eyes are red-rimmed, most of what little colour remains on her face after yesterday.

”Your Grace,” she responds mechanically, remembering to curtsy.

She has to be here for this charade, but she does not have to like it.

“…A marvellous day indeed, Miss Edwina.” He responds after a moment, gracing her with a soft stare. 

They fall back behind his sister and the Duke, allowing them room to speak.

They walk. He'll place his arm where she can take it, but not actually touch her. 

He consciously forces the right muscles to relax, smiles a polite false smile. 

...Oh, fuck this, it's Eloise.

Hmm. What would he say to a man?

"Eloise. We both know this is madness. You've got every right to have a go at me, so for Heaven's sake do it if you want to. You're smarter than this."

“Do not speak to me in that way. I get enough of that from my family.” She glares at him tiredly. “I am not angry with you.”

He pauses a moment. 

"No, I spoke to you that way because I quite desperately need your counsel. I think I have simply seen more of what you are capable of than your family seems to have." He glances back at Anthony. 

...Then back at her. 

This is an eighteen-year-old girl who may now have to marry a near-stranger. 

He probably shouldn't talk to her like a promising young Captain. 

"I am happy to hear that. I think I would be very angry, in your position." He glances again at her red-rimmed eyes. "So how are you feeling?"

She laughs mirthlessly. “Terrible. I stayed up all night trying to think of a way out of this for us, and came up with nothing.”

There was one thought she kept coming back to: the Queen. But it was a foolish notion, to think that Her Majesty would ever involve herself in such a pitiful affair.

Eloise shakes her head, shutting her sleepless eyes for a moment. “You are in much the same position as I. I– took advantage of your newness. You do have every reason to be angry with me, Voltur, I… trapped you.”

A tiny trace of a smile touches his lips. "Eloise, it has been known to take more than a night to come up with a plan."

Then his eyebrows furrow. His hand jumps to his side, comes away slowly. 

"I did read your manuscript, you know." Actually he'd had it read, but. "I know how much more this imposes on you than me. And I ought not to have drawn the attention I did. "

She goes quiet for a moment.

Of all the men to marry, Eloise probably got lucky with this one. That doesn’t make her any happier about it, but at least he is… a friend.

“Have you heard from the Queen?”

"I have not. Eloise, the Queen is-"

Strange. Unpredictable. Full of secrets. Completely mad like all the really good wizards. He can't say any of those, he swore an oath. 

"-very wise, but her mind is her own- wizardry tends to produce an... Unusual personality type. If our hopes are fulfilled, she will more probably alter the lot of women in the ton by some years-long plot than anything else," or a Wish if she gets bored one day, but he and Brimsley and certain others have plans to make sure the queen never gets bored.

"All right. Talk me through the strategic situation. What if I simply put out a 10,000gp prize for Whistledown's identity?

“How much?” She responds, startled by the amount. “What would we even do if we found her? The damage is done.”

"Force her to recant. To invent some other story, something more satisfying."