“You speak as if the two of you are friends,” she marvels. “Perhaps, um…” Eloise purses her lips in thought. “Meet me, later tonight. I shall have notes prepared to give to you.”

Maybe they can actually do this. 

He laughs a little. "Her Majesty can be most personable." And, amazingly, more normal than any of these people. "And it no doubt helps that we are both very useful to each other." Because realistically the army's loyalty is to him, personally, but if he tried to rule anything by himself he'd probably be mad or dead in a week. 

"I am glad to see that you lead by example in defying these norms of which you speak. Where shall I meet you?"

She is looking at him differently, now. Less hostile, more starry-eyed.

“Neither Mama nor Anthony would ever let us meet unchaperoned,” she deliberates, her lips curling smugly. “Unless we are somewhere they will not see us. There is a pair of rope swings under an oak tree on our grounds. I will be there at ten.”

It’s okay. They’re not going to get up to anything untoward, she has little interest in that sort of thing right now. This is for the greater good!

He grins.

Bridgerton House is high-walled and guarded by very loyal servants, but the thing it lacks is a robust threat model. 

A gentleman is at liberty to stroll of an evening, even alone. 

An active man can turn aside down an alleyway and nip over a wall too fast for anyone to notice.

Then it's simply a matter of finding a building ajoining the wall, swarming onto its roof, crawling along the wall, making a small leap onto a nearby tree, and hopping down it quick as a schoolboy. 

He rather enjoys it, really. He's pleasantly out of breath by the time he finds Eloise. 

"Miss Bridgerton."

She stands up from where she had been idly swinging. “What sort of a time do you call this?”

There is a leaf in his hair. She plucks it and presents it to him pointedly. “Did you scale every tree in England?”

He chuckles. "Only those necessary for my discreet entry, I promise you." He plucks the leaf from her hand and tucks it jauntily behind his ear. "It has been some time since I was obliged to break in. Perhaps I am out of practice. Have you collected your thoughts?"

She furrows her brow at him, perching back onto the swing. Another, to her right, remains empty.

“When did you last need to–? Oh, it does not matter. I do not wish to know.” She retrieves a pile of parchment from her satchel, holding it out to him. Her hands are covered in ink. “Here. Here are all my thoughts to present to the Queen. What do you think?”

He can read. He can. Sort of. With a lot of effort. And a dictionary. And someone to help him. 

He takes it from her with thanks, and sits absently on the swing next to her. He tucks the sheaf of parchment into his tunic. 

Stares for a moment. 

"It seems well-detailed," he manages. "I hope it will work."

“You didn’t even read it!”

He turns a little and quickly plucks it from his pocket, scanning it hurriedly. "I meant only to sit a moment-"

“It’s upside down.” She huffs. “Can you even read?”

“You can read. Can’t you?”

"..."

He looks down. 

"...With some difficulty. And a good deal of assistance. Yes. A little. Not well."

“Oh.” She softens.

Do they not teach people to read outside the ton?

There is a moment of silence, before she reaches out to take the papers back. Her hands are surprisingly gentle. “Let me.”

She will run him through point after point, showing him where on the page she is, letting him follow along. There is a spark of passion in her eyes like fire.

He's not stupid, he just can't make the letters line up in his head. He follows. 

She sounds good when she talks like this. Like it's where she's meant to be. 

When she's done, he leans back. "I fear I have not read enough to understand all the theory behind what you have said. But the Queen will be impressed at least by its cleverness. Let us hope that will be enough." He flashes her a smile. "And if it is not, we shall need another plan."

“You really think so?” She asks, leaning in. Her blue eyes shine in the moonlight.

"I do." 

She is pretty. And clever. 

If he has to marry for the country's sake, he could do an awful lot worse. 

He smiles tenderly at her.

She beams at him. No one has ever taken her seriously before.

“I do feel that it lacks in perspective, though. Could you show me, perhaps? The world outside the ton?”

His brow furrows. "Show you?"

...Oh. Of course. Gods, she's a grown woman and she must barely have set foot out of this house. 

"Of course. What would you like to see?"

She grins. “What kind of place did you used to frequent? Let us begin there.”

Eloise almost feels bad, taking advantage of him like this. He is still new to this world, has little idea of all the ridiculous suffocating rules and expectations – the timing is perfect.

Anthony is so going to kill them, but only if he finds out.

"Miss Bridgerton, you excel yourself." He has just the place in mind. 

She's almost certainly never set foot in a tavern. 

"Do you need a hand getting over the wall?"

“No. Why should I? Is it because I am a–?” She cuts herself off, reminding herself of the circumstances of their secret rendezvous. “Ahem. I used to climb trees when I was younger. I am certain I shall be fine.”

Regardless, Eloise is stubborn. She tries, staring for ages at the vine patterns to try to determine the best course upwards. 

It’s useless. She can’t do anything with these stupid shoes on.

She turns back to Voltur, her cheeks pink. “Yes, actually, perhaps your assistance as a gentleman would be proper.”