Everything was perfect in Eleanora Russell's life, who was formerly named Eleanora Fitzwilliam. She was married to Lord Jerome Russell, who had recently invested a large sum of money into gemstone mines located in the Americas. It took some convincing from Jerome, but Eleanora finally was on board with the idea of earning extra money from the North American country.
She and Jerome had been married for ten years, ever since she was wed mere days after turning the legal age of eight and ten. For ten years, they had a swimmingly marriage. Eleanora was not head over heels for the older man, but for the sake of her reputation of herself and her parents, she did what had to be done.
Over the years, the ton looked down upon the couple because they had yet to bear a child. It was only because Eleanora was so distant from Jerome that she had no motivation to even bear the thought of conceiving children with him.
Just six months after getting married, Eleanora's parents were reported dead by a carriage accident on their way to visit Russell House. Eleanora's mourning process only made her more distant from her husband; not a day went by when she did not think of her parents dearly.
~~~
Eleanora was busying her mind in the drawing room with her needlework, letting the muscle memory of her fingers dance with the thread as she thought about her parents and the potential sum of money coming in any day now. Her maid, Veronica, walked in, her face red and splotchy from crying hysterically.
"Veronica, whatever is the matter?" Eleanora asked, voice filled with sudden concern. Her drifting mind stopped and so did her fingers.
"My lady . . ." Veronica sobbed, struggling to get the words out.
"Veronica, please speak to me." Eleanora was starting to get worried, and the emotion was frantically increasing.
"Your husband . . ." Veronica let out another sob. "We found him in his study . . . he has hanged himself."
Suddenly, time stopped for Eleanora. When she stood up in a panic, she felt as if she was standing up in slow motion. When her fingers involuntarily relaxed, releasing her cross-stitching hoop, it seemed as if the hoop fell and hit the carpet in slow motion as well.
"That cannot be," Eleanora denied. Even her speech felt like it was in slow motion.
"We found this on his desk." Veronica handed her a folded-up letter in her shaky hands.
Eleanora opened up the letter, tears streaming down one at a time.
Eleanora,
I have just learned the news of the mines in America. They were a scam. The man in charge of this tricked me too well. I should have seen through his act, alas, I did not. I cannot bear to live with myself like this. We can never get that sum of money back, and I feel humiliated and embarrassed.
Yours truly,
Lord Jerome Russell
Eleanora read the letter repeatedly, making sure the words had not magically changed on the paper and that she didn't miss any other important information in its contents. If it was not for her agreeing to invest the money, this wouldn't have happened. But it was too late. Her world was crumbling apart. According to the ton, she will be considered a pitiful widow. At the age of seven and twenty, there would be no way of her to remarry in her old age.
Because of Lord Russell's tragic passing, how would she have any money now? How would she keep the house? The staff? How would she put food on the table?
As those spinning thoughts swamping her mind like a tornado, her body reacted in such a way that made Veronica let out a gasp.
Eleanora fainted.
~~~
At three and ten years old, Eleanora was the happiest girl known in existence. She loved horses, the outdoors, and riding horses outdoors. She loved everything about the complicated creatures. She loved naming them, cleaning them, feeding them, and raising them. She had gained her love for horses from her mama, Amelia, and papa, Charles Fitzwilliam.
At that same age, she and her parents were hired to work at the stables where the Bridgertons' horses resided at Aubrey Hall. Intimidated by their wealth and if the family carried themselves with a chip on their shoulders, as did every other rich family in London, Eleanora was standoffish when she first met them. There were the mother and father, Violet and Edmund, and their children: Anthony, Benedict, Colin, Daphne, Eloise, and Francesca. In the next seven years or so, Gregory and Hyacinth were also born.
She met Anthony Bridgerton, who was the same age as her. She perceived him as a cocky boy, who constantly challenged her to whose horse can go the fastest and whose rock could skip the farthest in the lake. And the oldest Bridgerton sibling wouldn't admit this, ever, but he was intimidated at how tall Eleanora was for a girl at such a young age.
Soon after their introductions, they warmed up to each other and Anthony was enchanted by Eleanora's competitive personality. Eleanora became more acquainted with the rest of the family, especially hitting it off with Eloise and Daphne. There were times when Anthony and Eleanora would lose track of time with each other, rushing back to their respective homes before being chastised by their mamas for coming home too late.
The Bridgertons were like a second family to Eleanora.
~~~
Sobbing, Eleanora shakily knocked on the door of the Bridgerton residence, her damp curls, the rain, and tears making her vision go askew. A maid answered the door, and Eleanora recognized her from when she visited the house at a younger age, but could not remember the maid's name.
"Lady Russell!" the maid said in surprise, immediately ushering her into the house. Eleanora looked around, forgetting how large the house was. "What brings you here? And with your bags?"
Eleanora looked down at the luggage she just placed down on the floor, only for it to be taken away by the staff. "I no longer go by Lady Russell," Eleanora told the maid through quiet sobs. "I am only Miss Fitzwilliam."
"Why is that?"
"Just a few days ago, my . . ." Eleanora took a pause to withhold more sobs and stared up at the high ceiling to resist more tears. "Lord Russell passed away."
A second voice came from one of the halls. "Elizabeth, who is at the-" Violet walked into the foyer, stopping in her tracks at the sight of Eleanora. A sight that was only last seen by Violet ten years ago. "Oh! Eleanora!" She ran up to the widow and hugged her tightly, in a maternal fashion that Eleanora had missed immensely.
Eleanora re-explained her situation to Violet, and minutes later, Eleanora found herself sitting in the Bridgerton drawing room by the fireplace, blankly staring at the crackling fire. She drank her tea offered by the maid that answered the door, the cup and saucer clinking in her shaking hands.
For the evening, Violet temporarily prohibited her children from entering the drawing room in order to let Eleanora have some time alone. Eleanora could hear from out in the hallway Gregory and Hyacinth whining about why they may not enter the room, in which Violet explained that an old friend was visiting and needed some alone time.
"Nora?"
Eleanora turned her glazed over eyes from the fireplace to find Anthony at the door. He certainly grew up and matured from the youthful adolescent Eleanora had grown to adore, to say the least. After all, it had been ten years since they last saw each other. In long strides, he walked over to the newly widowed lady, taking a seat next to her and putting an arm around her.
Just the sight of him made Eleanora smile a minuscule amount. Anthony, on the other hand, never thought he would see his old riding partner ever since her engagement.
"Nora," Anthony said again, but more gratefully, getting accustomed to saying her name after not addressing her for so long. When he saw the mysterious woman's silhouette illuminated by the fire, he was unsure if his eyes were deceiving him, when in fact, they were not. "What brings you here? Why the tear-stained face? Has something happened?"
Eleanora could feel a new wave of tears coming, but did not mind telling what happened for a third time, especially for Anthony. She opened her mouth but no sound managed to come out, resulting in her teacup shaking more. Anthony placed a warm hand over hers, gently setting down the cup and saucer on a nearby table.
"Jerome, he has . . . he hanged himself. The mines he invested in America? A complete and utter scam. He wrote in his final letter he could not bear the embarrassment of losing his money." Without anything else to say, Eleanora let out a short laugh, though there was nothing humorous about the situation. "And I agreed to invest the money! Isn't that just ridiculous?"
Putting both hands on her shoulders, Anthony looked her in the eyes. "Nora, you had not known. There was nothing you could do about it." Offering her his handkerchief, he added, "That Lord Russell on the other hand, what a bastard he was."
Eleanora could do nothing but look at the viscount in shock and denied his offered handkerchief. The most she needed in her time of mourning was compassion and support, and there Anthony was, speaking ill of the dead?
"Are you mental?" she said incredulously, slowly standing up. Anthony's eyes followed hers. "Why are you speaking ill of my late husband?! It has merely been a few days and yet you are saying such things!"
Though Eleanora had not been fond of Jerome, she still felt the need to defend him.
Anthony mimicked her actions and stood up, almost forgetting how similar and level their heights were, even still as fully grown adults. "Because ever since you were engaged to him, you refrained from contact with me!" The silence of the house and the continuous crackling of the fire made his response all the more louder. "You married, and I never got a letter from you since then! Not telling me about how the marriage was going, not to check in on my family, not anything! It's as if you married into money and suddenly found yourself better than everyone else and to be too high in the ton to stay in contact with me."
In response, Eleanora could not help the tears from coming down any faster as Anthony watched her cry, his chest noticeably rising and falling.
"That is not true," she whispered, "I only avoided writing you letters because you were so visibly unhappy with my engagement to Jerome. You were so stubborn that I did not want to bore you with letters about my wedding because you were already so miserable at the mere mentioning of it." She took a step forward. "Anthony, you did not even attend my wedding. My wedding."
With that, Anthony swept her into an embrace, unaware of the pain he had caused Eleanora for all those years, and in regret from hearing the sound of her quivering voice. She mutually felt the same dread, as she was unaware of the pain she caused him.
"Nora," he said, smoothing down her hair in a soothing gesture. "I am sorry. My deepest apologies, for I did not know."
She continued to sob into his shoulder.