I'm not used to waking up in such a lively house. Even before mother and father passed, our house was always peacefully silent in the mornings. Mother would usually be in the sitting room with a book in hand and her tea gone cold, forgotten about as she got lost in the pages, and father in his study; the shades drawn open to allow the sunlight in.

With Eloise making her debut today, the Bridgerton household is especially abuzz this morning; I can hear maids whispering outside my door and the children's feet padding against the carpets, rushing as if this were a race. A maid finishes pinning my hair up as I sit at a vanity, sipping my tea.

"Are you sure you wouldn't like to wear something else today, Miss?" Another one asks as I stand, and she begins fastening me into my corset; she's got beautiful brown hair tied into a braid that looks intricate, like a work of art.

"No, this will do," I say politely. I can see unsureness in both of their gazes, lingering over the black satin dress. It's customary one wears the colour of mourning for six months after losing their parents, but even after the months had passed, it felt wrong to stop mourning them. It felt wrong to accept that they were gone and move on as if nothing happened.

So, I haven't.

They say nothing else as they help me into my dress, slipping my shoes on my feet one at a time. Before they leave, they step back and look me over, bowing their heads as they curtsy. "Is there anything else we can get you before we take our leave, miss?"

"No, thank you. That'll be all," I say, smiling; I had known my maids back home for so long that they became friends slowly over time. I can't help but wonder if I can find something like that with these women as well, "I am sorry, but I never quite caught your names."

The short one flushes bashfully, "I am Ethel, miss," she then gestures to the taller one, "and this is Anna."

"Well, it is lovely to make your acquaintance," I curtsy toward them, "I never would have been able to do my hair like this on my own. The last time I attempted, it looked more like a birdsbeard's nest. It took my poor maids back home hours to get the knots out."

"You're much easier than Miss Hyacinth; that one can never sit still when we're doing her hair."

I laugh at Anna's anecdote, envisioning the enthusiastic girl I'd met last night. Much like her siblings had been around that age, she seemed full of energy, "I can imagine."

When they leave the room, I allow myself a moment to survey myself in the mirror. Against the dark fabric of the dress, my green eyes shone, and my blonde hair tugged upward into a twisted bun that made my head ache. I was already eager to return home later and take it out. They'd dusted colour onto my cheeks and painted my lips pink. I looked more awake than I had in ages, though if you looked close enough, you could see the darkness lingering under my eyes, the result of many restless nights.

As I exit my room, chattering voices catch my attention. They all seem to be talking over one another at once, making their words difficult to make out. None of the Bridgertons take notice of me as I turn the corner, all waiting outside Eloise's room. "I told everyone this would happen," Anthony mutters, his back facing me. "Now we're late for the queen."

"Shh," Francesca shushes him, "I think I hear something."

They all fall silent at once, leaning closer to their sister's door to hear. "Are we sure she hasn't climbed through the window?" I say after a beat of silence, causing all their gazes to fly over to me.

"Lydia," Daphne's eyes light up as she brushes past her siblings and over toward me. She's glowing, just as beautiful as she had been when we were children. Her champagne dress makes her strawberry-blonde hair appear even brighter. She is a duchess now, after a whirlwind courtship last season that we received countless letters about.

"Your Grace."

I fall into a curtsy that causes Daphne to playfully swat my arm with her gloved hand, "Oh, hush you. None of that here." Even her laughter is beautiful, a melodic sound that would cause sailors to turn from their paths as she pulls me into a hug.

His gaze catches mine over her shoulder, and my breath feels trapped in my lungs. The last time I saw Benedict, he was a teenager; he hadn't hit his growth spurt quite yet, and Anthony had teased him relentlessly for it. He was an awkward-looking boy, far too worried about his sketches than the way he appeared to society.

A lot had changed since their visit to Devonshire. That much was clear.

His gaze swims over me, and I wonder if the thoughts floating through his mind are similar to my own. He hadn't been the only one to change since our last meeting. "Benedict," I nod my head, greeting him.

Daphne moves away for her brother to take her place as the rest of the family begins whispering once more, conspiring about how to get Eloise out of the room. "Lydia," his tone is almost breathless. "How are you?"

The sincerity in his tone is shocking. Benedict was always the most teasing and playful of the brothers. When they'd come to stay with us, he'd slip me notes in the drawing room with drawings that I'd have to try not to laugh at and sit in the garden with me, drawing as the sunset. Much like his Colin and Eloise, we'd written for a little while after their departure. He'd mail me his latest drawings, and I'd send him mine.

But eventually, it all just stopped.

He asks me how I am, like he truly wants to know. I'd grown used to brushing past the question lately, reciting the answer that most people expect, but Benedict would be able to see through my lies.

"As well as I can be," I say, shrugging my shoulders. "It seems you finally hit that growth spurt." I nod towards him, having to tilt my chin to keep my gaze connected with his.

I expected him to make some joke about how I'd barely grown at all; I got my shortness from my mother, and even in heels, Benedict towered over me. He hardly lets a smile tug at his lips before turning toward his family again, rejoining the chatter-filled conversations.

"May I?" I ask Violet as I approach them, too, trying not to let Benedict's lack of teasing bother me.

"Be my guest." The matriarch of the house gestures toward the door with a tired sigh, allowing me to step past her, my knuckle gently rapturing against the doorframe.

"El?" I call out, and they all fall silent, holding their breaths to see if I'll be the one capable of getting her to leave the room. "Come out, please; it can't be that bad."

I hear a sigh on the other side of the door, the door handle twisting to reveal three irritated-looking maids. The feather in Eloise's hair is the first thing to capture my attention, defying the laws of gravity as it sticks upward. Her posture is slouched, expression annoyed.

"If one of you utters a single word," She glares with a warning before anyone can say anything. Pushing her long skirt aside, she mutters, walking out of the room. "Let's get this over with."

"Perfect," Violet claps her hands, ignoring her daughter's moody behaviour. Violet Bridgerton is the epitome of a lady, capable of gracefully smiling on all occasions. "Lydia, you wouldn't mind going in the boy's carriage, would you? Ours is full, unfortunately."

"Not at all," I smile at her, linking my arm through Gregory's. The young boy smiles up at me, nearly the same height as me. "Shall we?"