Chapter Text
Eloise cursed under her breath before taking another sip of her iced coffee. It was barely even ten o’clock, and she was already on her third cup.
Being the editor-in-chief of one of the most successful magazines in the world—at age twenty-seven no less—meant Eloise was constantly running on caffeine. Despite the long hours and what felt like a constant state of stress, she wouldn’t have it any other way. The Ton was her pride and joy, a magazine featuring solely women and highlighting a mix of intellect and social commentary, as well as culture and lifestyle.
Yet, having just spent a month in Paris covering the Summer Olympics, Eloise found herself playing catch up, drowning in impending deadlines and endless meetings, even more than usual.
It also didn’t help that she’d barely gotten any work done over the weekend, as her brother had dragged her out to Watford with the claim that she needed to get away from work and that the art show he had to attend was the perfect excuse.
(“When’s the last time you took a vacation, El?” Benedict asked, a knowing look in his eye.
“Literally last month,” she argued with a slight whine.
“I’d hardly call that a vacation,” he chuckled. “You were there for work.”
“Fine, I’ll go to Watford with you,” Eloise finally relented. “But you’re paying.”
The older Bridgerton agreed with a smug smile, expecting no less from her.
“And I expect at least two of those cinnamon scones from that bakery you always rave about.”)
She quickly finished typing up an email to her production manager, giving them the go-ahead to print this month’s edition. Before Eloise could move onto reviewing the online mockup, her phone began to ring.
“Eloise Bridgerton,” she answered.
“El, hey, is this a bad time?” Daphne Bridgerton’s soft voice came through the line.
“Daphne?” Eloise dropped her professional tone and furrowed her brows. “What are you doing ringing my work?”
“I tried your mobile but it went straight to voicemail.”
“It’s on do not disturb, sorry.” Eloise often turned her personal phone on do not disturb while she was working, a habit her family absolutely despised.
“Eloise,” Daphne started, but before her older sister could scold her for the millionth time, Eloise interrupted.
“So, what can I do for you, sis?”
“Well, I thought you would like to know that Thomas Cowper died and his daughter, Cressida, took over the company,” the older woman said with an airiness in her voice that Eloise found only slightly inappropriate given the subject.
“Who is Thomas Cowper?” Eloise asked, unsure as to why this unknown man’s death has anything to do with her.
“Goodness, Eloise, don’t you read the news?” Daphne huffed exasperatedly. “You know, for someone whose job it is to be in the know, you are decidedly not.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Eloise rolled her eyes. She was not blind to the ironic fact that for an editor-in-chief of a mainstream magazine, she was quite in the dark about the majority of pop culture. “Would you please just get on with it?”
She swore she could hear Daphne’s eyes roll through the phone.
“Thomas Cowper was the CEO and head designer of Cowper, one of the most prestigious and high-end fashion companies in the world,” Daphne explained.
“Oh right,” Eloise clicked her tongue, an image of the old man flashing in her head. “Isn’t he that super misogynistic, old-fashioned prick?”
“Eloise!”
It was Eloise’s turn to roll her eyes. “May he rest in peace,” she mumbled to appease her sister.
“Anyways,” Daphne continued, “his daughter has been appointed to take over the company as both CEO and head designer.”
“This is all fascinating, Daph, but I have—,” Eloise tried to stop her sister, only to be interrupted.
“ And I think you should do a feature piece about her,” Daphne asserted.
“What?” Eloise sat up in her chair, taken aback by the suggestion.
This was not the first time Daphne had suggested article topics and content ideas for the magazine. The eldest Bridgerton sister, though unemployed (“A stay-at-home mom is a full-time job, Eloise,” Daphne always insisted, and after babysitting Augie once, Eloise couldn’t find the falsity in that), made it her job to help her siblings in all their career endeavors—whether it was to appease some sort of guilt complex she had for marrying young and leaving the family, Eloise would never know. However, the younger Bridgerton was starting to think her sister was losing her touch, because why in the world would she want to write an article, a cover article at that, about a woman who just had a company fall into her lap.
“Eloise, I know you do not understand the magnitude of this, since you are not in touch with the fashion world, but Cowper is one of the biggest brands in the world and has historically been male-run.”
As Daphne continued, Eloise put the phone on speaker and quickly typed “Cowper” into her search bar. She quickly skimmed over the company’s history and some news articles about Thomas, but what – or rather who – she was really interested in was his daughter. Already forgetting the name Daphne had said, Eloise simply searched “Cowper daughter.”
Cressida. Cressida Cowper.
There was not much biographical information about the woman, only as much as she was the daughter of the late design mogul and that she studied womenswear fashion design at Central Saint Martins.
However, when Eloise clicked on images, hundreds of photos of the blonde appeared, the majority of them either walking down the runway or posing for a photoshoot. Though she might not know fashion, Eloise definitely knew women, and she couldn’t deny that Cressida was beautiful.
While her excessive, frilly dresses did her no favors, Cressida held herself with such poise that Eloise could imagine that she’d look good in anything she put on. The blonde’s long hair cascaded past her shoulders, and her bangs framed her face perfectly. Of course Eloise admired the other woman’s figure—her legs seemingly going on for miles and her cheekbones so sharp they could’ve been cut from stone—but it was Cressida’s piercing blue eyes that captivated the writer.
“...and considering The Ton highlights women and their experiences, you would be remiss to not write this story.”
Eloise pursed her lips, knowing that her sister was right. “I don’t know, Daph. I am absolutely swamped.”
“Just put it in the fashion week issue Genevieve puts together,” Daphne suggested.
The editor-in-chief blamed the severe lack of sleep and the caffeinated buzz in her head for why she forgot about the issue The Ton did every fashion week. Truly, it wasn’t her fault. Eloise usually didn’t even have to think about fashion week, trusting her art and fashion director to handle it.
“Right,” she let out a dry chuckle. “I just don’t really want to.”
Eloise Bridgerton was never one to mince her words.
“Well, I already made a call to Willa, so too bad. It’s happening.” Leaving no room for her younger sister to protest – because of course she would – Daphne hung up.
All Eloise could do was stare at her phone in disbelief.
What the hell just happened?
————
Cressida wanted to scream. The press preview for the Cowper spring collection was next week and she still hadn’t figured out the order of the collection. While she still had almost a month to completely finalize everything before London Fashion Week, the preview would be the first time anyone outside the company would be seeing her work.
Of course, Cressida had finished all the designs months ago, and all the dresses were ready for showing, but this was the first Cowper line under her name. Everything needed to be absolutely perfect; she had a reputation to maintain and one to build.
Thomas Cowper’s death was a shock to everyone, everyone but his family. While the public saw the man as bold and lively, those who really knew him knew he had been on his deathbed for almost a year, battling stage IV pancreatic cancer. Given his illness, the Cowper patriarch had handed over his design duties to Cressida, much to her delight.
Yet, her sentiment was quite fleeting when she realized the absolute lack of freedom she was allowed. Though her father had named her head designer, Cressida was not to stray from the strict style guidelines and protocols that Cowper had followed for the past hundred years.
The Cowper fashion house had built its name on sophisticated and regal clothes, dresses and suits embodying elegance with a nod to historical aesthetics. The traditional roots of his clothes heavily reflected Thomas Cowper’s old-fashioned—outdated if you will—perspectives. He was outwardly sexist and homophobic, though never loud enough to tarnish Cowper’s reputation. Even Cressida knew the only reason she was appointed his successor was because Thomas could then control her every move, having filled his daughter’s head with impossibly high expectations and stifling pressures.
But after her father died and her mother cut all communications, Cressida knew this was her opportunity to escape the mold her parents cut out for her, this spring collection being the first step.
“Miss Cowper.” Her assistant knocked on the open door before stepping into the office.
“Yes, Martha?” Cressida plastered a tight smile onto her face, looking away from her monitor. In truth, she absolutely adored her assistant—having spent hours of her childhood with the older woman when her parents were too busy with work—but right now, she was beyond stressed and didn’t want to be bothered.
“Somebody from The Ton called, I believe her name was Daphne Bridgerton. They expressed interest in doing an article about you and wanted to know if that’s something you would be interested in,” Martha reported as she ripped a piece of paper from her notepad. “This is the email and phone number she gave me.”
“ The Ton? As in THE Ton? ” Cressida felt herself perk up a little bit at the mention of the popular magazine, which she obviously knew of but couldn’t recall exactly the last time she’d actually sat down and read it.
“Yes, I do believe that is the one,” the older woman chuckled amusedly, walking across the room to hand the scrap of paper to her boss.
“Right,” Cressida mumbled and scanned the messy handwriting. “Thank you, Martha. I’ll give it some thought.”
“Of course.” Martha nodded before dismissing herself.
As Cressida opened her laptop to read the latest edition of The Ton , she was immediately met with a new email notification, her eyes widening when she saw who it was from.
Subject: Request to Feature You in The Ton’s Upcoming London Fashion Week Issue
Cc: Genevieve Delacroix
Dear Miss Cowper,
This is Eloise Bridgerton, editor-in-chief of The Ton. Someone may have already called you to inquire about partaking in an upcoming issue, but I just wanted to personally extend my request.
I firstly want to extend my sincerest condolences on your father’s passing.
In regard to The Ton, every fashion week, we release a special edition, highlighting female fashion designers, editors, stylists, etc. I would love to include Cowper and feature you as our cover story, as we admire your recent rise to leadership within the company and can’t wait to see your first fashion show as Cowper’s head designer.
Let me know if this is something you are interested in. If you have any questions or concerns, please do not hesitate to reach out. I am more than happy to schedule a meeting or simply communicate over email, whatever works best for you. I look forward to hearing from you soon.
Yours sincerely,
Eloise Bridgerton
Editor-in-Chief | The Ton
After reading the email, and then reading it one more time, Cressida nearly pinched herself. Sure, a multitude of gossip magazines and news outlets, along with one or two fashion magazines, had reached out after her father’s death. But no one had expressed any remote interest in Cressida herself or the future of the company, well, until now.
Out of curiosity, Cressida typed ‘Eloise Bridgerton’ into Google. In retrospect, she shouldn’t have been surprised by the sheer amount of articles and interviews and images that popped up, considering Eloise was a successful woman of a highly-rated magazine.
She skimmed a couple interview articles before scrolling through the images. Cressida noted that the majority of the photos of the writer were either for a photoshoot or a public appearance, almost none from her personal life, likely due to her lack of social media.
One picture caught Cressida’s eye, and she tried to stop her breath from hitching. Eloise was wearing a loose black buttoned vest with a matching pair of pleated trousers. The outfit itself wasn’t necessarily anything special, but Cressida couldn’t help but admire Eloise and the simplicity and elegance she exuded.
Anyone with eyes could see that Eloise Bridgerton was absolutely gorgeous.
Cressida felt her face warm as she realized just how long she’d been staring. Quickly, she closed the tab and began typing out a response email.
RE: Request to Feature You in The Ton’s Upcoming London Fashion Week Issue
Dear Miss Bridgerton,
Thank you for thinking of me and extending your kind invitation. I would be honored to be featured in The Ton’s fashion week issue.
I would love to set up a time to meet with you so we can go over the details of the story. I will have my assistant send over my availability in the two weeks.
In the meantime, I invite you to the press preview for Cowper’s upcoming spring collection taking place next Tuesday at 11:00. I will send you a calendar invite, and I hope to see you there.
Thank you again for reaching out to me, and I look forward to working with you.
Kind regards,
Cressida Cowper
CEO | Head Designer