Chapter Text
A few months later, once the season was over and the summer sun had begun to set a bit earlier, the Bridgerton clan found themselves all at Aubrey Hall. There were a few changes to the numbers, as there always seemed to be with their family. A new addition, in the name of Isabelle St. Clair, was present and smiley. There were also a few absences, in the name of the Stirlings, who had returned to their home in Scotland after the christening of the former.
Everyone else, though, with a bit of compelling encouragement from Violet Bridgerton (the first), had agreed to the visit. The only true holdup in the family had been Colin, whose wife had reached her third trimester.
This pregnancy had left Penelope more lethargic than her prior two, therefore forcing onto her far more time to just sit and think. But a simple rest would not do for the former Lady Whistledown.
Penelope Bridgerton loved and respected her family, but she was still very much Penelope. And Penelope did not miss a chance to restore the balance.
So, when Colin came into their bedroom and told her about the trip, Penelope insisted on going. It wasn’t a long carriage ride, and the doctor assured her that other than some additional needed rest, the baby was fine. She could do it. She wanted to do it.
So, they did. And the day after they arrived, every member of the family (above the age of sixteen- best not to distress any more children) received a crisp copy of Lady Whistledown’s Return.
Anthony Bridgerton, who enjoyed waking up at the crack of dawn to check in on his children, was the first to see the column.
Well, in actuality, it was Michael Stirling who had been first to see it. Penelope had taken special care to mail a copy to Francesca early, and Francesca happened to be taking a walk when it arrived.
But returning to Anthony, the eldest Bridgerton sibling squinted at the paper that had been slid under the door, unable to read it in the dim light without his glasses. There was a moment when he considered waking Kate for the sole reason of having her read the paper, but he just put it into his pocket and left to go to the nursery instead.
Because of this, the first person at Aubrey Hall to actually read the column was Hyacinth, who had woken up early for some morning exercise. Coincidentally, Gareth was also awake, a sleepy smile on his face as he watched his wife.
“Lady Whistledown,” Hyacinth muttered, picking up the paper with the delicacy of which she held her children. Her eyes widened as her lips curved, opening the drapes to read under the peeks of sunshine. There was a snort, then a gasp, then a few words read under her breath until Gareth came to read over her shoulder.
Dear Members of the Bridgerton Family,
It has come to This Author’s attention that much of our party does not know the full goings-on of one, Gregory Bridgerton, during the summer of 1827. The whereabouts and activities of Mr. Bridgerton (the third Mr. Bridgerton, that is) were not made aware to This Author merely through the convenience of conversation, but rather through research. Research and letters and whispered words.
Now, all of that work is put to the forefront, giving you, Dear Reader, the wonderous opportunity to sit down, indulge in a pastry, and find out the true reasons one should never cross Lady Whistledown. Last April, you were given a taste; now, you get the full meal.
First in our timeline comes the delay of Gregory Bridgerton’s arrival at Aubrey Hall. As many know, Mr. Bridgerton was meant to attend a party hosted by the lovely Lady Kate Bridgerton, though he came only after supper. Why exactly was he late, you ask?
Oh, he stopped at the races.
Gregory wasn’t much of a betting man.
He dabbled with the occasional card game or sometimes stopped at a boxing match to pick his favorite, but rarely did he place significant money on the line. He wasn’t a real fan of gambling and typically thought the habit was picked up by only the dull and unimaginative.
But, in this instance, he thought to make a bet with himself.
The truth was that he was meant to leave for Aubrey Hall that morning, but Gregory was quite certain of what awaited him upon his arrival. Anthony, as he was keen to do, would take the opportunity to lecture his youngest brother about his future. Whether it be clergyman, militant, or husband, Anthony expected him to have a plan.
Upon preference, Gregory would have chosen the third.
And even though his three brothers had married at ages far older than him, he was being rushed.
Now, Gregory wouldn’t mind marrying young; he would have married at the age his father had been had he met his match. But he hadn’t- met his match, that is.
So, he was betting on General Folius. On the line were five pounds and his heart: if his horse won, he’d find love this season. If he lost, well, no worry, then. He’d convince Anthony to give him more time, give him a reason why neither war nor faith was right for him.
However, in a rather surprising twist, General Folius won his first race. And though someone was clapping him on the back, Gregory could feel the time ticking by. He’d planned to leave London after the first race, when, presumably, his pick would have lost.
He could just leave and read about it in the papers, surely? He didn’t mind the money. But the other wager…
With a glance at his watch, Gregory calculated that he could stay for another hour, maybe two. He’d miss tea, but he could make it to supper. And then -
Oh, damn. General Folius won his second race.
Just one more race, though. It wouldn’t take long. He’d have his valet bring him a sandwich on the trip, so he wouldn’t waste any more time. Surely, he couldn’t miss out on the very last race, not when he was winning so unexpectedly. Kate wouldn't mind, and Anthony would go along with whatever his wife thinks.
With an eagerness he didn’t realize, Gregory gripped the edge of his coat as he watched the riders line up. General Folius was third down the line, swishing his tail as he readied himself. And right before the gun went off, the horse seemed to look at Gregory and smile. A wide, reassuring grin. He was going to win.
He did not win; he actually came second to last. And Gregory was three hours late and five pounds down.
“I thought you didn’t gamble,” was the first greeting Gregory received when he arrived at the breakfast room that morning.
Inspecting the half-full plate of kippers on the table, he glanced up to squint at his sister. “I don’t.”
The corners of Eloise’s mouth quirked. “Are you sure? Never?”
Ooh, some very nice bacon was halfway down the table; someone must have hidden that plate from the earlier crowd. He’d have to take a few pieces to bring to Lucy, Gregory thought as he took a few pieces for himself. “I suppose once in a while, but not since I married.”
This time, Benedict jumped in. “Then right before you married? Just a few months before, perhaps?”
Sitting down with his full plate, Gregory sighed, rolling his head to look at them. “Just spit it out, what is it?”
He was met with a paper in his face and frowned. Before he could reach over and take it, though, Eloise pulled it out of his reach and started reading aloud.
“According to the latest edition of Lady Whistledown, you were late to Kate’s house party last summer because... you stayed in London to bet on horses.”
“And you lost, rather substantially, if gossip serves correct,” Benedict added with a toothy grin.
Without a comment, Gregory reached across and snatched the paper in Eloise’s hands with the speed and precision only a younger sibling could possess. With every line he read, Gregory’s mouth fell farther open. “Where did this come from?”
Sophie, who had been quietly reading her own copy as the siblings teased, said, “It was slid under all of our doors this morning.”
“We didn’t get a copy,” Gregory huffed, cringing as he turned to see the other side of the paper covered in more writing.
“Yes, well-”
“Gregory.”
The aforementioned gentleman almost groaned on the spot, shutting his eyes for a moment as his eldest brother’s steps neared him. “Morning, Anthony.”
Anthony looked down at him, a fist resting on his hip. “Were you drunk around my children?”
"What?"
Glaring, the Viscount bent down to hover over the column Gregory was holding, tapping a few times a few paragraphs down.
That house party, where our young Mr. Bridgerton met his future wife, was quite eventful, indeed. According to witnesses, not only was there a brawl between our favorite youngest brother and his future brother-in-law (over the hand of his brother-in-law’s future wife, no less!), there was also a bottle of brandy that went missing from Lord Bridgerton’s office.
The suspect? Unconfirmed, however Mr. Bridgerton was awoken the next morning by Charlotte Bridgerton and her nanny. He was found asleep in the hallway, clutching a stuffy.
Poke. Poke.
Pulled cheek.
“Uncle Greggy? Are you still sleeping?”
Gregory groaned, feeling the crack in his back as he rolled onto it. With a peek, he caught a glimpse of his niece’s wide eyes extremely close to his face. “Lottie? What are you doing awake?”
“I woke up Leah, we’re going on a walk!” The girl smiled, taking the hand of her nanny. “Why are you holding Mr. Stuffins?”
He blinked a few times, glancing down to see the small teddy he was holding. With a shake of his head, he handed it to Leah, giving her a sheepish smile. “I went to find you in the nursery, but you were asleep.” He nodded at Charlotte dramatically. “So, I had to take the next best thing.”
Charlotte returned his nod, but frowned all the same. “And why are you on the floor?”
“Erm." Gregory swallowed, last night coming back into view. He hadn’t been drunk, not quite. But the events of the evening had affected him enough that he hadn’t been able to make it back to his room. “So, I could see you, of course.”
“Oh.” His niece seemed to digest his answer, glancing between him and her nanny. Leah smiled encouragingly, though when Charlotte turned away, it was clear she was just as confused. Gregory could see the adorable gap in his neice's teeth when she grinned at him. “Would you like to join us on our walk? We’re going to count the pink flowers!”
“Oh? That’s nice,” he nodded, and something within him flipped. He didn’t think he was too overcome by last night’s brandy, but he’d best get to a washroom to be sure. “Not this morning, I don’t think. Perhaps tomorrow, or later today? I can take you and your brothers to play a game.”
That was sufficient for the five-year-old, who very much wanted to see the flowers before the ladies woke up and began “pom-enading”.
There was something... something about last night that Gregory needed to remember. Something that really explained why he’d slept in the hallway, why he’d gone to the nursery in the first place. And he had a feeling it wasn’t just because of Anthony’s brandy.
“I was not drunk, I was-”
Anthony cut him off. “No, you were just suffering the aftereffects, I suppose.”
A snort came from the other side of the table; Gregory ignored it. “It’s not as though Lottie could tell.”
That was, evidentially, not the right answer. But as Anthony grumbled something about pulling his hair out, Gregory slipped out of the breakfast room, carrying an extra plate for his wife.
He needed to find Lucy, Colin, and Penelope. Preferably, in that order.
He might also have to apologise to Kate. And his mother? Oh, damn, maybe-
“Morning, Uncle Greg,” Edmund said, sharing a grin with Belinda as they passed. “Are you looking for the nursery?”
“Shouldn’t you be at Eton?” Gregory asked, trying to ignore the heat on his face.
“Next week.”
Gregory sighed. “Fine. Shouldn’t you be in the nursery yourselves, then?”
Belinda gave him a shining smile. “We just needed something from Uncle Anthony’s study.”
“You really taught us a great lesson, about finding things in father’s desk.” Edmund and Belinda shared a serious nod, hands clasped behind their backs.
Gregory swallowed, considering his options. “Five pounds and you give me the paper?”
“Sorry, Papa told us taking money from family is wrong,” Belinda said, making a great effort to look sorry.
With a forceful blink, Gregory decided the best means of action was to simply let it go. “Just don’t show it to any of the children.”
“Only Amelia and Caroline,” Belinda promised, looking delighted.
Gregory nodded and carried on, hearing as he walked off, “Well, then we have to tell Oliver and Amanda, as well.”
“And Miles and David, they won’t want to miss this!”
Gregory let out a forceful breath, making his way toward the garden as he muttered something about Penelope and getting it.
He then let out a little prayer when he located the gardens, finding Lucy alone with Daphne.
“Here,” he said, rather unceremoniously handing his wife the plate. “I thought you might have missed the bacon.”
Lucy gave him a bright smile. “That I did, thank you.” Her belly had only just begun to show, but Lucy’s already impressive appetite had increased rather exponentially.
None of the three said a word as Gregory sat down, pulling his arms into his chest. Really, what could he do now? His sister-in-law had clearly sought revenge, now it was his turn to return the favor. That was how the Bridgerton family worked.
“Gregory?” Daphne asked, leaning over to tap the table near him. “Are you mumbling to yourself?
“I dunno,” he mumbled in response.
His oldest sister shared a look with Lucy in a way that was not unlike how Belinda had looked at Edmund. “And how are you feeling this morning?”
“Oh, very good,” Lucy answered, reaching for Gregory’s arm with the hand not holding a piece of bacon. “Hungry.”
Gregory blinked at her. One, two, three (he’d gotten into the habit of counting when he was with his wife) - “And?”
She looked at him, mimicking his blinks. “And what?”
“Aren’t you irritated? Angry? Full of ire?”
Lucy stared at him for a moment, taking a slow bite of toast he had also picked up. And then, seeing the seriousness on his face, let out a snort.
“Lucy,” Gregory said (and though he’d never admit it, not without a whine).
“Honestly, I find it quite exciting to be featured in a Lady Whistledown column. Especially after what you shared with me.” She glanced good-naturedly at Daphne, who was wearing a rather smug smile.
Gregory huffed at his wife’s positivity, sending a glare his sister’s way. “And I suppose you helped?”
Daphne shrugged innocently. “I suppose you did seek to embarrass my husband.”
“But neither you nor your husband was embarrassed.”
Daphne smiled. “Well, I did say seek, not that you accomplished anything.”
“It’s alright, Gregory,” Lucy said, giving his hand a squeeze. “From what Colin told me, there was much worse she could have included.”
“What do you-” he cut himself off at Lucy’s knowing look. “When did you speak to Colin?”
“Over breakfast, we were first ones down. Trust me, Penelope went easy on us.”
Gregory rolled his eyes. “Tell that to Anthony. Or Mum, for that matter. Has she read it?”
“She got a revised copy,” Daphne answered with a bit too much expertise on the subject. “One a tad less scandalous.”
“Speaking of your mother,” Lucy whispered, looking slightly beyond him.
Turning, Gregory saw Violet making her way toward them, carrying one of her many (many grandchildren). It didn’t take long for him to realize she was carrying his own daughter.
And though the joy at seeing baby Kate’s fingers up in the air was incomparable, the words his mother said did do something to diminish it.
“Well, if it isn’t my son: the gambler, the stealer, and the liar.”
Gregory tried not to groan.
The last of which I will tell you, my dear readers, is the story of post-marital bliss for Mr. Bridgerton and his Lady Lucinda.
Now, in a family such as this one, most everyone knows the pull of love. That undeniable and -might I say- 'salacious' draw to that person. Our young couple certainly knows of this. Which is why, presumably, they skipped their honeymoon to Ireland without telling anyone.
The newlyweds had been visiting Aubrey Hall when it happened. They’d only just been married, and Lucy had insisted on staying in England a bit longer to get to know her new family.
“I need to win them over,” she’d told him, nervously biting a lip. “Prove to them I’m so happy to be a part of your family.”
“Our family,” Gregory had said instinctually, wrapping his arms around her. “And you have nothing to prove to anyone.”
That was, certainly, a lie. Several members of the family (mostly Hyacinth) had been weary. But Gregory didn’t care.
The trip itself had gone well. Lucy had memorized every name, birthday, favourite colour… It was a truly impressive feat.
But the best part had been one of their last evenings there.
“Gregory,” Lucy had whispered late into the night.
“Lucy, Lucy, Lucy,” he'd whispered back, a hand running through her hair.
He could tell she was smiling, even in the dark. “I think I’m pregnant.”
He’d bolted upright, somehow hitting his head against the bedframe. Then he’d cried- not from pain.
That next week, they’d decided to cancel their trip and not tell anyone. And though they hadn't had any qualms about it then, there was a part of Gregory that now considered why that hadn't been the best plan of action.
Even as the present Gregory grimaced, his mother smiled, placing his giggling daughter into his arms. “Gregory, I do not care that you did not go on a honeymoon.”
“Oh, good-”
She sent him a look. “Why, however, did you feel the need to pretend?”
Giving baby Kate his finger to play with, Gregory glanced apologetically at Lucy. It had been his idea to lie, even going as far to send a letter pretending as if they’d spent the month in Ireland.
He hesitated for a moment before softly answering, “We just wanted to stay in England. It was still a honeymoon, it was just here, rather than somewhere else.”
Violet nodded, though there was a knowing look in her eye as she glanced down at her granddaughter. “Right.”
Gregory bit the inside of his cheek. “Well, where is Lady Whistledown? I’d surely like to thank her for such a nice column.”
“She’s in their bedroom,” Daphne answered. “Bedridden, I’m afraid.”
“How convenient for me.”
Giving a kiss on the cheek to his wife and mother, Gregory carefully placed Kate in Lucy’s arms and set off.
For an estate as large as Aubrey Hall, he seemed to pass everyone on his way. Simon and Phillip avoided eye contact as they walked by, though he heard a laugh down the hall. Amelia and Caroline giggled when they saw him, quickly ducking into the library. Gareth gave him a clap on the back, reassuring that it really wasn’t that bad. And Kate, thankfully, hadn’t seen Gregory as he hopped past her office.
He considered just forcing the door open, but with a family like the Bridgertons, that was rarely a safe option. Instead, he knocked. Loudly.
Colin opened the door in less than a second, a wide grin on his face. “Hello, Little Brother. Nice to see you.”
Gregory glared; arms crossed. He glanced toward the bed, where Penelope was sitting, a book laid open on her belly. With a serene smile on her face, she nodded at him. “It seems like a lovely day outside.”
Without a word, he stepped in, brows still knitted together in a glare. Unfortunately, now that he was here, he wasn’t quite sure what he could do. In the past, he would have caught a frog and let it loose under their covers. Maybe even a slug if he was really upset. But he was a grown man now, so surely, he couldn’t go looking for frogs.
Hmm. Miles, though. Miles liked frogs.
“Don’t even think about it,” Colin said, sitting next to his wife on the bed and crossing his legs. “We are even.”
Gregory blinked, first at Colin and then at Penelope. “Even? All I did was read a column- you wrote an entire column! Just about me!”
Penelope squinted her eyes. “It wasn’t that bad.”
He gaped at her. “Not that bad? My mother just called me a gambler, stealer, and liar!”
She smiled, not unkindly. And despite himself, Gregory almost smiled too. It was, unfortunately, all rather funny. “I could have said much more.”
“Like what?”
Penelope glanced at Colin, who gave her a lopsided grin as he stretched his arms behind his head, getting comfortable.
“I didn’t mention the roses you ruined at Fennsworth House," his sister-in-law said as Gregory frowned. “The ones incidentally located just below Lucy’s childhood bedroom.”
Gregory swallowed. “Who told you that?”
Penelope smiled. “I have my ways. I fooled the ton for more than a decade, if you remember.”
“Cleverest woman in all of London,” Colin nodded appreciatively, giving her a pat on the stomach.
When Gregory didn’t answer, Penelope continued. “There’s also the story of you drinking a bit too much the week before your wedding. When you, what was it?” She glanced at Colin as if to ask him.
Readily, he supplied, “When you decided to sing opera below that same window of Lucy's. And quite badly, if I recall.”
“Unrelated to the roses story, of course,” Penelope added with a nod.
“I didn’t-”
She let out a small gasp to interrupt him. “And how could I have forgotten? How you accidentally ripped Lucy’s wedding dress the morning of and had to have a maid repair it before she found out.”
Gregory gaped at her before sticking his chin up stubbornly. “I actually told Lucy about that one; she laughed.”
Penelope nodded knowingly; her lips twisted in a rather evil smile. “I know. Where else could I have heard that from?”
And so, dear readers, there you have it. Some of the many secrets of one Mr. Gregory Bridgerton, all put forth to you in this paper.
I suggest you all take this as a warning. Lady Whistledown may be retired and put away in boxes, but she can always make a return when necessary. Especially, when she is bedridden.
Lady Whistledown’s Familial Papers, July 24th, 1828