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"Whyever can you not listen to me?"
"Because, husband dearest," you began, drawling out the words with a new onset of determination to get out of bed with a swollen stomach that was equivalent to the size of a watermelon. "You do not in fact, own me."
Your lungs constructed and you fought your hardest not to breath out and let your husband know you were tired already. You swung your legs over the side of the bed and swatted Anthony’s awaiting hands away.
"I am fully," Anthony flinched as you stood on your feet and swayed, arms out like a bird. "Fully aware my love, that I do not own you."
"Lovely." You smiled in delight, "I am so pleased that we had arrived to this conclusion."
"As always," Anthony’s words wavered, sarcasm toning his baritone, "We are such a fine pair."
"You are dismissed Anthony," you said nonchalantly just as you pulled the apron over your growing body. It was all in good humor, your behavior, as you didn’t really wish for him to leave you completely to the hands of yourself dearest. Though still, his mother hen behavior and constant dotting was worrying the staff. His mother thought it’s fitting for a husband to be that way (she was beyond proud of Anthony), but perhaps she had forgotten the man she birthed. "You may do as you please."
"I wish to be with you woman!" He exclaimed urgently, linking his big arm through yours before you could blink. "What if something were to happen in my absence?"
"Then you shall run to my rescue no matter where you are," you told him simply, but stopped when you were just outside your door and his body was still rigid. Twisting your body until you faced him, you got as close as you could with your obstacle stomach between you. "But that will not happen Anthony."
His hands were slightly twitching, and he looked shaken up with fear. You grabbed both of his hands in yours and placed them on the round curve. He looked mesmerized, so fascinated by the female autonomy it made you stifle a laugh. "When this child decides to grace this world with its presence, you will be there, my love. Have no fear in that."
There were women - your friends - that were confided to their beds, twisted in an unnatural way, until the remains of their pregnancy carried out. No matter how healthy you looked, and no matter how much he adored you, a part of Anthony wanted you that way. Tucked in and safe until then baby came.
That next thing you did was kiss him fiercely. A soundless reminder that he was going to be there every step of the way and nothing were to happen. "All will be alright. Now let us go."
***
"I believe it’s quite alright."
"Alright? My lady, your paint is most wonderful!"
"Very pretty."
"I agree."
You regarded the screen before you: a multitude of watercolors, scattered around the blank page smartly so they created what one would call one’s masterpiece. They framed your wide garden and the entertaining fields before it. In the corner of the painting was the dark figure of your husband - a man previewed to be the vicious viscount. You painted a gun to his hand, that must have been the reason he appeared to be so mysterious. He was dangerous as he stood straight on the field.
Was.
You sighed. Now was his present and now said and showed that he is a dotting husband that softened and bore one to death. Quite literally.
"He still he has some spark in him." You mused, tilting your head to figure it out as if the damp, black blob of color really was the flesh of your husband. You lived for who he became, but your heart still pulled at the sight of his rake nature. "He could not have gone soft."
"Whatever is she talking about?"
"I cannot recall."
"Hush, you two!"
Their quiet tones evened out into whispers. You stood up as swiftly as your swollen stomach would allow. All three of them jumped at the sight too. One snagged the colored screen to preserve it and the other two watched like hawks, the wheels in their heads spinning as to what their viscountess will do.
They must have expected a fall, or a trip, perhaps even a delivery because when you placed your hands on your sides and narrowed your eyes on them, their brows shot up and confusion crossed their features. "Should any of you," you threw a glance at the first woman that was currently busying herself with arranging your watercolors, "try to stop me from my intentions, and I intend to take a walk in the garden, I shall have you…"
Blast. Threats were not a quality of yours. "Allow me a spare moment of time alone."
"Of course, my lady."
"Certainly, my lady."
"What they said, my lady."
All three (surprisingly) fled immediately.
"Perhaps you wield more power than you know of," you mused to your unborn child, a hand on your belly as you took a pale blue silken bonnet and fixed it on your hairdo. "Shall we go on a garden adventure, little one?"
Nothing happened.
You shrugged.
"I suppose we shall."
***
Only half an hour later you found yourself in the confinement room, surrounded by a group of people who thought of you nothing more than a carrier of their future viscount. It was at that moment, when your contractions were only minutes apart, that you came to terms with the role in your life. You were to bear a hair - a boy specifically - that would carry the title and percent it from slipping out of your husband’s hands.
However, they didn’t know (the physician, midwives, maid) just how much their viscount prayed for a healthy babe. Yourself included. The gender didn't matter.
The room was heated, a fire lit in the center of it. Sweat broke out on your forehead in the form of beads, and they traveled down your body as if they raced. It was common practice to put blankets all over the windows in fear of the woman catching a cold. You wanted them to take it all down and give you air to breathe, knowing in your guts that it was what you and your baby needed for this air was uncomfortable beyond your beliefs.
A scream broke out and was followed by the great force of a broken through door.
"Lord Bridgerton, you mustn’t be-"
"Out of my way! Now!"
They all stepped aside, giving Anthony a clear view of the bed on which you lied on. His face was a screen of pure petrification and you wondered for a moment why you didn't paint that face. It was brilliant. It twisted in fear even more so when you writhed on your back and your maid had to hold you back.
You squeezed your eyes shut, feeling tears stream down your face, no longer wanting to joke around in your head. "I-I can’t breathe…"
And then you felt it.
A warm hand enveloping yours, holding tight as the bed dipped under the incoming weight. Another hand brushed against your head, moving your hair out of the way of your forehead so a damp cloth can cover it. "Anthony?"
You opened your eyes, watching him soundlessly, but then speaking up, "I told you we were alright."
"Heavens woman," Anthony bit out a harsh sigh, smiling through his clenched heart and shaky hands. "You are insufferable."
"Such a fine mouth you have there, my love."
"I shall show you what a fine mouth I-"
His sentence was cut incredibly short as you bucked and cried out.
The baby wasn’t coming out. "I must use the forceps." The physician announced.
That got your attention, "No! No, please!"
"Forgive me, my lady-" the physician’s words fainted away as you looked at Anthony with hope and desperation. You still had life in your body, despite the blood that pooled at the bed, and didn't want to leave the world so early. You begged him with your eyes to forbid them the use of that tool. But then your duty as a mother came up in your mind again, and you bit back a silent cry. This was your obligation and no matter how much you wanted to live to see your child grow up, the duty of a peeress in this world came above everything else you’ve ever known.
Even motherhood.
And that was the most unfortunate of things.
Your eyes dulled when you came to terms with your fate.
However, your husband loved you more than life itself. "No."
"But lord Bridgerton…"
"It will kill her," Anthony said, clutching your clad hand. "It will kill our child."
"I will push."
The announcement broke into the room like a thunder, "I will…push. Please."
And then you did.
And then you survived.
***
"She really is most wonderful," voiced Anthony as he held your daughter in his arms.
Both of you were stationed in your shared chambers. Yes, shared.
For this viscount and viscountess couldn’t get enough of each other. Quite the modern tradition in your household. "From what I can recall, I was told that I was the finest of them all."
Anthony seemed to be in a great deal of trouble while making a suitable remark to your comment. He, God bless him, turned to dot over his daughter, showering her with kisses you have yet to truly give her. The tea next to you was warm, and wine awaited you as an aftertaste.
Anthony winced when he saw you delicately sip.
"We ought to put proper food in you," he mused, eyeing the drink like it was poison. "Isn’t that right, Y/D/N?"
"She is a merely day-old Anthony," you said, watching them with hearts in your eyes. "She knows nothing of childbirth a woman must go through for a baby like that."
"She was quite big, yes," said Anthony, looking over to you. It was beyond amazing that on days like this (when a husband’s only care was to be worrying over his title) a man was so full of love when given a daughter. Anthony beamed, his features glowing. He looked radiant while holding her, and it hurt just looking at them.
"A bit bigger than Daphne’s little one." You mused.
"We are to not comment on the weight of a baby," stated Anthony, bringing out a hoarse laugh out of your mouth. He had no time to react as the doors flew open and your maid rushed it.
"I apologize for intruding," she breathed out, sounding as if she ran up the stairs. "I ran here."
Oh.
"Are you alright?" You asked her, watching with your teacup in hands at how quickly she straightened her spine.
"Nonsense, my lady," said the maid, "I am quite alright."
"That is a relief," you said unsure, watching from the corner of your eye how Anthony masked his stifled smile by staring directly at the sleeping girl in his arms.
Then silence overtook the room, as you waited for her to continue.
She caught herself after a moment, "Oh, yes! I almost forgot."
"Yes," you chuckled quietly because you couldn’t be any louder even if you wanted to, "you almost did."
"I suppose I should-" she started, but realized she went in scope again. "Lord and lady Bridgerton."
Now she had it.
"I am here to inform you of your family's arrival," she commenced, "And while they are all currently distracted by your lovely painting, my lady, I am quite sure it will bore them soon and that they will turn to seek for you, therefore I believe we should act promptly."
Then she added, quite seriously too, "I also believe it is in all of our best interest that they do not venture around the house too much."
"I agree," you said and looked at Anthony.
His eyes switched between yours, your maid's and his daughter's. Even the small child in his arms was awake and eye-wide. "Whatever am I supposed to do?"
"Anthony, my love, you must be joking." You feigned strictness.
"Whoever will take care of YD/N?"
"Her mother will," you announced, placing your teacup on the solid tray next to you. "Hand her to me."
He did as you said, standing up from his chair and handing her over. "I suppose I should like to go now."
"I suppose you should," you didn't spare him a glance, preoccupied with the child in your arms.
Anthony looked at the sight with love in his eyes. He turned serious when he regarded your maid, "You stay here with them, and I shall go see them."
"That would be wise, my lord," she said, an undertone of humor lacing her tone.
Anthony took a step closer and whispered in her ear, "Take care of them. They are my everything"
She promised, "Of course I will my lord, have no fear."
He was about to say something when your voice carried throughout the room, "Off you go now Anthony! I love you."
He shook his head and began walking toward the door, giving your maid one last look. "I love you too woman."
The doors closed behind his body, and you spoke up quietly. "He is perfect, isn't he?"
"You are lucky to have him, my lady." Your maid replied honestly, and nested herself in the chair Anthony previously occupied.
"We are, aren't we?"
Your daughter gave you a toothless smile as if she knew what you were saying.
In all honesty she maybe did.
You were too happy to delve into it.