Work Text:
1843
“Father please!” Agatha whined.
“Yes, Father please!” Charlotte added on.
Anthony was unmoved. There was a time not too many years ago, when Charlotte could have him do pretty much anything. Her little pout and wide, brown eyes - a copy of her mother’s - were enough to have him sigh in defeat and just about give her anything. But when she’d turned eighteen, he realized with the force of a punch from gentleman jackson himself, that she was more a lady than his little lottie anymore. And her demands for her pursuit of her happiness and womanhood - whatever in hell that means - had increased tenfold, and Anthony had developed resistance to his daughter’s charms. Meagre resistance, but better than non-existent.
He aspired to one day be as nonchalant to Lottie's pout as Kate was. So he simply raised a brow in response to Charlotte’s pleadings.
“No, absolutely no.” Benedict said, his attention on the unfinished sketch on his lap. At seven and fifty he found it harder to sketch and paint, preferring to do so only during the day and with glasses that he truly despised, perched on his nose. He felt like a doddering old grandfather in them - and had been outraged when Colin had pointed out that he was a doddering old grandfather - but he didn’t feel like one. Despite the fact that Charles’ lovely wife had given birth to a baby girl only a few months ago.
“None of the lot are even yours.” Gregory quipped at Benedict, waving his hand around to indicate the lot in question. The scoffing faces of Charlotte, Agatha, Penelope (otherwise known as Penny to avoid any confusion with her namesake aunt) and Georgiana looked up in irritation at their uncles. Benedict paused, lowering his glasses and looking at the girls in the settee opposite him.
“Oh,” He mused, noticing that Violet in fact wasn’t amongst the girls asking for something ridiculous today. She had chosen to travel to Charles’ house to visit her niece rather than accompany the rest of her family to Aubrey Hall for the summer. “Doesn’t matter. Answers still no.”
“No one technically asked you.” Gregory pointed out uselessly.
“Well, they did ask me, and I concur with Benedict.” Anthony said. “And so do Phillip and Colin.” Both the men in question nodded their heads as if on command.
Charlotte let out a small scream of frustration and nudged Agatha in the ribs meaningfully. Amongst the assortment of Bridgerton father’s and uncles in front of them, they knew who the weak link was.
Uncle Colin.
He’d always given them extra lollies, and let them swim in the lake when father had said no, taken them for ices in the winters and let them take a sip from his sherry when none of their fathers was looking. If there was anyone amongst the four stoic men currently facing them who was most likely to grant them their wish, it was Uncle Colin.
And what a simple wish they had. Agatha’s maid had told her of a fair only an hour's ride from Aubrey Hall with a circus, a boxing ring, the hall of mystic arts, fortune tellers and something called “The wonders from around the world” and all of them wanted to go. And they wanted to go now !
They were adults, and perfectly capable of taking care of themselves. They’d even offered to take a maid each as a chaperone. But of course, none of their fathers had jumped at the idea.
Anthony had narrowed his eyes and articulated the words “ No ” even before Charlotte had finished her spirited speech.
Phillip had shaken his head and exclaimed that none of those things sounded worth the risk.
Colin had looked interested until she had mentioned “boxing ring”.
And Benedict had rolled his eyes and given a vehement no. Even though technically, none of them were his progeny.
“Papa, please!” Agatha moved to the edge of her seat and grabbed her father’s hand, doing her very best to melt his heart. She hadn’t called him “ papa ” in ages, and while the word had its intended effect, it seemed to Charlotte that even Uncle Colin had been corrupted by her father’s staunch refusal. Colin simply lifted Aggie’s hand and kissed the back of her hand as he said, “Some other day darling, when we can go with you.”
“We’ll take escorts with us.” Penny repeated when the ploy to manipulate Colin failed drastically.
“Oh yes your maids, I’m sure they’re well equipped to protect you.”
Charlotte was so frustrated she didn’t even register which of their fathers said that.
“What if we take one of our brothers?” Aggie said gleefully, turning to look at Anthony with a triumphant look on her face.
“Which one?” Phillip asked cautiously when Anthony didn’t seem impressed.
“Alex,” Penny supplied happily.
“Ha!” Benedict snorted, actually looking up from his painting and removing his glasses, “Alex will make a beeline for the boxing ring, get drunk and bet an appalling amount of money on the outcomes.”
“We can bet on the matches?!” Aggie gasped, forgetting who they were facing and squealed in glee, earning a glower from her father.
“Thomas?” She asked sweetly, and her father shook his head in an instant.
“ He needs a chaperone himself.”
“Miles!” Georgiana said suddenly, finally speaking up and getting up in her excitement at finding the perfect solution.
“Miles will find a corner and start reading or journaling.” Gregory said with a shrug.
“Who’s side are you on, Uncle Greg?!” Charlotte was affronted, swirling around to glare at her uncle.
Greggory smirked and inclined her head towards his brothers, “Considering that I’ll be in their position soon, I’m on their side.”
And when Charlotte noticed the self-satisfied smile on her father’s face, she knew he had arrived at an option that would have the girls weeping in despair.
“Edmund.” Anthony supplied, a wide grin plastered on his aging face.”If Edmund will take you, I’ll allow it.”
All the girls groaned in unison. Penny actually stuck her head in her hands.
Edmund was the worst of the lot, even worse than their fathers. For reasons known to no one, Edmund had extended his brotherly concern - as he so innocently put it - to beyond Charlotte and Mary, to quite literally every cousin sister of his. When they needed a helping hand, or someone to get them out of a bind - Edmund was the best bet. But when fun was the intended outcome, then he was nothing but a spoilt sport. Oh, not that the man hadn’t had his share of fun in his youth, but somehow the thought of his sisters doing that was abominable.
Not that they planned on having the same level of fun the man had in his early twenties, but a little was well within their rights. Or so they thought.
Charlotte and Agatha shared a weary glance and ignored the burst of laughter that escaped Anthony. Edmund had made their debuts miserable. Any and every attempt by a suitable man to even talk to them had been keenly observed by him, leaving most of the gentleman flustered and nervous under his narrowed gaze. Edmund might look like Benedict but he glared like Anthony. All suitors had to pass through him as a tollgate before they could approach them for even a dance, forget anything else. Of course, this had led Agatha and Charlotte to find new and unique ways to enjoy their seasons. Eventually, Edmund had caught on to their tactics and taken to escorting them to the parks and museums as well so they couldn’t get any private time with the dashing gentleman vying for their attention.
Amanda Crane had refused a season in London so she had been spared, but Penny - greatly influenced by her cousins - had begged Sir Phillip for a London season. Charlotte was quite certain only two weeks into her season she had deeply regretted her decision, as Edmund had not allowed her to dance with more than two gentlemen that entire week, scaring away the ones he deemed inappropriate. Agatha had to physically remove Penny from his presence once, certain that the girl was going to scream in his face in frustration. Penny had all of her mother’s temperament and none of her father’s calm. All that seemed to have gone to Georgiana - who blessedly was going to have her season next year. And they all hoped that Edmund would be too preoccupied with his own wife and son to ruin Georgie’s fun.
He was most definitely not their favorite brother currently.
It’s not as if they asked for much. All of them were looking to fall in love, get married and be as blissfully happy as their parents - perhaps just not as dramatically as them - but marriage and family was the ultimate goal. In their journey to love, could they really be faulted for wanting some excitement. Dances with handsome gentlemen, some wooing to make them blush, a scandalous walk in the moonlight to make their heart race and perhaps a few heated stolen kisses. But of course, Edmund had his eye on them constantly, making such simple joys of their youth impossible to achieve.
Not that the girls hadn’t already managed to accomplish a few of these things, despite his hovering.
“Not Edmund!” Penny said passionately, the infamous Eloise-ish anger flaring up, as she fisted her hands and banged them lightly on her thighs.
Edmund would whine about having to leave Isabella and little Vincent behind, and then proceed to exasperate them all at the fair. He wouldn’t let them anywhere near the boxing ring, forget about betting any money. He would scoff and ridicule the fortune teller, he wouldn’t let them drink a drop of whiskey - that the maids had assured them would be available at the fair - and he most definitely would not let any charming young man near them.
In short, if they were to be escorted by Edmund, they might as well all go back to bed and call it a night.
“It’s either Edmund and the fair, or no fair at all!” Anthony said. His face awash with glee, making him look much younger than his nine and fifty. And when Kate and Penelope walked into the room, he smiled bright and big, kissed his wife on the cheek and all but bounced out of the room.
While the girls despaired over Edmund’s over-protective behavior, it made their fathers terribly happy. Sir Phillip had expressly stated to Anthony that the only reason he was comfortable with his daughters having a London season was because he’d seen Edmund with Agatha the year before.
When Anthony left his office he did so thinking that the discussion had been put to bed with the offer of Edmund as an escort.
In retrospect, Anthony should have known better. He grumbled to himself as watched Edmund, Oliver and Phillip search all of Aubrey Hall and Colin and Benedict run through the gardens like much younger men. They should have realized that the girls were a product of their unruly and rebellious mothers. And that they had no intention of letting either his, or their respective father’s lack of permission get in their way.
The girls had escaped. It appeared they had told Phillip’s valet to arrange for a carriage for him to take them to the fair, and simply got in and spirited away. No one seemed to have noticed that their Lord was nowhere in the vicinity of the carriage, or Agatha and Charlotte had harangued his poor coachman to simply ride. Anthony sighed, if he hadn’t been so terribly angry he might have been impressed by their tact.
But he wasn’t, he was terrified and he was furious, and he was going to lock Charlotte in a room once he got her back. And he was quite certain, he’d never seen Colin this angry before, a vein bulging in his neck and his green eyes turning gray when he realized what they’d done.
Within fifteen minutes of realizing they were nowhere to be found, Anthony, Colin, Sir Phillip and Edmund had found themselves in his carriage, about to set off on the hour-long journey to the fair, and hopefully find their daughters safe and sound. Only at the last minute, Benedict had shown up from nowhere and taken Edmund’s place. Edmund had looked terribly offended at being yanked out by his uncle, but when informed that he needed to stay here to keep Kate, Penelope and Eloise calm, and more importantly close to his extremely newborn son and still recovering wife, he had simply nodded and let the older man jump into the carriage.
The Great Escape of 1843 wasn’t one either of the men were going to forget so easily.
It had all gone so wonderfully, Charlotte thought wryly, controlling the urge to roll her eyes at the tall, commanding man standing in front of her. They had arrived faster than expected, the coachman well incentivised to get them there safely and in time, so they could sneak back into Aubrey Hall before darkness. But now as she looked up at the fading light in the evening sky, she knew it would be well past nightfall when they reached Aubrey Hall.
That is if their fathers and collective brother’s didn’t show up here in the next few minutes.
Charlotte sighed again, it had been a wonderful experience. If only they hadn’t gone into the boxing tent.
Upon arriving at the fair, they had simply stared in wonder at the sights, the sounds and the smells. They had been to fairs, and events all over London, but none of them were like this. There were no matchmaking mama’s, no promenades, no ladies putting their charms on display, no polite conversations and hushed whispers. Instead, this place was loud, boisterous and completely lacking in decorum.
It was like Christmas had come early! Penny had a smile on her face so bright that they were certain her face hurt, Agatha looked intent on stealing at least one kiss from a handsome rogue (Edmund had very much thwarted her attempts to do so in London), Georgie looked a little alarmed but the sound of music coming from inside one of the tents had her almost vibrating with energy, and Charlotte, Charlotte was in bliss!
Adventure awaited them, experiences women born to the peerage were never meant to have. But her mother had taught her long back that whatever she wanted in this life, as long as it wasn’t harmful to others, she had a right to chase it. The right to reach for the stars!
And for most of her life Charlotte had thought the high of her life would come from her journey to find love; a brush of hands, a slow, sweet kiss, a few heated words. But none of that had happened.
She’d felt nothing similar to the exhilaration her mother had at meeting father, or Isabella and Leena did at meeting Edmund and Miles. So here she was, with her three cousins, chasing the high that came in simply doing something one wasn’t meant to.
Being free!
They had first gone to the fortune teller, almost blinded by the incense burning in the humid tent. And while Charlotte had scoffed at her own fortune - a handsome accented man to sweep her off her feet - Agatha had been terribly let down by hers, but Penny upon being told that her true heart's desire would be fulfilled had all but leapt from her seat and hugged the old woman.
They had gone to “ The wonders of the world ” and barely believed the things they’d seen - men, women, old and young from all over the world (quite on the nose) performing. There was a woman dancing while another sang in a language they’d never heard before. Their skin the color of deep dark chocolate and their dress shockingly limited. And then there was the woman who could bend her hips in ways that didn’t seem possible, her body adorned with colorful muslin and shiny beads. There was a couple with exotic birds and one of them actually said Penny’s name. There was a man who quite literally breathed fire and while they were certain there was a logic to it, they didn’t care. There was a henna artist making the most beautiful mehendi designs on young girls' palms, but Charlotte was certain her grandmother Mary had been better, and her own mother a close second since Nana's passing.
For days to come Charlotte would never be able to explain to anyone the wondrous things they’d seen.
A very kind man from the hall of mystic arts had approached them, offering to give them a tour of the famed mirror rooms, and while Penny had almost expired from the thought, Agatha had politely declined and dragged them all to the Boxing Ring.
Ever since they’d blackmailed Alex into taking them to the boxing match in London, Aggie had been obsessed with boxing. Or more on point, boxers .
Not that Charlotte could blame her.
And that was when everything had gone terribly wrong.
Well not right away.
At first it was the most shocking thing the girls had seen.
It was an absolute crush. There was barely any room to move, but somehow with Aggie using her elbow to push people out of the way, they had made it to the corner of the seating area. Which was a very kind way of describing the metal benches rowed together as if to mimic an auditorium. Somehow Georgiana had managed to find them a small little bench on the third row to sit in, three seats having to suffice all four of them. And they’d sat and they’d looked at the ongoing match.
And they’d gasped.
A punch aimed just below the jaw completely knocked off one of the opponents. A strong man who fell quite indelicately on his face and was dragged - dragged - away by people. Good god was he alright! But they didn't have time to ponder on his health, as the blonde victor - who was apparently called wolf , if one was to go by the hooting of his given name - took a victory lap around the ring. Tall, as tall as Uncle Benedict and so well built that his shoulders rippled as he ran. His face was enough to have most women falling at his feet - a crooked nose, blue eyes and an upturned mouth. He smirked at a gaggle of ladies right opposite where they were sitting, and when he reached their side, he sent out a wink to the audience. Charlotte heard about ten women in her vicinity sigh. Penny squeaked in glee and all but swooned. Georgiana gulped visibility and fanned her face with her hand.
Strangely enough, Aggie seemed unfazed.
She’d give the younger ones a benefit of the doubt, they hadn’t come with her ahd Aggie to the boxing set in London - this was the first time they’d probably seen a man half naked. And Charlotte had had enough dances in her three seasons to know that most of the genteel men in London were not hiding such muscular physiques under their silk vests.
They had watched over eight matches, and while the wolf had been beaten by someone called the beast, he was back a few matches later looking no worse for wear.
They had even made small bets, and the betting system was nothing like they’d seen in London. There was a woman who sat at the bottom of their pews, her silver hair shining and a pair of dark spectacles on her face. She was blind, that much was evident. But somehow, she was a seer of sorts - or at least for the purpose of the betting system - because patrons from across the large tent gathered around her to ask for odds. And she’d pause, take a deep breath in, run the beads of a necklace in her hands and either pat a red block or blue. Presumably each indicitated one of the players. And all the men betting seemed to put their faith in her and increased their amounts to some staggering numbers.
The girls, of course, understood nothing, and bet some token amount just for the thrill of it. And when Georgiana, astute and sharp, focussed all her attention on the old woman, Charlotte should have known it was time to escape. But she was just having so much fun! Laughing, eating, drinking and watching the most obnoxious of things - men punching each other for sport. But somehow, she felt more free here than anywhere in her life.
Georgie had forgotten all about boxing, her brows raised as she watched and watched the old lady for two whole matches. It was subtle, but it was sure. She saw the woman slightly lower her glasses when no one was looking, and glance right at the two men engaged in a brawl and then make her choice of red or blue.
She was most definitely not blind. And while every instinct told her to keep that information to herself.
She couldn’t.
She wouldn’t.
Georgiana gasped, pointed at the woman and shouted, “She’s cheating! She’s not blind.”
Somehow, the tent fell silent and all eyes turned to Georgie. Even the boxers, Wolf and someone called Maitland, stopped and turned. Instantly she covered her mouth with her hands but not before saying
“She can see.”
And then chaos broke loose. Agatha lost her hat as a man quite literally jumped from behind them and onto the woman, and others ran from across the ring screaming and shouting about losing money. Charlotte, still in her senses, grabbed Aggie with one hand, and the girls with her other and quite literally jumped from the pews. They didn’t land softly, but they were away from the throng attempting to strangle the old woman and whoever had organized the betting.
She thought she heard someone screaming “Bridgerton” but she didn’t risk slowing down or looking back. This, this was dangerous. She knew they had no one here to protect them, and when mayhem descended people lost their minds. As the eldest, and quite frankly the one who had convinced them to defy their parents orders, she had to keep them safe.
She had to.
So they ran out onto the muddy ground, picking up their skirts and halting when they reached a distance away from the boxing tent. They searched frantically for signs of their carriage, but there were so many things around they could barely make sense of anything. Her legs burned and her throat went dry as she instructed them to stay next to her and look for the Crane crest somewhere in the distance.
And then her blood ran cold when she heard the loud shout of a man and “ girl ” from behind them.
They turned and saw one of the men from the boxing ring, his eyes ablaze in anger and looking directly at Georgie as he took large steps towards them, shaking his head and fisting his hands. He was only fifteen feet away from them and gaining every second. Suddenly, a hand gripped the large man's shoulder and pulled him back, stepping in front of him. Charlotte saw broad shoulders, a proud posture that screamed titled man and a mess of toffee colored brown hair. His back to them, they hadn’t a clue who he was, but he tilted his head back enough to bark at them -
“You four don't move.”
Charlotte frowned, like they were dogs.
A man appeared at this side, a few years younger than the screaming gent and smiled softly as if to say he’s on your side . The older man said something to the boxing ring proprietor who bowed dramatically low and ran off, without giving the girls one glance.
And when he turned to look at them, his eyes travelled over all four before landing firmly on Charlotte and hardened. His eyes were the shape of almonds and the color of caramel and Charlotte’s mouth went dry. For ages on, no matter how many opportunities presented themselves, Charlotte would refuse to acknowledge that this was without a single doubt, the most striking man she’d seen in her life.
And she’d refuse to further admit that from the first second their eyes connected she was gone. Her belly had swooped low, her heart beating like a hummingbird in her chest and her breath uneven. Since the moment she’d laid eyes on him, she’d wanted him. Even though she had no clue what want even meant. But want she had, even if it was something as simple as always having his attention on her and no one else.
Later, years later, she’d realize all the ways in which she wanted him.
He walked briskly towards them, his friend catching up and expertly avoiding the muddy areas. He didn’t seem to care one bit as he stomped through the field and stood squarely in front of them and raised a brow.
“Names, now.”
Oh, Charlotte thought internally, he was Scottish. It was evident in his speech, and as she looked closer, in his appearance as well. He looked tanned, and his hair on closer inspection was reddish brown, and he was massively built. It seemed his shoulders would go on forever.
He was also intolerably arrogant.
He looked over all four of them once again, and settled his gaze on her and made a peevish face, as if to ask “ are you deaf and dumb or just slow?”
“Queen Victoria, pleased to meet you.” Charlotte said, her eyes challenging and her tone dripping in sarcasm.
“Are you daft woman, do you have an escort?” He asked briskly, moving a step closer and looking around, “ Any male relative in a five mile radius?”
“What concern is it to you?”
The man all but shook in anger.
“Names!” He roared, and even his friend took a step back, gracing Aggie with a small smile when he all but bumped into her.
“You’re all from the peerage, I know it.” Just as he was.
“For Heaven’s sake…”
“Maybe you could tell us your name first.” Agatha said with an edge, but gulped nervously when the man levelled her with a look that reminded her of Edmund.
His friend, someone Charlotte could already tell was much more agreeable and nicer than the raging bull in front of her, stepped forward and awkwardly cleared his throat. He smiled then, and a dimple made its appearance making him look even more like a dear, as he pushed his glasses up his nose, “I am Malcolm Addair, and this is my friend Robert Nash.”
He left the words there, and simply let the name sink in.
All the ladies gasped.
Blast and hell , Charlotte groaned internally.
Robert Nash.
The Duke of Argyll.
The Duke of Argyll.
He even looked like a Duke. Composed, authoritative and assured that the world would simply fall in line as he so desired. They hadn’t exactly met before, he had been in London all of one week this season before leaving for Scotland again. But they all knew of him, the name Robert Nash, most eligible Duke had been whispered a hundred times at balls and gatherings.
Considering that there were currently only two Duke’s below the age of fifty - Robert Nash at six and twenty and Casper Haversham, aged two - the title of most desirable duke wasn’t something to boast about.
Really, it shouldn’t have been a surprise that their luck was so rotten. Found out by a Duke of all the people. And if she wasn’t wrong, one that was very good friends with Charles.
Charlotte groaned again, this time out loud. The Duke turned to look at her, brows raised as if to say go on then, introduce yourself. When she said nothing, she saw a vein pop in his forehead and gods if she didn’t feel her legs go weak.
Georgiana, bless her soul, broke the ice.
“Mr Duke,” She said, before making a sound like a mouse and going wide-eyed realizing her mistake.
“I mean… Mr..” She foundered about struggling to find the correct way to address him, obviously the events of the past few hours left her without a working brain. That was the only explanation.
“Your Grace,” Penny loudly whispered to her, looking mortified and then immediately looking away.
“Oh yes!” Georgie said brightly, “Mr D - Your Grace, I am Georgiana Crane, this is my sister Penelope Crane.” She managed to speak despite being red in the face, “And this is Charlotte and Agatha Bridgerton.”
“I guessed enough.” Robert Nash mumbled under his breath, but still nodded at Georgiana politely.
“Duke’s aren’t supposed to mumble. It’s unbecoming.” The words had left Charlotte before she knew it.
He paused, his eyes sparkled with the oddest combination of indignation and mirth, “Viscount’s daughters aren’t supposed to be unaccompanied at town fairs. It’s ludicrous.”
No one felt the moment was correct to point out that only one of them was a Viscount’s daughter. Instead, for reasons known to no one, Penny looked expectantly at Mr Addair and asked
“Are you a Duke as well?”
He wasn’t. They were well aware. Their grandmother could list all Duke’s by name and age, and perhaps even suitability.
“Oh no,” Malcolm blushed, and Charlotte could tell there was something terribly endearing about this man, “I am merely the third son of the second son of an Earl.”
“That’s quite a mouthful,” Agatha said, smiling bright and wide when he laughed in response, “I’m the first born of a third son of a Viscount.” And when he only nodded and continued to fidget with his glasses, Aggie added, “I believe my father might have known yours in University.”
They did not know this, not one bit. But Agatha was intrigued by the be-spectacled shy Scottish man in front of her and tact often left her when she was intrigued. And they were clearly close in age, Malcolm only looked about a few years older than Agatha, so the guess wasn’t far off.
“I think they did.” He said simply.
“Oh,” Aggie faltered for a second, before asking, “What was your father’s name?”
“Argus Addair. He mentioned your father, or more so your uncle a few times.”
“I am sorry,” Agatha said sincerely, lowering her head a little, “I don’t recall mine mentioning yours.”
“Oh that isn’t surprising.”
She frowned, “Why not?”
“My father isn’t particularly a very nice man.”
“Oh,” Agatha paused, considering her next words, but obviously not too well, “Mine is the nicest.” She beamed.
Malcolm Addair, third son of the second son of an earl, simply pushed his glasses back in place and smiled like a buffoon at Agatha.
“Are you two about done?” the Duke’s irritated voice cut across them, both visibly blushing and shuffling on their feet like they’d been caught kissing. Agatha wishes, Charlotte snorted internally.
“How did you get here?” Silence met him. “Obviously you got here from Aubrey Hall, how did you get here?” He repeated, and that vein re-appeared as if to torment Charlotte.
“Do you interrogate everyone you meet?” She asked, wondering why the thought of getting him angrier and making that vein more prominent thrilled her so.
He opened his mouth obviously to say something scathing but was cut across by Georgiana and her newfound ability to address people appropriately.
“Mr Duke…,” Penny groaned and stuck her face in her hands, Georgiana simply went bright red but continued, “I mean Your Grace, we took my father’s carriage. Our father is Sir Phillip Crane, Mr Duke. Oh no!” She grimaced and closed her eyes, shaking her head vehemently.
And then Robert Nash did something that Charlotte would never forget. He tilted his head at Georgiana - still beet red, her stance rigid and terrified as if she’d made a mortal sin, which by society standards she had - and smiled at her warmly. The same kind, indulgent way father would look at Charlotte. And when she was young and did something particularly endearing, the way Edmund or Miles would look at her.
While most men with less significant titles would scoff at Georgiana for messing up his proper address, Robert Nash simply smiled and humored her.
What an absolute darling. Bastard , she meant bastard.
“You can call me Nash, Miss Crane.” He said tenderly, all his ire and frustration leaving him in an instant as he observed Georgie’s tightly scrunched up face.
“Oh I couldn’t.” Georgie finally opened one eye and spoke wearily, as if expecting the ground to swallow her up.
“Though, Mr Duke is starting to grow on me.” Nash added softly with a laugh, and finally Georgie relaxed, regaining her usual english rose coloring and giving him a small smile of thanks.
A handsome man was one thing, she’d seen plenty of handsome men. But a man who looked like that , and was kind to young girls and with a few words could put Georgie - who always felt out of place, quite like her father - at ease was something else all together.
Charlotte had to get away from him as soon as possible, before she did something ridiculous. Like tell him that he was wonderful. Or kiss him.
Good god , where did that come from?
He had re-adapted the Dukish stance when he turned back to look at the rest of them, “You will come to my tent,” He stepped sideways to point at a large green colored tent around fifty feet away, “And then we’ll send word to Lord Bridgerton.” Oh no. “And then Malcolm and I will safely escort you home. It will give me a chance to congratulate Edmund as well.”
“Oh no not father please!”
“You know Edmund,” Agatha asked Malcolm Addair even though Nash had taken his name. Robert simply rolled his eyes and answered still.
“I went to university with Charles Bridgerton, I’ve met Edmund a few times. Good chap.”
“Who cares if he knows Edmund!” Charlotte all but screamed, “Mr Duke - oh heavens Georgie !” She levelled her little cousin with a lingering glare but the girl simply shrugged and smiled. Charlotte turned to the Duke, who was smiling at her peevishly for her slip of tongue, “ Your Grace , If you could simply help us to our carriage we’ll make our own way back to Aubrey Hall.”
“And let you travel alone at night without an escort. I think not. We will accompany you, it is decided.”
And with that the Duke turned around and walked straight into a fist.
“Father!” Penny exclaimed.
“Mr Duke!” Georgie clasped a hand on her mouth as the Duke went down. And not elegantly.
“Bollocks that hurt!” Robert Nash exclaimed, massaging his jaw and looking up at the very angry Sir Phillip Crane.
“Oh papa what did you do?”! And when Uncle Phillip whirled to glare at his daughters they instantly shut up.
Charlotte and Agatha were panicking. If Uncle Phillip was here, their parents weren’t far behind. And just then she heard the roar of “ Charlotte Bridgerton” and grimaced . There he was, her nine and fifty year old father, looking murderous as he pushed a cart out of his way and half ran towards them. Uncle Colin didn’t look any less angry, right behind him. And for some reason Uncle Benedict was here too.
When Father finally reached them, out of breath and looking every bit his age - that he very rarely did - Charlotte felt her stomach drop. She was a terrible horrible daughter, and he was the finest of fathers and she wanted to do nothing but wrap herself in his embrace and tell him she was sorry. Of course, she would do that soon enough. But first he would yell, of that she was certain.
But they had more pressing things at hand. Like Uncle Phillip bending down to grab the Duke by the collar and Uncle Benedict moving towards Malcolm Addair, who had the sense to simply take a few steps back, as he was standing a little too close to Agatha.
It wouldn’t be done if Sir Phillip killed Georgie’s Mr Duke. Or Uncle Benedict Agatha’s shy be-spectacled oddity.
“Uncle Phillip no!”
“Uncle Benedict no!”
Both Charlotte and Agatha spoke in unison, and both the uncles turned around in confusion.
“That is the Duke of Argyll and his friend Malcolm Addair.” Charlotte was almost thrown to the side and into her father as Uncle Colin finally reached them, grabbed Agatha, shook her firmly and then crumpled her against him.
“The third son of the second son of an Earl.” Aggie said, or more so mumbled as Uncle Colin had pulled her into a terribly tight hug. Charlotte was worried the girl might lose circulation soon.
“They have done nothing, in fact.” Charlotte gulped, reaching out and touching her fathers hand and he jerked to look up at her, his chest still hammering and she so badly wanted to wipe that fear from his eyes, “They were true gentleman and saved us.”
“Saved you!” Anthony howled, “Saved you from what? Are you hurt?”
“No,” she assured, holding his hand as he ran his eyes over her top to bottom, “We are perfectly fine father. It was a skirmish with the boxing ring proprietor, and the Duke and his friend kept us safe.”
“I’m going to kill Alexander.” Uncle Benedict murmured, stepping away from Malcolm who looked very grateful at the older man's retreat. By now Robert had pulled himself to his feet, still working his jaw but looked right at her father and said, “I was going to send one of my footmen to Aubrey Hall and escort them all back safely myself Sir.”
There was no need to call him Sir, technically Robert Nash outranked them all. But somehow the fact that he was giving father the respect he deserved made Charlotte punch him in the face even more.
Why couldn’t he be stuffy, boorish like most Duke’s.
Father seemed to calm down at that. And could control himself no longer, uncaring that he was a Viscount and a Duke stood ahead of him, father pulled her roughly to his chest. Charlotte had been told by mother that her birth had been difficult, and that for the first three months of her life she’d slept exclusively on father’s chest. He had refused to let her sleep in the bassinet, terrified that something terrible would happen as they slept.
She knew father loved Edmund and Miles terribly, but she also knew there was something different about his love for her and Mary.
Something warm and solid and wonderful.
And now, at one and twenty, a fully grown adult looking to make her own way in the world, she shouldn’t still feel the need for his comfort. To be the little girl that got picked up off her feet and crushed against her father’s strong, safe chest. But she did, she did. No matter how old she got, she’d always need him. And so she rested her head over the steady beat of his heart and whispered, “I’m sorry Father, and I’m okay, I promise you.”
He nodded, grumbling something under his breath and finally putting her back on her feet. He turned and held a hand out to the Duke who was currently assuring Sir Phillip that there were no hard feelings and his jaw would surely recover.
Robert Nash stepped forward, grasping her father’s hand and shaking it thoroughly, “I recognized Miss Bridgerton, Sir.” he tilted his head towards her, “I’d seen Charles escorting her at the park last year. We only wished to help.”
Malcolm Addair did that thing with his glasses and simply nodded. Agatha, who had somehow escaped her father’s fierce hug had reached his side, and was softly smiling up at him. Uncle Colin, of course, expertly pulled her back to his side and sneered at the poor man.
“Oh, I know you.” Uncle Benedict said jovially, “Charles has spoken of you a few times. University chums aren’t you. Well I suppose we didn’t have to come running down here after all.”
Father, Uncle Colin and Phillip glared at him. He wouldn’t be nonchalant if Violet had been with them. Lord only knows the shenanigans she would have gotten up to.
“You must visit Aubrey Hall soon. Both of you. I insist.” Father added when Nash opened his mouth to say there wasn’t any need.
“It would be our pleasure.” Malcolm replied.
It was apparently also Agatha’s pleasure. Uncle Colin groaned.
And then, under a minute without giving them any time to properly thank or say goodbye the girls had been dragged off. But not before Georgie turned around and waved at the Duke, “Thank you so much Mr Duke.”
And when Robert Nash, a man who’s high handedness had irritated her beyond belief, laughed and tipped his imaginary hat to Georgie, Charlotte wanted to weep.
She was in trouble.
The great escape of 1843 would be legendary for many reasons.
One ; Uncle Colin had lost his trademark cool. Despite first being relieved at finding Agatha safe and sound at the beginning, later he had been enraged. And what had followed had been an hour long lecture that even Anthony had commented was a tad much.
Two ; When everyone at Aubrey Hall was informed of how Phillip had punched a Duke in the face, Eloise had kissed him soundly on the lips, and loudly claimed that he had been a famed boxer in his days. And a few hours into dinner, Penny had wandered into the giant library to find a book only to find her parents in flagrante delicto. They were until that very moment, the only set of parents none of their children had walked in on.
Three ; Uncle Benedict had admonished Alexander for taking the girls to the boxing set in London.
Four ; Charlotte had walked into her father’s office late in the night, post she’d gone to bed, post mother going to bed to find him still in his chair, his head in his hands. And she had wished she could crawl into his lap like she used to when she was little and make him smile. Instead, she knelt by his feet and kissed his cheek, telling him that she loved him terribly and that he was the finest father in the world.
Five ; The Duke of Argyll had sent them all flowers the next morning. Not just Charlotte and Penny and Agatha and Georgie. But all of the women in Aubrey Hall. Anthony had rolled his eyes as the sitting room had been filled with about a dozen bouquets, each with a hand written note from the Duke.
Six ; Agatha had been terribly disappointed that she had received flowers only from the Duke. Her father had not been happy.
Seven ; The note to Georgie mentioned how much she reminded him of his little sister Marguitte. And it was signed “ Mr Duke. ”
Eight ; In the dead of the night, the day before the Duke and Malcolm Addair were set to join them for lunch, Charlotte had asked her mother how she knew father had been the man for her. Her answer had been confusing.- because when he looked at her it was like they were the only two people in the world. Father looked at most of his children like that as well. Mother had shaken her head and laughed, assuring her that it was different. That she would know . And Charlotte’s stomach had churned.
Nine ; Malcolm Addair had been shy throughout the evening. He had disposed of his spectacles, something he was told to do, Agatha was certain. And she had manipulated Kate into ensuring that she was seated next to him - much to her father’s chagrin. But Edmund had asked the poor man unnecessary questions the whole time. His wife, Isabella, did her best to distract him but finally gave up and shrugged at her in apology. Undeterred, Agatha distracted Malcolm for a second and threw - threw - her dessert spoon at Edmund, who spluttered and glared at her. And much later, when Malcolm stood at the corner of the room, simply content watching everyone talk and mingle, Agatha brought him a cup of tea. He smiled. She smiled and told him that she quite preferred him with his spectacles.
Malcolm Addair never went a day without his spectacles for the rest of his life.
Ten ; Charlotte had been certain that whatever she had felt was brought on by the excitement and danger of the day. But when their esteemed guests arrived and Robert Nash laughed unabashedly at Georgie’s greeting of “Mr Duke” Charlotte’s heart clenched. He was even more handsome in the day. But she was determined not to want him, any more at least. He was the exact opposite of the man she’d imagined she’d marry. He was too tall, too broad, too titled, too proud, too domineering, too like her father and definitely too arrogant.
He was just too much. They’d kill each other in a week. Whatever this was, this madness , it would disappear soon, she was certain.
Two years later, Charlotte met the Duke of Argyll for the third confusing time. She and Isabella had travelled to Scotland for the wedding of the Duke’s brother to Isabella’s childhood friend - Serena. Of course, drama followed. Scheming ex-mistresses, matchmaking mama’s, a giant hound intent on creating havoc, and Marguitte playing matchmaker. At one point Isabella had despaired of a wedding ever happening.
It did. Well not the one that was planned. Serena’s long lost love had returned from France and the duke’s brother had realized he was in love with their neighbour's daughter.
But still, wedding felicitations did go out from the Duke’s home seat that day. Only it wasn’t the Duke’s brother who ended up married.
It was the Duke.
And somehow, Charlotte had ended up a duchess. She was certain she’d used the words “ Well everything is set up anyway .”
He had laughed with abandon and her heart had stopped. And so Charlotte Bridgerton, third child of the Viscount Bridgerton, had been married the Duke of Argyll in the dead of winter, with Isabella walking her down the aisle, and standing by her side. The parties in attendance had been Isabella, Serena and her french lover, The Duke’s brother, the hound, a mule and his housekeepers.
Oh, Father was going to be so pissed.