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~~~ June 1794 ~~~
Three weeks after his father died, Edmund Bridgerton, having recently relocated his family to Aubrey Hall, set upon the most important task of building a tree house. It was a promise made years ago to his children and he intended to keep it. Mr. Fletcher, the steward, was aghast. There were agreements that were in the midst of being changed into his name from his father’s, ledgers to inspect, tenants to visit, and accountings that needed, Edmund assumed, accounting. In his less than expert opinion, the business of bureaucracy was rarely as urgent as people made it out to be—and nearly never as important.
“Mr. Fletcher doesn’t seem happy.”
At nine, Anthony was old enough to understand just enough of matters to be concerned and not old enough to really do much about anything. Having seen the steward stomp away in a badly hidden huff, his oldest was curious. Taking in his furrowed brows and the worried crease on his forehead, Edmund couldn’t help but smile.
“You needn’t worry about that, youngling.”
The term, as it always did these days, caused Anthony to purse his lips in annoyance which had the less than desired effect of making Edmund let out a bark of laughter.
“Father! I’m nine! Very nearly ten.”
“Yes, and growing into a fine young man to be sure.” Edmund tousled Anthony’s hair and nodded to the piles of wood stacked neatly by the trunk of the oak tree that was to serve as host to their treehouse.
“Now, will this fine young man assist his old father in building a treehouse?”
Anthony responded with a put-upon sigh then, that slowly blooming smile that still, never failed to bring a flutter in his heart. His first-born child. His heir. His introduction to fatherhood. Ten years on, Edmund still couldn’t quite believe that he helped create another human being. A child, now, but one that was quickly growing and would soon become a man in his own right. He couldn’t wait to meet the man his son would become.
~~~ October 1806 ~~~
Edmund set rather generous allowances for all of his boys to begin at the age of their majority. It was not always the way of such things in many families, primogeniture being held dear. But to him, it was unthinkable to allow his younger boys to flounder or be forced into a mercenary marriage for survival. He hoped that they would all, one day, find their own places in the world, independent of the Bridgerton name or fortune. But none of his children would suffer for not being the eldest son. The girls all had a more than sufficient dowries. And the allowances, he hoped, would allow his younger boys to learn to ways of managing finances and put them on the path to securing their own livings.
Anthony was different. As the heir, he was entitled to draw his living directly from the Bridgerton family accounts. But he was also expected to prepare for the responsibilities he would one day inherit.
To be a viscount and head of the family meant several different responsibilities. There was Parliament. There was the running of the estates and there was the running of the family. Of the three, Edmund really only ever truly enjoyed the last.
Edmund made it a point to attend Parliamentary Sessions at least twice a week. Though he rarely spoke on the floor and generally avoided the posturing, he did vote on the bills as his conscience dictated. This was his duty inasmuch as running the estates or caring for his family and he meant to do right by it. Running the estates was made much easier with the assistance of his very well compensated steward and solicitors. He remained as involved in the more administrative aspects strictly only as needed. The more physical aspects – fixing roofs, ordering supplies, talking to the tenants— he genuinely enjoyed. Edmund was very aware of his extreme fortune and that his title was a privilege. He would never complain but there were times he thought, perhaps, they were wasted on him when. He may have well been better suited to life as a gentleman farmer. The entertainments of London and the Society company went largely unappreciated by him.
In some respects, Edmund expected Anthony would take after him – have his own reluctant embrace of the business and political aspects of the inheritance. But he also knew his son found far more joy in the more social facets of London life. Anthony was expected to learn and assist until the time came for him to take on the mantle of the viscountcy and head of the family. Unfortunately, there simply wasn’t much of need for his involvement beyond basic knowledge. Anthony spent many an hour with Mr. Fletcher learning the intricacies of the extensive Bridgerton holdings. He was included in any and all significant discussions regarding the estates. But these things did not take up significant time and Edmund knew nothing could be so damaging to a young man as a hefty purse and an abundance of time.
Thus, Edmund made the decision to give Anthony an allowance, the exact same as for the other boys. It would give him a chance to manage a smaller amount of money. Slowly, Edmund expected to turn over more and more of his own responsibilities to his son as he learned. In this way, Anthony would not be caught unawares when he eventually inherited.
There were too many men, having finally inherited, that squandered their wealth at the gambling tables or due to gross mismanagement. Edmund fully expected that much of the allowance would be spent frivolously— certainly at first. But he expected that Anthony would learn how to best manage money.
Edmund’s assumptions were wrong, on many levels.
Firstly, in that Anthony did not have a loose hand with money. He acquired bachelor lodgings and certainly spent a pretty penny on things Edmund would have not considered strictly essential. However, these were all well within the limits of his allowance. So well within that Anthony had retained a prominent surplus.
Secondly, he enjoyed what Edmund had always considered the more tedious portions of his duties. Fletcher practically chortled with glee when Anthony was present at meetings; his son a far more willing and enthusiastic businessman than he had ever been.
“You enjoy this,” Edmund stated almost questioningly when Fletcher left to get yet more documents.
“I suppose I do, yes.”
Glancing over the paperwork once more, he saw the same vortex of numbers, neatly compiled in parallel columns punctuated with Fletchers methodically neat handwriting.
“With this new method, we’ll save money on seed and I do think we need to investigate rotational grazing. It seems promising.”
“Yes,” he prevaricated, “promising.”
Looking around the office, Edmund made a show of checking his pocket watch though he had little need to check the time.
“We should be leaving Anthony. Wouldn’t wish to be late for supper.”
It was not required exactly but highly encouraged that the entire family gather for supper at the Bridgerton House now that Anthony had his own lodgings. And very few of the Bridgertons, himself included, would dare cross Violet.
With not a little amount of guilt coloring his voice, Anthony declined, “I cannot. I’m meeting Mr. Sumner.”
Mr. Sumner was the family’s lawyer.
“There are no contracts in negotiation.”
“No—it’s not about the family estates. I wanted his opinion on a few investments I was considering.”
“Investments?”
Sumner, Fletcher and their associates met with him a few times a year to review the Bridgerton family investments and offered recommendations on any new opportunities. Edmund had never seen the need to seek them out for the express purpose of discussing yet more numbers.
“The Turnpike Trusts mostly,” Anthony offered easily.
Edmund had a vague recollection of a discussion of the new turnpike systems with a few friends at White’s. Investments were all well and good but they were not stable nor were they reliable. Edmund expected Anthony would lose some money and learn. Or feasibly, his son would find success and learn; he wasn’t sure anymore.
“Very well son. But your mother will expect you tomorrow.”
~~~ May 1808 ~~~
Edmund Bridgerton fell in love at the age of twenty with Violet Ledger and there was no looking back. It wasn’t that no other women ever turned his eye; merely that those were all passing clouds and Violet was the sky itself. Red-headed Miss Stanhope, quick to smile and with a lovely voice, had been known to render him speechless on occasion. At seventeen, he was confident that no one other than Miss Talbot could be the love of his life. All of that faded with time and distance, or once he had a chance to make better acquaintance. Violet, though— he fell further in love with her each day. The family they created together was his greatest achievement and crowning glory. Edmund loved all of his children equally—they were all part Violet and how could he not love anything that was part of his wife?
But he didn’t understand all of children equally. Some were easier than others. When they were younger, it was a simpler matter. He listened to them, included them, made individual time for all eight children. It was never an imposition. As far as he was concerned, his children came before any of his duties as viscount or any business. As the children grew older, Edmund found himself lost and lacking purchase.
Anthony was his shadow when he was younger, eager to be just like his father in all ways. Now four years older than Edmund had been when he married, his son had somehow turned out to be so very different.
Edmund decidedly understood the physical urges of a young man; he did have eight children after all. He also did not realistically expect his sons would wait for marriage. They all received the conversation at eighteen. The speech covered the practical considerations: risks, the means to remain healthy, the etiquette of such matters—insofar as he knew them at any rate. But the speech covered other concerns.
Never take advantage of a woman’s desperation, or naivete or place in society relative to ours.
There was the physical act and then there were emotions. Take care with both.
However enjoyable, always remember these connections are fleeting and transactional. Never forget that true happiness lies elsewhere. Don’t lose yourself in pursuit of the fleeting at expense of the permanent.
It was that last point that weighed so heavily on his mind now. Anthony was losing himself—In pleasure, in frivolity, and seemed to have no interest in anything resembling constancy. It was a joke among his male acquaintances; that a monk like him should produce such a libertine son.
Edmund learned to turn a deaf ear to the on dit after a while. Initially, he hoped it was merely youthful indiscretions but as the years went on, it did not wane.
“Talk to him, Edmund,” Violet demanded.
He had attempted that several times. It never ended well.
“Anthony, you are no longer a child. I cannot and will not tell you what to do but—you cannot continue in this manner indefinitely.”
Blinking innocently, Anthony only asked, “What manner is that father?”
“You know,” Edmund returned firmly. He would not be baited into reciting the list of women or the addresses of the lodgings procured.
“Tell me, does Benedict get the same advice? Or shall I tell you the breadth of services his artist’s models provide?”
Benedict, actions aside, was still searching for something genuine. Anthony was lost. Anthony was happily lost and had no intention of finding his way out.
Never once, in all the years of his marriage, had Edmund ever regretted that he came to his marriage bed inexperienced. There were no wonderings in his mind of what might have been or who he might have had. The bawdy tales of concupiscence he was often subject to only served to reinforce his conviction. What need was there for the sparkle of distant stars or the pale light of the moon when you had the sun itself? Violet was his sun.
To see their son, their first-born, so drawn in by pale imitations and to shun even the search for his own sun, broke his heart.
Violet contrived to throw appropriate young women in his path in the hopes of igniting a spark. It only served to send Anthony scurrying further away. He didn’t stop her but he also refused to discuss it with his son further. There was no need to compound the disappointment further with discussion.
“I suppose I assumed falling in love would just happen for our children. As it had done for us,” he mused to Violet.
“It may yet,” she consoled. “Not all of us can meet the love of our lives at so young an age.”
~~~ December 1810~~~
“Cavorting in a gambling hell! My sons!”
They all gambled of course—White’s allowed gambling and there were the card rooms at balls. Many a social event hosted by Violet had card games or dice where it was expected that guests would wager some small amounts. But those were honest games run by honest people as a spot of entertainment.
Gambling hells were an entirely different matter altogether. He thought of the number of good, young men in exile for not being able to pay their debts; worse still, the ones that took their lives due to debt. Those that languished in debtor’s prisons. Those places had put a period to many an existence.
“Colin would have gone in any case. I simply thought my presence would temper his behavior,” Anthony justified.
“Your presence rarely tempers anyone’s behavior Anthony. It only serves to inflame them.”
His eldest stood, arms held stiffly at his sides, a few short paces in front of him with nary a shred of remorse in his bearing.
Disbelievingly, he asked, “You think I’m a bad influence?”
By some measures, Anthony was indeed a very bad influence and by others, an excellent one. Spontaneously, the picture of him helping Gregory with his sums came to Edmund; so patiently and with such encouragement. That was last week and this week, he took it upon himself to accompany Colin to such a place.
“I think you have given me cause to be disappointed at times.”
Edmund heaved a long breath and sat on the armchair in his study, gesturing at the other one for his son to take. Anthony remained standing.
“Who granted him an introduction?”
As far as he knew, patrons needed to be vouched for to enter such establishments. Anthony’s silence served as a far more potent answer than any words.
“Believe me, he would have been allowed in without an introduction from me,” Anthony intoned after a few moments.
“Then let him earn his entry in his own right! You’ve no need to ease his path.”
Only the proprietors made money in these hells. They were designed to wrest every last farthing from young, impressionable men with little experience and easy access to money. In other words, young men like Colin. The games were all premeditated to favor the house. It was one thing to take a risk when there was a fair opportunity at winning. This was just foolishness.
“If I introduce him, he gains the protection of my name.”
“I would rather he not be present where he is in need of protection of such a nature.”
“There are those who would seek to use Colin’s ingenuousness against him. He needed to know who to avoid going into debt too.”
“I shudder to think how you know that, Anthony.”
“I have no debts, father,” his son responded coolly.
Of that, he had no doubt. Anthony was meticulous in his accounting and his ledgers were always in the plus. Finances were the one department in which Edmund did not concern himself overly much with Anthony’s decisions. Everything else was a cause for nothing but worry.
“And who all is in your debt I wonder? Are you one others warn against being in debt too?”
Wryly, Anthony declared, “I am glad you think so highly of me.”
Somewhere, beyond the blinding rage, Edmund knew that Anthony would never intentionally harm his brother. He was aware that, in his mind, his eldest was convinced this excursion was for his brother’s good or at least would not cause damage. Any yet, Edmund could not even begin to comprehend the cerebration that led to this decision.
“Why did you think this was a good idea?”
“I didn’t think of this! I didn’t suggest it nor would I have! I learned that Colin planned to go. What would you have me do; tattle on him?”
“Yes! You should have informed me. I am his father.”
“He is not a child. Neither am I.”
A fact Edmund was far too sharply aware of these days. They were men but more than that, they were quickly becoming strangers.
“He’s been there now. He’s seen it for himself and is aware of the dangers. The curiosity has been sated,” Anthony rationalized.
If only all such matters concluded so plainly.
“And if its only served to whet his appetite? What then?”
“Then, we intervene.”
“Intervene,” Edmund grimly snorted.
He knew firsthand how such interventions ended. But there was little more to be done now. The deed was done and Edmund decided he simply needed to keep a closer eye on Colin. Anthony would continue in his own path, but he might yet have a chance with Colin. Dismissing Anthony with a wave of his hand, Edmund rose to return to the paperwork awaiting him at this desk.
“Father?”
Edmund turned.
“I really don’t think you have to worry. Colin really only wanted to go as Blackwell’s has the best chef in all of London.”
~~~ August 1811 ~~~
The one aspect of his children growing older that always surprised Edmund was the ways in which their conversations had altered with time. Once, he might have expected to talk to Anthony of nothing but snakes (a fascination of his first-born at age six). Or of cricket, his obsession at Eton. Or of the inherent unfairness of professors. Now, their conversations ranged from business to music to politics. And it fascinated him, how his son’s thoughts and journey to arriving at an opinion were so very different to his own.
“Do you not think it unfair, what they’re proposing?”
“I plan to vote against the bill.”
Unrelenting, Anthony continued, “But it is still likely to pass?”
“Very likely, yes.”
“You could talk to Tarrington. If you sway him, he’ll bring at least five votes with him.”
Wincing in distaste, Edmund asserted, “It is not my practice to intervene in such things.”
Political jockeying was an unfortunate reality of Parliament. While it was often engaged with genuine good intent, in the end, it always resulted pulling all of them into the muck and mire. He could likely sway Tarrington on this matter, but then he would be beholden to the man in some other manner and on it would go.
“Father, this bill would have a far-reaching impact on so many—”
“Anthony, please. Let us talk of other matters,” he interrupted.
The family, or as many of them as he could convince, had gathered at Aubrey Hall in preparation of their move to London for the new Season. Benedict and Colin had begged off, citing pressing engagements. Eloise and Francesca had been invited to stay with Billie and he was left with the bereft notion that this may just be what he had to look forward to in the future. Jockeying to ensure all of his children would gather under the same roof at the same time. Anthony had, surprisingly, agreed to join them without much urging.
“I haven’t seen the little ones in a while,” he submitted simply when Edmund asked him.
He had no reason to doubt those words; Anthony had always been an attentive older brother. Still, he appreciated the time with his son. Especially in moments such as these, when they were able to work together without the ever-present disquiet that seemed to have settled between them. Anthony had offered to join him in making some necessary repairs for a few tenants. They easily fell into the rhythm of the work, with few words needed to work together.
It reminded him of the tree-house—still standing proud, though in much less demand now— and working with Anthony to build it. He had been issuing gentle directions to his son then. Now, there was no need for even that. This routine had been built over years of his eldest joining him in these ventures. Whenever Anthony was home from Eton or Oxford, they would head out to make repairs, join a tenant’s family for a meal then head back.
It had been years since they had done this last; he could scarcely even remember the last time. Anthony was a busy man with what seemed like all-together different priorities. Thanks to his investments, Anthony was a very wealthy man in his own right. His businesses, his entertainments, his life was very different than Edmund’s had been at that age.
Most men of his standing would have hired out to do this sort of manual labor. Edmund knew, in his circles, this was considered one of his eccentricities. But it bought him comfort and surety in a way that numbers on account ledgers could not. He was building something solid and lasting for the future. For his family, but also for those others that depended on him. That would last long after he parted this world and his responsibilities fell to Anthony. As they walked back towards the manor, he paused to take in his son— face pink with exertion, sleeves rolled up and hair matted with sweat. Edmund couldn’t help but wonder if he would still venture out to make repairs himself or if would hire workers.
“I presume your methods of securing a living are much less laborious. Preferable to these old-fashioned methods,” Edmund teased as he wiped his brow of well-earned sweat.
With an almost coy smile, Anthony started, “Actually, I thought I might purchase an estate.”
“An estate?”
“A small one. I have the funds,” Anthony explained.
“If you want an estate Anthony,” Edmund moved to face his first born and threw his hands out to his sides to gesture at the expanse of Aubrey Hall.
“I wanted to strike out on my own. See what I make of things.”
“This will all be yours one day. I am simply surprised that you do not wish to involve yourself further at Aubrey Hall.”
“Mr. Fletcher is an excellent steward. And you are intimately involved, still, in most matters of the estate. I contribute where I can but you do not need me here,” Anthony justified. “You’ve always said land was the most stable and substantial source of income.”
“We have other estates.”
“All of which are very well administered and not in need of my intervention,” Anthony answered dispassionately.
“Intervention!”
These were Anthony’s—was it considered an intervention to involve yourself in your legacy? But sensing a losing argument, he turned away from his son.
Tiredly, Edmund asked, “Where are you looking?”
“Somerset.”
“Quite a bit away. Although, I suppose it isn’t far enough for you?”
“I—I love Aubrey Hall. You do know that?”
“Do you? When was the last time you were here?”
“Part of the reason I want my own— If I were to exert myself more in our family estates, you and I would only come into more conflict. We differ on so many things now I thought it would be simpler to stay away.”
“Simpler? To not see my son?”
“You think me inimical to you.”
Edmund suspended all motion. “Never.”
Catching Anthony’s gaze, he expounded, “I love you, Anthony. Never doubt that. I simply do not understand you. This estate business as an example. You will be Viscount Bridgerton. I do not understand why you would need to purchase a small estate in the middle of nowhere when you have all this at your disposal. We can work through any disagreement.”
“Because I am not the viscount! Not yet and I am grateful for it for it means I get to have you. I’ll gladly remain Mr. Bridgerton for decades yet if it means I get to keep you. But father, I need something. I cannot simply exist in your shadow, practicing to be a facsimile of you. Nor can I waste my life away in aimless wandering as I live in wait.”
“You could marry,” Edmund suggested.
Sighing irritably, Anthony snarked, “Yes. Marriage the cure-all of all of life’s problems.”
“It will give you that something you are seeking. It will ground you.”
“And who am I to marry? Have you decided that as well?”
Edmund shrunk. He’d married as Mr. Bridgerton and those years he had before he became Viscount Bridgerton were the best of his life. He had Violet and the children without the cumbersome weight of the title with all that it entailed. Their family had given him all the joy and meaning he needed. Managing that little manor-house they lived in and assisting his father with the estates had been more than enough for him. But he was Edmund and this was Anthony as Violet kept pointing out, they were different men.
“I do intend to marry one day,” Anthony imparted mildly, “I would like children. I just don’t think it will happen for me as it did for you and mother. I’m not going to walk into a ballroom and magically fall in love after a single conversation and decide this is the woman I will marry.”
That wasn’t precisely what happened. There had been a flouring of said love of his life when they were children but Anthony did have a point.
“It might.”
“Father, please.”
“Very well. Tell me about this estate of yours.”
~~~ April 1812 ~~~
The ride to Somerset takes him past gently rolling hills painted with wildflowers, emerald green trees standing guard and squares of fecund, chartreuse fields. Unexpectedly bucolic and picturesque. Anthony’s new estate is slight in size but there was potential. It would likely need a rather large influx of capital but Edmund supposed his son and Fletcher had worked out the specifics of all of that before the contract was signed. He’d hadn’t seen Anthony so excited about anything in quite a while and took the time to enjoy the sight. Soon after his arrival, he’d been ushered away to get a personal tour from his son.
“We’ll be planting wheat this year. Turnips for cattle feed next,” Anthony gestured towards the fields, “You know the four-course system.”
Edmund nodded as Anthony went on about new breeding methods, drainage systems and rotational grazing. For a brief moment, Edmund thought himself back in his study with Fletcher brandishing the latest agricultural report from the Board of Agriculture.
“This is impressive,” he offered, rather lamely apparently if the slight dimming in his son’s eyes were an indication.
He was impressed; incredibly so. But these matters had never been exactly interesting to Edmund, merely necessary. And he paid Fletcher as well as a score of others very well to manage such matters just so he did not in fact have to overly concern himself with crop rotation practices or grazing patterns.
“If it works well here, perhaps, we may consider some changes at Aubrey Hall?”
Caught unaware by the question, Edmund floundered, “I— yes, perhaps.”
Aubrey Hall and the other Bridgerton estates had been thriving and growing through seven viscountcies before he took the helm; the current methods had served their family and the tenants well. He was loathed to be the one to experiment and risk failure.
“This estate,” Anthony began self-consciously, “is not in the best shape at the moment. The prior owner had been ill for some time and was not able to invest much time or capital into it. I’m nearly starting fresh with everything. If these methods work here, it is proof that it will only help our other estates.”
Edmund is saved from having to respond when a voice cuts through the air towards them.
“Mr. Bridgerton!”
A woman, walking purposefully and very quickly, reached them.
“Your horse seems to have been tied on our property yet again, Mr. Bridgerton.”
“He is tied to that tree,” Anthony pointed to said tree and said horse, “which is part of my estate.”
“It is not!”
“Yes, it very much is. Now if you’ll excuse us, we have actual work to do.”
Up close, Edmund saw she was far younger than he initially assumed. A young lady, uncaring of the soiled state of the bottom of her dress due to the fields, determined to right some perceived wrong. She stared at him awkwardly before turning to Anthony.
“You’ll have to introduce us,” the young lady stated in a sotto voice to Anthony, annoyance evident.
Smirking, Anthony responded, “Do I now?”
“Anthony,” Edmund warned.
“Father, may I introduce Miss Sharma,” turning to the young lady, he added, “My father, Viscount Bridgerton.”
Curtsying awkwardly, Kate held out her hand for him to kiss then quickly turned back to Anthony.
“See that you keep your horse on your property in the future, if you please.”
“See that you take care to learn the proper boundaries of your property, if you please.”
“I know the boundaries.”
“I know the terms of my purchase contract. Now I would suggest you head home. Where good little girls ought to be.”
The young lady, eyes widened in anger, looked as though she might strike Anthony. And his son—well, Edmund thought he looked very nearly excited by the prospect of it. The rules of propriety were often relaxed in small villages but an unmarried young lady conversing alone with two unrelated men left him at unease. Clearly, Miss Sharma felt the same as she drew a short breath and excused herself.
“It was very nice to have met you Lord Bridgerton.”
She graced his son with a withering glare and walked off quickly with Anthony’s eyes not leaving her for a moment.
“This estate was her father’s,” Anthony offers simply once she is out of sight.
That explained quite a bit.
“He died not too long ago and his wife was forced to sell.”
“Pity.”
To lose a father at any age was tragic. But the girl seemed just at that age when a father’s watchful presence was a particular necessity.
Nodding absentmindedly, Anthony went on, “The Sharma’s live nearby and we have been invited to supper.” With a smile, he added, “Unlike Miss Sharma, her mother and sister are quite lovely.”
Edmund didn’t think Miss Sharma was unlovely but chose not to belabor the point. They finished their tour and returned home without further incident or discussion. After an afternoon’s rest, they set out for supper with the Sharmas which became a fascinatingly horrifying experience.
Mrs. Sharma and Miss Edwina Sharma were both, as Anthony had attested, lovely and gracious. Miss Katharine Sharma— or Kate as she insisted— was witty and had a talent for easing even the most reserved guest into easy conversation. The other guests, mostly comprised of Anthony’s new neighbors, were as cordial and warm as he would have expected from a small village. His stark sense of distress was the direct result of his son. Anthony knew how to behave in mixed company. He was mannerly, polite, and a good conversationalist. Of all their children, Anthony, Daphne and Francesca were the three that never gave them any trouble in this attribute. But for all of that, he was appallingly disrespectful—downright boorish, even— tonight and aided very ably by Miss Sharma. Which resulted in himself and Mrs. Sharma constantly having to step in to mediate, and tasting nothing but failure.
“Oh, so you can read. How very accomplished you must be Mr. Bridgerton.”
“Kate!”
“Perhaps you can tame lions or lead apes.”
“Anthony!”
Back and forth it went the entire meal with the two constantly sniping at each other to the amusement and horror of the other guests. When not in each other’s direct presence, both of them were perfectly well-behaved. Within ten feet of each other—sheer pandemonium.
For all that, Edmund found he liked the elder Miss Sharma. She was an exceedingly protective elder sister.
“I suppose Edwina is a bit too young to join us for supper but I told Mary it’s hardly fair to exclude just her. Especially for something she has so little control over like her age.”
It was clear her sister adored her just as the love and affection between all three women shone through brightly. The grief of Mr. Sharma’s loss wafted heavily throughout the home. They all carried it but he sensed it especially in Miss Sharma. Even at his age, having lost both parents left him feeling unanchored at times. For all that she still had her stepmother, it had to be a heavy cross to bear to lose both parents at such a young age. She was putting on a brave face but she was also clearly still grieving her father.
Moving his thoughts away from the Sharmas, Edmund saw Anthony absorbed in his own observation of Miss Sharma. On the surface, there was the glint of mischief he’d come to expect. But underneath it, Edmund thought he saw a hint of something else he wasn’t sure he approved of entirely. As they departed, he questioned Anthony.
“What was that?”
“Supper.”
“No, I meant with Miss Sharma.”
“Oh, she’s just—” groaning audibly, Anthony settled on, “a menace.”
“Your behavior tonight was reprehensible.”
“I know that…I can’t seem to help myself around her.”
Not an encouraging response. Anthony was captivated and that did not augur well.
“I’m leaving in the morning so I’ll say this now. I expect you to keep your distance from the Sharmas. Is that understood?”
Anthony nodded abruptly and excused himself with not another word. Edmund slept uneasily and with an eagerness to be back home. When the sun rose the next morning, he left as soon as he could manage with a strained distance still present between him and his son.
The absolute best time of the day for Edmund was when he got to crawl into bed with his wife at the conclusion of the day. With the children still under their roof sorted into bed, they could curl into each other and talk. He had plenty to tell her of his trip to Somerset.
Looking up curiously, Violet asked, “Is she very pretty?”
“Not pretty, no.”
Edmund pictured Miss Sharma; the sharp angles still encased in baby fat and radiant eyes dimmed with uncertainty.
“Give her a few years and she will be stunning,” he amended.
Violet smiled astutely and Edmund fought the urge to show her the white of his eyes. She saw a wallflower waiting to be asked to dance and he knew Kate wasn’t a wallflower. She was a broken young woman frantically trying to keep from anyone else noticing the cracks inside for fear scrutiny would cause it all to fall apart. She didn’t need to be asked to dance; she needed consoling and support.
“She’s only recently lost her father. Lives with her stepmother and half-sister.” Shifting to face his wife, “She’s so young, Violet. Trying desperately to be everything for her family. It broke my heart. I just wanted to scoop her—all of them—up and bring them home to you.”
With a soft smile, Violet suggested, “Maybe that’s what Anthony is trying to do?”
“No. He’s—intrigued.”
For all that Edmund may complain about his behavior, Anthony had always been the consummate gentleman to the young women of their association. To tease and flirt and insult as he had Miss Sharma was entirely unlike his son.
“Forgive me for saying it darling but our dear boy is rather used to women throwing themselves at him.”
It never failed to happen that the young women at dances or those invited for supper would all invariably at some point flutter their eyelashes at him, to no effect.
“And this girl, Kate, is not?”
He shook his head in the negative. Not intentionally at any rate.
“I’m rather worried he sees it as some sort of challenge.”
“Anthony would never behave inappropriately with any young lady.”
“Oh of course he wouldn’t. I don’t mean that.” Pursing his lips as he thought through it, Edmund explained, “I just think that he’s intent on making her fall for him. Once she does, he’ll lose interest.”
“Cynicism does not suit you, my love.”
“It is not love Violet. I wish it were, I like the girl!” Edmund shook his head, “They argue constantly. Over absolutely nothing at all. He’s unkind to her.”
“Unkind? Like arranging for an entire bowl of flour to land on her head?” Violet posed her question with sardonic lilt and raised eyebrow.
Contrite, he replied, “I was ten. Anthony does not have that same excuse.”
“Has it occurred to you that you may have, in fact, been witnessing a courtship?”
“If that’s the state of courtship these days, I fear for the future.”
~~~ October 1812 ~~~
“Where is my son?”
“Mr. Bridgerton just went out for a ride, sir. I believe he may still be in the stables.”
Edmund hurried to the stables in the hopes of catching his son. He very much wanted to be on his way home as soon as possible. He had no plan to visit Anthony but an unexpected trip to Bath bought him far too close to Somerset to resist the temptation see his son. It would be a quick stop before he continued on to London, then Kent. He rushed into the stables in the hopes of catching Anthony and almost wished he had not found him.
Anthony was kissing Miss Sharma which would not have been an entirely terrible matter if it not were the circumstance. Anthony stood pushing Miss Sharma against a wall of an empty stall. One arm braced above her on the wall and the other somewhere amidst the bunched material of her dress between her—
“Anthony!”
Startled, he stepped back then stood in front of Miss Sharma, in some attempt at preserving her modesty, Edmund supposed. A feat easier accomplished had he not been actively outraging said modesty not moments ago. And easier still had his breeches not been unbuttoned.
“I must speak to you now!”
Anthony followed him out of the stables, buttoning his breeches as he walked, and squinted at the blinding sunlight upon stepping outside.
“You must marry her,” Edmund stated bluntly facing his son.
“Yes, I am aware of that,” his son baldly returned.
The utter lack shame was gallingly infuriating.
“I cannot believe you would—,” Edmund punctuated with a sough, “What on earth would possess you to—what were you thinking?” Shaking his head, he went on, “Never mind that, I know exactly what you were thinking.”
He was afraid of this when he first saw his son and Miss Sharma. Sequestered in Somerset without his usual avenues for entertainment, Anthony had succumbed to his attraction and would now be tied in matrimony to a young lady he did not love. He did not want this for his boy or Miss Sharma.
“I will not inform your mother of this scene,” he asserted shortly. “You will make arrangements for the wedding. As soon as possible.”
Violet didn’t need to know these circumstances. It would only break her heart and frankly, his was broken enough already.
Still in the same toneless voice, Anthony listed, “I’ll arrange for the announcement and the license. See to preparations at the church.”
Nodding shortly, Edmund could only add, “I will return to London and bring the family here for the wedding.”
He walked away without another word. Had he remained, Edmund was not certain he could hold his tongue. And the words on mind now were not ones he wanted committed into existence. Heading straight for his carriage, he left for London as soon as it was possible.
The wedding announcement, printed in the Times, arrived at Bridgerton House before he did. How Anthony had managed that, he wasn’t certain.
“Edmund!”
Violet rushed into his arms, perfectly effulgent with joy. The children crowded around him and he was drowned in a cacophony of voices.
“Father! Anthony is getting married!”
“He never said!”
“Did you know?”
“Who is she?”
“I’m going to get a new dress for the wedding.”
“Are we going to Somerset?”
Later, after questions had been answered and plans were set in motion, Edmund found himself alone with his wife.
“I’ll kindly refrain from gloating dear husband,” Violet goaded.
And he would kindly refrain from doing the same. Truthfully, he had no mind to gloat. He barely had the strength to perform his role in this mockery of a marriage. The first wedding in the family was a rush to the altar after his son compromised a woman. A young, impressionable, grieving woman that had neither the experience nor the guile to comprehend what she had just walked into. And Anthony. He would finally be married—hastily and without the benefit of love or understanding. There was desire between them, clearly, but love and desire were very separate entities. Ideally, a marriage would have both. But a marriage may weather lack of desire; it would not flourish with a lack of love. The memory of Anthony and Miss Sharma’s constant bickering flooded him again and Edmund could only grieve his son’s future.
~~~ May 1813 ~~~
Edmund hated hosting house parties at Aubrey Hall. He felt as though London had invaded his haven with an express invitation from his wife to boot. But this year, it would be different. All of his children were present—none having found an excuse or invitation to decline. And Edmund loved having all of his children together again. Anthony and Kate would be there and he had to admit, his son wore marriage well. Anthony was always determined when he set his mind to something; with Kate, he found his playful side again. At seven months married, they were not precisely newlyweds anymore but certainly seemed eager to act the part. He did not begrudge them their impulsiveness; only fervently wished his initial appraisal of their hasty union would prove incorrect.
But there was another reason that set this year apart. The Duke of Hastings was courting Daphne and Violet was thrilled. Edmund knew of the duke via Anthony but only had a chance to meet him earlier this Season and he thoroughly approved of the man for his daughter. There were the social benefits of course, but more than that, Daphne absolutely lit up in his presence. His little girl had found her love and he was as thrilled as Violet. At least, he was until his conversation with Daphne earlier. Which led directly to his current situation of sitting in his study with Anthony across from him.
“Why is it that every time I’m in here, I’m terrified of being upbraided for some wrong I’ve committed?”
“Your mother is beside herself,” Edmund began brusquely.
With an easy smile, he asked, “I presume I am to blame?”
“Daphne has announced that the duke is no longer courting her,” he paused, “At her request.”
“Ah. That is probably for the best,” Anthony acknowledged.
“It seems Daphne came to his conclusion after speaking to you.”
That much Daphne would admit; the exact nature of the conversation, she refused to divulge. For most of their time at Aubrey Hall, she led an eremitic existence in her room. Violet had sent him out with an express order to set matters back to course.
Shifting in his seat slightly, he would only state, “We discussed matters.”
“That is why Kate invited her to tea?”
“It wasn’t nearly as sinister as you might think. Kate and Daphne have become friends.”
“And yet you spoke to her?”
“Yes,” he concurred cautiously.
“Anthony!”
Raising his voice, Anthony parried, “Just because he is a duke, it does not automatically make him a suitable husband for Daphne.”
“That is not for you to decide. Frankly, given the circumstances around your own marriage, I would not think you in any position to pass judgement.”
Edmund had not meant to broach that topic. Their relationship had not still entirely recovered from the aftermath of his son’s wedding. Anthony and Kate were, by all appearances, happy and he had intended to side-step the subject entirely. He saw the impact of his words immediately. Anthony closed off and donned an implacable countenance.
“I didn’t decide. Daphne did. Surely, it is ultimately her choice that matters the most in this,” he stated shortly.
Fighting to keep his voice neutral, Edmund emphasized, “She decided after a conversation with you.”
“I will not betray Hastings’ confidence. But there is a matter of fundamental difference between him and Daphne. Something I feel is an insurmountable difference of opinion that would render a marriage between them unsuitable.”
Anthony’s words were meticulous and spoken in a measured tone.
“I see.” He did not. Not really and could not without more details as to the exact nature of this difference between them. “There is a chance that this difference may not be permanent, then? They may yet align on their opinions?”
“I doubt Hastings will change his mind.”
Something not permanent then.
“He may change his mind yet then. You are young, Anthony. Men, even those of the most solid convictions, can always change their mind.”
“He may change and he may not. You cannot know for certain he will,” Anthony countered.
“You’ve scared your sister away from this match.”
And offered Edmund nothing determinate to counter the argument.
“No, I’ve merely given her pertinent information about a suitor.”
“You’ve never liked the idea of the duke courting your sister,” Edmund accused.
Almost fittingly, his accusation coincided with the once gentle rain outside morphing into a roaring downpour. He saw Anthony glance out the window, brows furrowed, before he responded.
“You’re correct. But it was not my place to—believe me, I would have done something far more impulsive.”
More impulsive than convince Daphne to call off this courtship? He shuddered to think.
“And you did not because?”
“Kate pointed it out to me that it isn’t my place or mother’s or yours to take on the gamble that Hastings will change his mind. Its Daphne’s. She should be made aware of the circumstances and allowed to choose if she wishes to take that risk. I only made her aware of the circumstances, that’s all.”
He would get no further with his son. Heaving a sigh, he stated the obvious.
“Your mother will be disappointed.”
“Undoubtedly.” Anthony’s attention was drawn to the window and the portends of the coming storm. At the flash of lightning, he stood abruptly and excused himself.
“If that’s all father, I’d like to get back to Kate.”
“Anthony, I realize you’re still caught in the enthrallment of a new marriage but surely, you can spare some time to discuss your sister’s future with your father?”
“There’s little to discuss further. I’ve told, the decision on her marriage rests with Daphne, not me. She’s deemed the information I gave her reason enough to put off Hastings and that should be enough for us all to support her. As to the other matter, I am not entirely new to parental disappointment. I’ll survive it well enough without further elucidation on the ways and means of said disappointment.”
“Go then!” He stood and pointed to the door in exasperation. “You won’t hear the end of this. Certainly not from your mother.”
Anthony snorted and said something under his breath. As he reached the door, he stopped to look at Edmund again.
“I did have news to share with you and mother, before my summons for this interrogation.”
“Oh?”
“Only to offer my congratulations on your impending grandparenthood.”
With that, Anthony stepped out, shut the door and left Edmund speechless.
~~~ June 1814 ~~~
Edmund loved the feel of holding a baby in your arms. It still amazed him, after having eight of his own, that such a tiny being could hold so much of your heart. His namesake, with his impossibly large dark, shiny eyes and curly hair, currently held a rather large portion of both his heart and his hair. Tugging with an impressive amount of strength, Ned managed to elicit a scowl of pain from him, then giggled toothlessly. Edmund could only giggle in return at his grandson’s joy.
“No, Ned.”
Anthony quickly took his son from Edmund’s arms and settled into the armchair in his study.
“Oh, I’m used to it. It’s a miracle I still have any hair left,” Edmund dismissed patting his head on the spot where Ned had pulled.
Edmund’s official purpose for the visit was to discuss a few issues regarding the tenancy agreements with his son. Unofficially, he hoped to sneak into the nursery for a few moments of snuggling Ned. Instead, he found his grandson in the study with Anthony and his own crib set up. Perhaps, he’d eyed the crib a little too intently.
Slightly defensively, Anthony started, “I like having him nearby. Kate said if Ned’s going to spend so much time in my study, we may as well have a crib installed.” Shifting Ned slightly in his arms, Anthony grinned, “She didn’t think I’d actually get one.”
“I understand. When you and your siblings were that age, I couldn’t bear to be separated from any of you. You probably don’t remember this but I had fashioned—"
“The sling,” Anthony finished for him with a wide smile.
“You do remember!”
“I wanted to get something similar for Ned.”
“I’ll get it for you. I should still have one somewhere about Aubrey Hall,” Edmund considered for a moment, “I’ll have one made. Just for you and Ned.”
“I’d like that father. Thank you.”
“If you want to thank me, don’t tell your mother I was here. She gets jealous if I get to spend more time with him,” Edmund nodded towards his grandson and broke out into a smile again. “Although, if there were more grandchildren—” he trailed off meaningfully.
“We’re still getting to know Ned,” Anthony replied softly.
Something in those words, so gently spoken, punctured him. Violet had wanted a house full of children and told anyone who would ask about her desire. He was far less open yet no less desirous of wanting children. Men were, he supposed, generally inclined to want to be fruitful and multiply—leave behind some legacy of their existence. Edmund had no such self-aggrandizing inclinations. He wanted children because he wanted to be a father. He wept, unabashedly, the first time each of his children called him Papa. The first time he held each one, he was drenched in a feeling of belonging. He knew them already because they were meant to be there in this family. With each birth, he knew his family filling out into the shape it was meant be all along. If they children had not been his by blood or did not bear the Bridgerton name, that would have been irrelevant. They were his in his heart.
But sometimes, he wondered if in their desire for children, that he and Violet had stretched themselves too thin. They had nurses and governesses and wealth – all things that paved the way of their parenthood to an easier path. Still, there had been moments. When Colin tried to run away at six because he was being ignored. When he realized that Eloise and Francesca would never have a birthday to celebrate all their own. When he saw Anthony at seventeen expertly calming Gregory as a baby because he had so much practice with the younger children. Did they not have enough time to get to know each of their children?
“Do you regret that your mother and I didn’t do the same with you? That we had so many children so close together?”
Anthony snorted, “Why must you take everything I say in the worst possible connotation?”
“I am only trying to understand,” he placated.
“I love my siblings – all of them. I couldn’t imagine our family without a single one.”
“I know that, Anthony. I never doubted that.”
Never, in any of their disagreements, had Edmund doubted that.
“Kate and I have time to have more children. And we will. Just because I do not live my life in the exact same manner as you; it is not a rejection of you.”
Edmund responded slowly, “I didn’t take it as one. I was merely curious.”
Exhaling deeply, Anthony “We don’t always understand each other anymore, do we?”
Edmund could not respond nor did he think his son was expecting one. There was a time when he son’s face and demeanor told him everything about Anthony. When had he lost that ability to read him so distinctly?
“To answer your question, I don’t know. Sometimes, when I was younger especially, I resented having to share you and mother. But I also cannot imagine my life—our family—as being anything other than what it was. And I unquestionably believe I had a wonderful childhood,” he turned his attention to Ned, now dozing peacefully in Anthony’s arms.
Tenderly, he ran a finger on the baby’s forehead in slow, even strokes. “I have an incredible life, still.”
“I am proud of you. Even if I am sometimes critical of your actions, my love for you never abates.”
“I know that. If you knew just how much your words are worth to me. Your judgements of my actions weigh so heavily. I don’t believe you understand that.”
“And sometimes I wonder if you realize my words don’t always hold judgement; they are my admittedly inadequate attempts at trying to understand you.”
Anthony kept his eyes trained on Ned and remained silent for so long Edmund wondered if should leave.
“I had proposed,” Anthony whispered, still focused entirely on Ned. “When you saw Kate and me in the stables? I had already proposed. I had spoken to Mrs. Sharma to get her approval. I was on my way to London, to tell the family when you found us. We were married under a common license.”
“You never said,” Edmund quavered.
And he never bothered to check. Never looked too deeply into how Anthony had managed to have the announcements in the papers so quickly or made the arrangements for the wedding so easily. They had already been made.
“I didn’t think it would matter.”
“You didn’t think it would matter that I thought you’d compromised her? Or did you think I would have disapproved of your taking liberties with your fiancée?”
“I gave her my word and, in my mind, we were as good as married already. I don’t—I wouldn’t have done that if I didn’t intend on marrying her. I just needed you to know that. I thought you would have already known that.”
“I am sorry Anthony.”
“I’ve made mistakes and I haven’t always lived up to the man you want me to be. But I’m not—I am trying.”
“You are a good man. You are a good son. A good husband. And you are a good father.” He let the words permeate the air as Anthony drew his eyes up to meet Edmund’s. “I never meant for you to doubt your worth. Or my love. If I ever bore any disappointments, they were of my own making.”
Edmund reclined into his seat and his eyes centered on his grandson. “When they are young, you begin to create a picture in your head of who they will become when they are grown. It so easy to take the nature, peculiarities and characteristics of a child and mix it with your own hopes to contrive that picture. As they grow, inevitably, children do not correspond to that picture in your head. Nor are they meant to,” he paused to take in the picture of his son holding his son.
“But my foolish heart didn’t quite understand that.”
“Do you think I’ll do the same with Ned?”
“Maybe you will. Maybe you will make mistakes entirely different from mine. But you will make them. And hopefully, you will learn from them, correct yourself and make amends.”
Anthony smiled and once again, Edmund found himself transported back twenty years—to see his little boy’s unencumbered smile in the face of grown, nearly thirty-year old son. And his heart fluttered once again.