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Benedict Bridgerton categorically had no inclination of joining his family’s country house party. For years, he had successfully dodged his mother’s match-making designs and he had little intention of offering himself to the sacrificial arena now. She would have to manage with Anthony and Colin. Gleefully, he had informed Colin of his miraculous escape.
“You’ll regret this, Benedict. Trust me, you won’t want to miss this.”
Heaving himself on the sofa rather ungracefully, Benedict threw his younger brother a disbelieving stare. “You don’t actually expect that to work? I’ll not be within a furlong of Aubrey Hall during the party. You, dear brother, are welcome to all the attention.”
“Ye of little faith!” Seated slouched on the armchair to the right of Benedict, Colin reached for a pastry from the table between them. He took a large bite and grinned as he chewed.
“You know something; or you mean to do something.”
Colin responded with a vexatious smirk. “Only that our dear brother is courting and it is genuinely a sight to behold.”
Benedict took his elder brother’s declaration of marrying the incomparable with general good humor and gave it due gravity—which is to say, absolutely none. Despite his best efforts, he was still obligated to make at least the bare minimum of appearances at events during the season. As such, he had seen the incomparable Edwina Sharma and found her to be of pleasant deposition and generally pleasing bearing. Notwithstanding, he could not picture her with Anthony in any capacity, let alone in joined in matrimony.
“He doesn’t still mean to follow through on his plan? Of marrying the incomparable?”
“He means to try. And I mean to watch as he fails.”
Benedict eyed his brother dubiously.
Polishing off another pastry in quick succession, Colin remarked, “You will simply have to see for yourself.”
Now, how could he resist an opportunity like that?
~~~
Kate stood facing up at the sun; Anthony stood beside her, watching in a stupor.
“I do believe he means to pull on her hair and run away before she notices.”
Benedict allowed himself a chuckle at Colin’s observation. The windows of the drawing room gave them a clear viewpoint to their brother’s supposed courting of Edwina Sharma in the gardens. In ten minutes of observation, Anthony had spared naught but two minutes actually engaged in any capacity with the young woman. He had, however, argued with her sister, glared at her and was currently in silent study of her frame. Having ceased her admiration of the sun, Kate turned her attentions to the garden. Her admirer, however, seemed still as enamored and his stupor unchanged. Until the object of his intense scrutiny turned to him – which necessitated some brief conversation he could not hear – and Anthony sauntered off back towards the house having entirely foregone the opportunity to bid farewell to his supposed beloved.
“He is far gone.”
Colin cackled, “Delightfully amusing, isn’t it?”
“How does he not see this?”
“I have long suspected – and only recently confirmed – that the esteemed Viscount Bridgerton is an idiot.”
Sparing a thought to Penelope Featherington’s long standing affection for Colin, and his brother’s obliviousness to it, Benedict came to the conclusion he was in possession of more than one idiot brother.
~~~
During the course of the house party, Benedict had, as natural consequence of his mother being the hostess (and also his mother being very much desirous of marrying off her sons), been introduced to Miss Sharma. He found her to be delightfully frank and, much to his delight, a fellow artist.
With growing conversance, Benedict found himself of the mind that Kate Sharma would indeed make the perfect match for Anthony.
The Bridgerton family Pall Mall game, customarily chaotic, was enough to disquiet the most substantial of women; Kate simply shined. There were precious few souls, outside the family, who could see past their brother’s formidable air of haughtiness to his softer underbelly. Kate seemed to possess the curious talent to not only see this but force Anthony to drop his act and be himself. For that alone, he would laud her.
Far be it for Benedict to make assumptions about a lady yet, he could only assume the young woman carried a certain regard for Anthony. He was not sightless to the longing glances, her tendency to stand too-close or the warmth of flushing cheeks in the presence of his brother. He was also a witness to the flares of sadness in her eyes when talk turned to Anthony’s courtship of Edwina Sharma, however skillfully she sought to hide it. Kate remained silent, foregoing any opportunity to express her preference.
And why should she? When Anthony had all but declared his intention to propose to her sister? She had far more at risk than Anthony; her reputation primarily and her heart more significantly. Benedict would cast no aspersions on her reticence. Nor did he, as Colin had on occasion, make any intimations of her true feelings. He would spare her that. Instead, he chose to befriend her on her own merits and found an enjoyable companion.
Hence, Benedict found himself, on a fine afternoon, painting next to the amiable Miss Sharma. In the distance, guests ambled in the gardens, paired off with watchful chaperones in their midst. They were too far to see in detail but two figures – unmistakably his brother and her sister – sat at bench nearest to them, to converse. Besides him, he heard Kate’s annoyed groan.
Benedict stifled a laugh at her reaction. “You still disapprove.”
Kate steadfastly focused on her canvas. “Your brother is no doubt in possession of many virtues. But she would not be content with him, much less happy.”
Neither would Anthony but some vague tendril of fraternal loyalty kept that thought to himself.
“Your sister could refuse if he offers for her.”
Kate worried her lips and turned to him. “You must not think her mercenary for Edwina is goodness itself. But that goodness would force her to make the match, not for love but for the security of her family.”
“A reality for most on the marriage mart. It is hardly a searing indictment of your sister’s character,” he offered.
“I am not foolish enough to expect some grand romance for Edwina. I only wish for friendship, true companionship for her. Your brother would provide for her, and us. He will undoubtedly be generous and perhaps kind but I foresee no companionship between them.”
Kate returned to her canvas and poised the brush, ready to paint. “I do not understand why he cannot simply find someone else.”
The course had been set and Anthony will follow it, to his own peril even. Benedict suspected if, somehow, Anthony actually managed to succeed in his ridiculous endeavor, his brother would grow to regret his success only marginally less than Miss Edwina Sharma.
A few tentative brush strokes later, Kate resumed, “If Edwina had another suitor; someone who’s attentions to Edwina might cause a pause in your brother’s pursuit? It would not need lead to marriage,” she added hurriedly, “but surely if the Viscount thought his own brother were truly interested…” Kate trailed off her statement hopefully.
Of course, Kate’s plan would only work if Anthony truly believed Benedict was interested in Edwina. A quick peek at the bench laid to rest any doubts. Edwina was, in vain, attempting conversation. Anthony’s full attention was unwaveringly on Benedict and his companion.
In truth, Anthony would probably react to his sudden partiality for Edwina with mild annoyance and badly hidden relief. Now if Benedict set his cap at Kate…Anthony’s reaction to that would be something to behold. Something indeed.
“I suppose you are too honorable to do that,” said companion demurred.
“You give me too much credit. I would happily assist in your plot, however; I fear my brother would find it transparently apparent.”
“No,” she allowed, “you are correct. I seem to lose all rational thought where the Viscount is concerned.” Perhaps belatedly realizing the potential meaning in her words, she added stiffly, “Only in that he is infuriating.”
“Of course.”
They passed the time painting with only occasional asides related to their pursuit and Benedict studiously avoided the temptation to look at his brother. His earlier thought occupied his mind. What if he were to court Kate?
Anthony was, obviously and desperately, in love with her; of that, the past few days of observation had laid bare, there were no doubts. So why then was he assiduously determined to walk away from her? To hitch his trough to her sister, of all women, thereby rendering any possibility of reconciliation null? Benedict could not in, upon consideration, think it due to any defect in Miss Sharma. Indeed, he was convinced that she would do credit, both as viscountess and with navigating the labyrinth dynamics of the large Bridgerton family.
The difficulty, as it often seemed to be, lay squarely with his brother. While the nature of said difficulty remained a mystery to him, Benedict was certain that, without changing course, Anthony was on his way to ruin of a particular and painful kind.
Certainly, it would be his brotherly duty to assist his brother? Colin, while deeply perceptive in some matters, was too passive; he would never progress past some jibes and unsubtle innuendo. Given that he was, apart from Gregory, the only non-idiot brother of the Bridgerton family, Benedict decided he must act. Having convinced himself of his course of action, he stole a peep at his brother. Anthony stood now, and –even at this distance— Benedict felt the heat of his glare upon him.
Unquestionably, he would face a reckoning for commandeering so much of Kate’s attention today –and face Vesuvius itself in Anthony’s form once he set his plan in motion –but for the moment, Benedict chose to enjoy the peace.
~~~
Something about air early in the morning had always left Benedict invigorated with a sense of possibility. As a consequence, he rose earlier than most of his family, excepting of course, his oldest brother. The drawing room set the stage for the reckoning and Benedict found himself not entirely displeased. He would have sustenance at the very least, breakfast cakes having been laid out.
“Brother,” Anthony greeted. “How was painting?”
The word painting bore more venom than Benedict thought it strictly warranted.
“Excellent. Kate--Miss Sharma that is-- is coming along quite splendidly with oil paints.”
“How lovely! You two seem to be spending quite a bit of time together as of late.”
Violet Bridgerton had slipped in unnoticed and Benedict cursed his rotten luck. Mother had but few ambitions in her life; chief among them was to see her children—particularly the boys—safely ensconced in matrimony. She reveled at the barest hint of an attachment, and now, in his attempt to assist his brother, he may have well offered himself in sacrifice.
“Good morning, mother. I trust you slept well.”
She tilted her head to allow him a kiss to her cheek in greeting.
“Well enough,” she quickly answered. “Now, tell me all about your outing with Miss Sharma.”
“Goodness mother! They painted in the gardens. It was hardly an outing,” Anthony grumbled as he took a seat.
Undeterred, his mother turned to him, “What did you speak of?”
“Pigments and paint texture.”
Mother deflated and yet Anthony seemed angrier still. He had managed to enrage his brother and tamper his mother’s expectations; all in all, excellent progress. He graced them both with a beatific smile.
“I’ve taken a liking to Miss Sharma. She seems quite clever and sensible. And rather fetching, I think,” mother proclaimed.
“She is not fetching,” Anthony added petulantly.
“I don’t know about that brother; I rather think Miss Sharma is quite pleasing on the eyes.”
His mother beamed brighter than the mid-morning sun that currently graced their drawing room. Anthony shattered his teacup. Benedict bit into the delightful orange cake.
“Anthony! Do be careful!”
“Dreadfully sorry, mother, but I must speak to Benedict on a matter of some urgency. Excuse us.” Anthony stood quickly and made a hasty approach. “My study if you please.”
It was not a request. Ill-fed, Benedict reluctantly abandoned his cake and headed into the breach.
~~~
“You will not pursue this nonsense any longer. I forbid it.” Upon entering the study, Anthony headed straight for his desk. He stood, arms crossed, facing Benedict with the desk, and father’s portrait, standing guard behind him.
“Forgive me brother but you have no right to issue such a command,” Benedict declared. Debating whether to sit on the chair in front of Anthony or not, Benedict decided to put his taller height to advantage and moved to stand in front of his brother.
“I am the head of this family.”
“Very well, as the venerable head of this family, what objections do you have to my courting Kate?”
Anthony tetchily ordered, “Stop calling her by her Christian name. It’s improper.”
Finding refuge in rules of propriety; he expected more from his brother.
“Kate insisted and you have not answered my question.”
“She is not right for you.”
“For what reason? It cannot be her family or her want of wealth – not when those things do not hinder you from pursuing her sister. Something to do with Kate then? Her character? Her behavior?”
Anthony colored, “No. She is unimpeachable in that regard.”
Benedict hid a smile; his objective might be easily achieved yet if Anthony took such umbrage at the mere suggestion of slander of Kate.
“Then I fail to see your objection. Kate is a young woman from a respectable family and, as per your own recommendation, with an unimpeachable character.”
“I do not believe you to harbor any true affection for her,” Anthony proclaimed leaning back slightly on the desk.
“If marriages could not occur in the absence of true affection, there would be precious few weddings in this world.”
Mouth agape, he demanded, “You mean to propose?”
He was in the thick of it; Benedict resolved he may as well do this thing properly now.
“I’ve entertained the notion,” he baited.
“You don’t love her, Benedict.”
“Forgive me brother,” Benedict offered a sardonic bow of his head, “But not all of us can expect a courtship so full of love and romance such as yours. We are not all so fortunate.”
“You go too far,” Anthony bit out in barely concealed fury.
“No, I don’t believe I have. I think I’ve arrived exactly at the point. You obviously do not love Miss Edwina. You can barely spend five minutes in her presence without your attention wandering elsewhere. And yet, you will marry her?”
He’d borne witness to far too many such calculated marriages, where husband and wife led as separate lives as they might manage, to allow his brother to tie himself in such a manner.
“I am determined to marry and Edwina Sharma is my chosen bride,” Anthony attested, though, Benedict thought, with far less conviction.
“Have you made any assurances to her?”
“Certainly not.”
“It would seem, then, that you and I will both offer for women we do not love.”
“You admit it, then. You don’t love Kate!”
“No, I don’t love her but in the short time I’ve known her, Kate has grown to be a dear friend. She is kind, intelligent and she is not so bad looking as you would have me believe. We would have companionable marriage.”
Strictly speaking, his words bore no lies. Benedict hoped the veracity of them might make enough of an impression on his brother to goad him into action.
“You have no need to settle now. You have years yet.”
“I am seven and twenty. That is an appropriate age for a man of my station to be wed. And marriage, to become the head of one’s own household, is that not a position to which every gentleman must aspire? It is our duty, after all. You would not have me fall lax in my duties?”
“Does Kate not deserve to marry for love?” Anthony slyly questioned.
The gall of him! Guilt was a double-edged sword to wield.
“Must Edwina be doomed to loveless match then?” He parried back easily. “Let us put the matter of what the Misses Sharma deserve aside for the moment. Do you not deserve to marry for love?”
“My situation is entirely different.”
“In what capacity?”
“In such capacity as that I am the head of this family and you are not.”
“You wish more for me than you do yourself?”
“Yes!”
“Why?”
Heaving a heavy sigh, Anthony dropped his shoulders and moved back to sit atop his desk and unfurling his arms to his sides, gaining purchase on the flat of the desk for support.
“You will be unhappy. You, of all of us, must marry for love. You are the dreamer; you are for love!”
The entreaty was sincere, that much Benedict would grant his brother, though it served a more selfish purpose he suspected.
“I don’t think your objection has very much to do with my future imagined unhappiness,” Benedict surmised. “I think it may have more to do with your future unhappiness at idea that Kate may be your sister.”
Anthony stilled; his breath half-drawn. Undeterred, Benedict pressed on. This had progressed long enough without end.
“You love her Anthony. It is plain to all of us.”
Anthony flinched but remained silent and betrayed no other sign of distress save his heavier breathing.
“I don’t love her. It is an infatuation at best,” he clarified.
“Very well. You bear an infatuation for Kate. Which is still far more feeling than you carry for Miss Edwina Sharma.”
“I could grow to love her.”
For all that he had been classed the romantic of the family, Benedict suspected Anthony was cut from a similar cloth. Some may have their slow, building romances but his brother would fall quickly and severely. As he had.
“I suppose you could but I have the foreboding feeling that you will make little attempt on that count.”
Anthony shook his head, in frustration or anger – likely both – and allowed, for a moment, for his right hand to massage his temple before falling back to his side. Benedict could relate to his frustration but this matter needed to be resolved now rather than be allowed to go on unabated.
“Do not pursue this idiocy brother. You would be miserable. More to the point, you would make Edwina miserable because she will have committed the unforgivable sin of not being Kate. It would be foolish and unkind and I have always thought you better than that.”
“God save me from this constant stream of unsolicited advice!” Anthony shouted. He moved to sit in his chair and gestured for Benedict to take the other with the table separating them. “Mother, Colin, now you.”
“Drink?” Reaching into drawer in the desk, he pulled out a bottle and two glasses.
“Bit early in the morning for that.”
Waving away the comment, Anthony poured out the brandy; only two fingers for Benedict, in deference to his statement and far more for himself. Despite his objection, Benedict took the glass when offered.
“Do you remember how mother was after father died? It wasn’t mere grief, she shattered.”
Savoring a single sip of brandy, Anthony held the glass in his hands as he spoke calmly.
“Father died unexpectedly young. She was with child. I fail to see how any of this applies to you or Kate.”
“I would not have Kate so broken on my account. My conscience could not bear it.”
Benedict tried to understand. Though the words were simple enough, the meaning escaped him.
“You will not marry the woman you love now for fear she will grieve you too much when you die—forty years hence?” He queried slowly.
Anthony remained silent, a little too long, Benedict thought.
“Something like that, yes,” he returned softly.
“Brother, do you truly believe we would abandon your widow should you die? She would be our sister. You have seven of us to comfort her, to share in the grief! Just as I know you would console any one of our future spouses in a similar situation.”
“Mother had us. And Aunt Billie, Aunt Georgie, the whole bloody family.” He shook his head imperceptibly, “It didn’t seem to help her.”
Their mother had been devastated; cocooned in her chambers, once shared with their father, for months. Any appearance betraying her frailty so basely, he came to almost wish for her to remain hidden. But she had improved. Slowly but surely after Hyacinth’s birth. If her eyes did not laugh as verily, only those who had been closest to her before would be conscience of it.
“Grief is rarely kind to anyone. But it fades.” Still confounded, he challenged, “I do not understand Anthony. Do you not think any woman you marry would grieve you if you should pass? Only Kate? Do you think, we, your blood would not mourn you grievously?”
“I do not intend to love any woman I marry so no— I would not expect her to mourn me overly much,” he replied artlessly. “And as for you all, if I could spare you the grief I would. I have no reliable means of doing so.”
Benedict was flabbergasted. That his brother, so brilliant and sharp, would think in such convoluted terms.
“I cannot claim any understanding of your thoughts. But it would seem in fearing the impact of your future death, you have forfeited your current life.”
Anthony leaned back and settled languidly into his chair still clutching his glass of brandy, resting his right ankle on his left knee.
“Bridgerton men do not live long lives. You do me an injustice to grant me forty more years when the reality may lay more closer to four,” he noted softly.
Thunderstruck, Benedict could acquire no words for long moments.
“Uncle Hugo and father dying young does not make it an incontrovertible fact,” he spluttered.
“There are others,” he asserted simply.
A great-uncle he had nebulous recall of dying of influenza at two and twenty. Were there others? Likely there were, but Benedict did not think the Bridgerton men were any more cursed in that regard than any other family.
“All right. I should like to see the Bridgerton family rings when we return to London in that case. I shall propose to Kate today. I would like to give her a ring shortly thereafter.”
Anthony leaned forward in alarm, his left leg falling back to meet the floor. Benedict could only continue to prod.
“If Bridgerton men die young, I haven’t got many years left. I am only a little more than year younger than you, after all. I daresay I’ve wasted enough of my life. We ought to warn Colin and Gregory so they may plan accordingly.”
“Stop, please,” Anthony croaked.
Benedict might have gone further but for the unreserved despair in his brother’s plea. There was nothing but terror in his voice.
“Anthony this is—”
He didn’t wish to call out his brother’s insistence on an early death as foolishness, though he could hardly think of little else to classify it. The force of that belief – that it would compel Anthony to make such monumental decisions based on the power of believing in it— was very real, as foolish a thought as it were. Benedict feared there would be little he could say to disempower it.
“You may die young. You may not. That applies to all of us. For however long you may have, do not subject yourself to torture. Or if you deem that to be worthy enough a cause to pursue; for god’s sake, do not subject the rest of us to it as well. As you clearly stated, you are the head of this family. Your choices impact us all.”
Though his words were severe, they held more supplication than rancor. He stood forcing Anthony to look up at him.
“You will do as you please Anthony, as you always do. But I’m pleading with you, as someone who loves you and wishes only to see you happy – chose with your heart. Let Kate—” a dejected sigh broke into his words, “Let Kate in. Let yourself be happy. For all our sakes.”
Benedict left the study retaining far less hope and newly imbued with a sinking realization that he had barely begun mining the depths of Anthony’s sorrow. How had he been so heedless of it for so long? His elder brother had always been stoic and duty-bound but Benedict had assumed that to be the expected result of being bestowed of a title at so young an age. While never so spirited as their younger siblings, he had, on some occasions, baited Anthony for his overly serious manner or over-bearing control of the family. It was, in retrospect, easier to allow Anthony to remain the officious but reliable presence in his life than consider things more deeply.
As it was, Benedict could only hope his interception today had served, in whatever minor capacity, to change Anthony’s mind.
~~~
Dearest Jane,
I am writing to you with the most splendid of news. Our Kate is to be married! Her intended is none other than Viscount Bridgerton!
In my past letters, I am sure I have mentioned our acquaintance with him. You will recall, Mama wished to see me make a match with him but Kate was so resolutely against such an occurrence. You must not think my sister calculating in the slightest; for I truly believe she had no expectation of an attachment with him. My own encounters with Lord Bridgerton led me to conclude he was more tenderly disposed towards Kate than either would concede. My sister, too, I have long suspected, harbored more fondness for her current intended, than the disinclination her words asserted. Thiers is a rare beast, indeed; a true love-match!
My sister is infuriatingly silent on the matter of the proposal itself. I know only that it occurred in the gardens as she took her customary walk. She will only yield that she had no prior anticipations of an offer, and that the whole matter left her in disbelief.
As for myself, I am exceedingly pleased with matters as they stand. Lord Bridgerton is in possession of two traits which recommends him well to me– chiefly that he has a grand library, and that he is very much in love with our Kate.
I can only hope you will forgive me for the shortness of my missive; but I am obliged to assist Mama and Lady Bridgerton in preparations for the blessed event – to be held a month hence. I shall, in due course, keep you abreast of the matters of the wedding. I depend on you to write back to me with news of your family.
I am affectionately yours,
Edwina