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Silence.
No two hours ago the room had been bustling with people and noise. Maids and midwives and doctors running in and out with pots of water and sheets and quite frankly scary looking instruments evoking images in his mind he would rather forget sooner rather than later. There had been whispers and cursing and moaning and somehow most of it had been directed at him - even when none of it had really mattered to him other than the wellbeing of the woman in front of him.
Yet now - a mere two hours later - there was silence. Brought about by the cry of a child. A cry that had felt like a new beginning.
The first time Anthony Bridgerton had heard his son cry, he had felt his entire world shift like only once before.
Once - many years ago - it had been Edmund Bridgerton’s inability to cry out, his inability to breathe and scream and yell that had spun Anthony’s world off its axis. That had made him go from older brother to surrogate father, from eldest son to surrogate husband in a matter of seconds. His late childhood days, his youth and carefree nature had all been ripped from him the second he had been forced to become Viscount Bridgerton. His whole world - his father - had stopped. Breathing. Being.
This time, it had been Edmund’s cry that had shifted his world anew. A world that had just begun to regain colour, had just become beautiful and interesting again when Kathani Sharma had entered it, suddenly felt like it would burst with colour the second he heard his son cry.
One second was all it had taken for the world to spin twice as fast. For his heart to grow, for his life's purpose to shift.
And now there was silence.
A peace he felt. Unlike anything he had ever felt before.
He stared down at the bundle in his arms, nose scrunched in a way that made him want to yell for Benedict to pain it, five tiny fingers wrapped around one of his. All the while his mother - his beautiful, aggravating, breathtakingly strong wife - sleeping in the bed beside them.
Humility.
It was a feeling he’d been overwhelmed by the second he had realised he loved Kate. And it was a feeling he felt in every single one of his bones right there and then.
Because loving his son was humbling.
Looking at him and knowing he’d spend the rest of his life trying to be the father he deserved was humbling.
Being aware that he would do anything to make sure his life was filled with joy and good health and happiness and love, was humbling.
Becoming this tiny person's father was humbling.
He dropped his head, letting his lips linger on his son's forehead for a second, breathing him in.
This wasn't the first baby he held. Not by a long shot. Yet, he'd never felt as insecure, never felt as utterly helpless as at this moment, utterly aware that a single cry by the child in front of him could bring him to his knees.
He was ripped out of his musings by the door of the room creaking open and he looked over. A head of brown curls held together by a pink bow was slowly squeezing through the gap. That was, until she spotted him.
“Excuse me, brother! I did not mean to intrude,” she gasped and was about to sneak back out of the room, when her eyes settled on the babe in his arms. “I simply… I wanted to see the baby.“
Anthony glanced at Kate, who was still fast asleep. It had not even been two hours of peace and quiet for them until the family started sneaking in. Until all the people wanting to catch a glimpse of his son, started to chomp at the bit.
And yet, looking at the way Hyacinth stood in the doorway, hands clasped in front of her, this somehow felt right.
Twelve years ago he’d stood in the very same room, holding his baby sister after the most gruelling night of his life and marvelling at how a simple yawn of hers had the ability to mend a tiny part of his heart - a heart be believed to be broken beyond repair.
And here he was again. Twelve years later. The very same room. The very same two people. Yet, a completely different man.
And so he nodded, beckoning her closer. If anyone deserved to see Edmund, it was the girl who’d never had the chance to meet the man he’d been named after. The girl who’d always brought him joy even when nobody and nothing else had. The girl who - befitting her name - had been this family’s spring after a long winter.
“We must be very quiet,“ he whispered as Hyacinth came to a halt in front of him, staring down at the baby reverently.
“He is very small,“ she breathed and reached out a finger to run down his cheek.
Anthony grinned and looked up at her. “Just like you were.“
She scoffed at him. “Surely I was not this small.“
“I am quite certain you were. I was there. I remember.“
She did not say anything at that, only continued to run her finger up and down Edmund’s cheek.
They remained like that for a number of moments, both sets of eyes trained on the baby, both of them lost in thought.
That was, until Hyacinth spoke.
“He is very lucky indeed,“ she said, looking up then and into her brother’s eyes, the two of them nearly eye-level with him sitting down and her standing up. “To have you as his father.“
Anthony only swallowed and looked at his baby sister, wondering when she had become old enough to utter such wisdoms. And it took him quite a few moments to regain his composure. “I certainly hope I can live up to the expectation.“
“Oh, you will,“ she answered. “After all, you have been quite an amazing father to me.“
And with that she snuck back outside again. Mending yet another piece of his heart.