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Sal was nursing the mother of all hangovers driving into Aubrey Hall, Kent. It had been her best friend Nick’s engagement party the night before, necessitating much joyous debauchery and well, Sal was a hopeless romantic who could never say no to a M&S G&T and a cheeky fag. But the current drumbeat in her head that had all the subtlety of a hammer was making Sal rethink all her life choices up to this point.
Why did she decide being a documentary producer would be a good career move? Not when it meant that instead of being wrapped around her girlfriend in their lovely, warm bed, she was driving an hour south of London at the ungodly hour of 7am on a Sunday morning, just so she could make sure she was at a random country estate of some poncy aristo by 9.
It was her now-affianced best friend, Nick—also a BBC executive—who had given her the tip about the discovery of some fascinating historical documents from the early 19th century at the Aubrey Hall estate. Documents that showered light on an old English family that was said to have extensive connections of Queen Charlotte of Mecklenburg-Strelitz—the Queen who had upended the British Royal court forever (and for the better) when she married King George III. The historian, whom Sal was to meet this morning, had overseen this discovery and had told Nick that she believed that what she had ultimately unearthed was a “pretty remarkable love story.”
Nick thought that there might be something filmable in it. And right now—Nick had slurred mirthfully in Sal's ear last night, one arm around her neck, the other around his fiance, Tim— the world needed some happy love stories.
So Sal was making the sacrifice and driving (being an inner-city Londoner, oh how she loathed driving) her brother’s little Kia down the literal briar paths en route to Aubrey Hall.
To distract herself from her headache, Sal recited the notes about Aubrey Hall and the Bridgerton family that she had looked up on Wikipedia in her head.
Aubrey Hall, built in 1754 by the architect Isaac Ware, in the Neoclassical style that so typified the English 18th century. The family seat for the Bridgerton family, a Viscountcy that had survived more than 23 generations.
Like many modern English nobility, the current Viscount Bridgerton did not reside in Aubrey Hall or Bridgerton House, which had all but been destroyed by a bomb in 1942. Thanks to Hitler, only the front edifice of the Bridgerton House remained. The house was now a nursery school, but had achieved some note of fame due to the profusion of wisteria that had driven many a tourist and influencer to take selfies in front of it. The current Viscount Bridgerton was in his seventies (the Bridgertons were apparently a healthy lot) and was known for his passion for animal conservation and climate change activism—a refreshing change from his brethren calcifying in the House of Lords.
The family, while still a generally wealthy and prosperous one, had—like many families of their ilk—given the running of Aubrey Hall to the National Trust, and the house had become a museum of sorts, as well a remarkably well preserved estate and prize winning garden. It had also been the filming location of a number of tv shows and films, most infamously, in a Made in Chelsea wedding special, but also a very well received adaptation of Jane Austen’s Emma for ITV.
The traffic from London to Kent had been mercifully light and Sal could definitely feel her mood taking a turn for the better as the clouds dispersed and the sun started to peek out. Kent really was a very pretty part of England.
This feeling did not change as Sal drove through the estate gates and into the gravel entrance of Aubrey Hall. It really was a lovely house—grand but not terrifyingly so—elegant in the Palladium style, fringed this morning with gauzy, purple wisteria. The front lawn had a small circular garden filled with hyacinths—Sal’s own favourite flower.
What was the quote from Pride and Prejudice that Sal’s mum loved so much, when Lizzy sees Pemberley for the first time?
She had never seen a place where nature had done more, or where natural beauty had been so little counteracted by an awkward taste.
Looking at Aubrey Hall, Sal rather felt she knew exactly what Jane Austen was writing about. Admiring the edifice, she wondered about the centuries of chatelaines of this house. Of how they must have felt as a young bride, or a lady being courted, to look at this house and think “this might be mine.” It was a curious thought indeed.
Sal could not spend much time pondering this because a young woman had just then popped out of the entrance and was now hurrying to greet her.
She was shorter than Sal (admittedly not hard to be, as Sal was very tall) with bright red hair cut in a lob and a round, friendly face. “Sally, right?” Sal was surprised that the woman had a faint American accent.
“I’m Alice! Thanks so much for taking the trip down here, and for coming right on time!”
Sal grinned and shrugged and clasped the woman’s hand. “No problem. I’m feeling slightly worse for the weather—best friend’s engagement party last night you see—but definitely excited to check out this place and your work. Could be worse places to be on a Sunday morning than Aubrey Hall.”
Alice smiled “It’s gorgeous isn’t it? I sometimes have to pinch myself that this is my workplace for the summer. Well, why don’t I grab us a spot of tea and I can give you a bit of a tour.”
And so they explored the house, clasping mugs of tea, as Alice—clearly well versed on the history of the family—gave a thorough tour of the house.
In just under 30 minutes of meeting her, Sal decided she liked Alice very much: she was bright and well-informed, and had a clear flair for storytelling. She would be a natural in front of the camera—Nick’s hunch was right.
Amidst her Aubrey Hall anecdotes, Sal learned a little about Alice too. Alice was from Boston from an old East Coast family of several generations, thanks to an ancestor who had moved from the UK to America in dubious circumstances in the early 19th century (a proper Dickensian-like villain, she had said giggling).
The family lore had always intrigued her and had informed her PhD thesis, an exploration of trans-Atlantic relations in the 19th century. When it came time to start a second book, Alice had been inspired by the family folklore, which begun a prolonged goose chase all the way to England that eventually brought her to the attention of the Viscount Bridgerton. He, in turn, allowed her to spend these last few months at Aubrey Hall. It was here, cataloguing documents and exploring the library and records, where she had made her “discovery.”
At this point of the story, Sal was much intrigued.
Alice and Sal were now ambling through the gallery, a hall where dozens of Viscount Bridgertons of centuries past framed the walls. Viscounts in doublet and hose, in cavalier uniform, Viscounts painted by followers of Holbein, by Joshua Reynolds himself.
Then Alice abruptly stopped. This, she pointed to a portrait above her, this is where it all begins, the love story at the very heart of my discovery.
Sal moved her eye up to where Alice was pointing.
It was a portrait of a couple, a man and a woman in what Sal supposed was regency dress.
It was an arresting portrait for a number of reasons that Sal could spy instantly. For one, It was unusually painted. Instead of the usual accoutrements of portraiture of the time, the couple were not framed in landscape or in a heavily furnished room. The background was a bare rosy grey, a little plain but in this case, only served to pin the eye to the couple.
The man in the portrait was a remarkably good-looking man, with short brown hair, a strong nose and ears that were slightly overlarge and jutted out a bit. Sal decided that he had a very lovely, kind face.
But the it was the woman took Sal’s breath away.
Amidst a sea of heretofore pale faces, hers was a luminous dark brown: a heart-shaped face, with a strong jaw, a pointy chin and doe-like brown eyes fringed with the thickest lashes Sal had ever seen on a portrait of this vintage. She was sitting in a gilded chair, the man behind her, her legs crossed in a very contemporary pose. She wore a silk dress in jewel-like peacock green, with tulip sleeves, and a velvet overlay.
The artist was most skilful indeed in painting the texture of her dress which seemed to shimmer in the light. Sal wondered if the artist was being particularly flattering or if this couple was at all as handsome in real life as they seemed in the portrait. If so, they would have been a sight to behold.
Yet it was not their looks, or what they were wearing, that Sal was most transfixed by. It was the sheer force of their personalities that came through the picture.
They both seemed to be looking at the viewer with serene and satisfied confidence.
There too was a tenderness to which the man, slightly bending, cupped the woman’s shoulders. In his face, there also seemed to be an expression of giddy smugness.
This is MY wife , it seemed to say.
Her own expression seemed slightly more inscrutable but the more Sal looked at it the more she felt that her face—this woman’s—was a mirror image of his. This is MY husband, hers seemed to say in answer.
Sal turned to see Alice grinning at her reaction. “Very striking, are they not?” she said to Sal.
Sal grinned back. “You don’t say. Phwoar. Who are they?”
Alice giggled. “This a portrait of Anthony Bridgerton, ninth Viscount Bridgerton and his wife, Kathani”
“Regency, right?”
Alice nodded “Yes, you can see the date inscribed on the plate on the frame. It was painted in the fall of 1815, a few months after the couple’s honeymoon”
“So newlyweds”
“Not exactly so, in fact according to records, the Viscount Bridgerton and his bride enjoyed a six month honeymoon before returning for the London season of 1815. In this portrait they are nine months married. You can’t tell because of the way she is sitting and because empire waists tended to make women look pregnant whether they were or not, but Lady Bridgerton—Kathani, Kate—was approximately three months pregnant with their first child when this portrait was painted.”
Sal smiled and looked at Kathani Bridgerton again. Maybe the baby accounted for her quietly triumphant expression. “She is very beautiful, very regal looking. The artist had a superb hand at painting fabric.”
“He does, doesn’t he? In fact, the artist was none other than the Viscount’s oldest brother, Benedict Bridgerton.”
Sal turned to look at Alice in surprise, she was impressed indeed.
“Yes, it’s a wonderful tidbit of history isn’t it? Benedict Bridgerton had a number of still-lifes exhibited in the Royal Academy, and there is a darling portrait of his own wife Sophie in the V&A, but he was not the most prolific of artists, though as you can see he did have quite a bit of talent. It’s a bit sad really, for he’s a bit of a footnote for other prominent artists of the period, like Henry Granville. But I do think this portrait is the very best of his work—you can sense his affection for the couple, his own brother and sister-in-law and the ways he reveals their personalities.”
Sal nodded, she could definitely see what Alice was describing.
“And so this couple is the heart of your discovery? Was it a happy marriage?”
Alice laughed. “It’s a long story that’s best, I think, to be regaled with a new cup of tea. Why don’t I take you to the library and I can show you some of what I have found in person?”
And so after a last, lingering glance at the portrait, Sal was ushered through more rooms until they landed in the library, where a mass of documents, books and Alice’s laptop lay in disarray on a large table.
Coming back with two new steaming mugs of tea, Alice started as if in mid-conversation.
“I’ve been thinking about what you asked before, was it a happy marriage?. You know, I’m a bit of a romantic, as well as a historian who is fundamentally interested in the social, in the domestic: who married who, who loved who, that sort of stuff. I’m less interested in the travails of great men, what property they acquired, what wars they won. When I look up men from history, I generally go straight to the place where a text mentions their wives, their lovers, their families. I keep wondering—did they treat them well? Did they love them? Were these women happy? I imagine a great many of them were not.”
Alice offered Sal a digestive biscuit, and chewed on one herself before continuing.
“But that is the irony of being a historian, that these facts are among the greatest mysteries of human experience. Do we ever really know what goes on in another person, can we ever know whether they really loved? Even our own hearts’ secrets can be inscrutable to our own selves. And as historians, we are always working with a puzzle that will forever be incomplete. We only have fragments to reconstruct, and oftentimes we are not putting fragments in the right places, and don’t realise how warped a picture we are making.”
“But you do have some fragments—that is your discovery, right?” asked Sal.
“Right, and actually it is a discovery in three parts. A scavenger’s hunt if you will. The first was these.”
Alice leaned over the table to collect a folder, which Sal discovered contained photocopies of some sort of publication arranged in chronological order.
The photocopies had reflected the originals’ age, and much of the ink had been faded to an almost unreadable degree, but Sal could see that the titles of the sheets were one and the same the same: “Lady Whistledown Society Sheets”. Scanning quickly, Sal had ascertained that it was some sort of scandal sheet about high society. The writer seemed to have a very sly and witty style.
“A gossip sheet?”
“Yes, Lady Whistledown—a pseudonym of course. We believe she started writing the sheets around the 1813 season, and was most prolific between 1813-1817, but then she largely stopped after that time. She wrote about the ton with such a gimlet eye and with such detail that most people concluded that she could have only been one of them.”
“A covert agent.”
“Of a sort. Queen Charlotte was fairly obsessed with her and determined to find out who she was. There’s a diary entry from the London season of 1814, by a very incensed mama whose daughter was due to present formally to queen, but was prevented doing so because the queen had gotten a new scandal sheet from Whistledown mid-ceremony and subsequently cancelled the event.”
“Did Queen Charlotte ever find out the real identity of Lady Whistledown?”
“Never, but we knew she accused at least four or five people. Lady Whistledown played with fire and was not afraid to name names or restrict her teasing to non-royal members of the ton.”
Sal flipped through the folder. “You have so many!”
“Yes, a few years ago a house museum in London had found an almost complete set of these from 1813-1817 in storage and sent me the scans, but I’ve printed a handful of copies here that relate to my particular interests, which is the London season of 1814.”
“So the Bridgertons are featured in these sheets?”
“They were often the primary players, with some interesting omissions.”
Sal grabbed another biscuit as Alice continued.
“For example, in the 1813 season, the eldest daughter, Anthony’s sister, Daphne was named the diamond of the season and was of particular interest to Lady Whistledown. That season she was being courted by a number of gentlemen including the Duke of Hastings—an inveterate rake but also one of the most eligible men of the season. Daphne even was pursued by a Prussian Prince, Frederic, before reverting back to a very hasty marriage to the Duke of Hastings. Here, I have a photo of a portrait of the Duke and Duchess of Hastings.”
With this, Alice handed Sal the photograph. The Duchess of Hastings, Daphne, looked unbearably young to Sal, no older than nineteen she supposed. She was, nonetheless, the picture of a perfect English rose, while her husband, the Duke, seemed the very definition of tall, dark and handsome.
“But what about Anthony and Kathani?” she asked.
“Well, that’s where things get interesting”
Sal leaned forward, she certainly didn’t expect to find Alice's story so beguiling.
“Anthony actually was mentioned quite often in Whistledown’s papers ahead of 1814, the year that he married. She described him as a Capital R Rake, in fact.”
“Was he?”
“Well we mostly only have Whistledown to go by, but prior to 1814 he did have a long term mistress—a mezzo soprano named Siena Rosso. This is confirmed by his ledger, Anthony Bridgerton was quite diligent about taking care of the family accounts, and there were numerous records which implied a lady in a kept situation not residing in Bridgerton House”
“What happened to her?”
“Well the arrangement seems to have ended quite abruptly in the middle of the 1813 season. Siena Rosso then pops up in a few balls and soirees, but there’s little mention of her elsewhere—she was part of the demi-monde after all. Someone writing a book on the history of Convent Garden recently sent me a monograph of a performance of Gluck’s Orfeo and Euridice in 1815, when Siena Rosso stepped in at the last minute as Orfeo, her last major performance in England. Fascinatingly, we know for certain that Viscount Bridgerton and his wife were at this very performance—it was noted by Lady Whistledown herself. It must have occurred around the same time the portrait was made.
I’ve often wondered what it must have been like for both of them. Anthony, confronted by the woman he once possibly loved but could never marry and Kate, forced to watch the woman her husband had known intimately perform.”
“Do we know what happened to Siena after that?”
“I’m still searching, but there are no mentions of her after 1815 that I’ve found. An Italian colleague once opined a theory that my Siena Rosso might very well be the famed Italian soprano, Siena Tabaldi, who seemingly emerged as a star overnight in Milan in 1815, and had remarkably good command of English despite claiming to be from Padua. She—Tabaldi—that is, eventually married a Swiss Baron and retired from opera and lived a very happy life.”
Sal smiled. “I like that theory”
“Me too,” agreed Alice, sipping from her mug.
“So Anthony was an infamous rake before their marriage.”
Alice nodded. “Yes, but by the 1814 season, it seems that Anthony was preparing to do his duty and get hitched as it were.”
“He had sowed his last oats.”
“Indeed, but of course marriage was hardly a deterrent for infidelity in those days. Many men simply continued their arrangements with their mistresses or amours after marriage. Of course, women were expected to be unfailingly faithful”
Sal scowled at the double standard. She rather hoped Alice would not reveal that Anthony enjoyed a similar arrangement after his marriage. Alice anticipated her question.
“To be fair to Lord Bridgerton, not in Whistledown, not in his ledgers, letters from, to and about him, nor any of the fragmentary materials I have uncovered have indicated whatsoever any type of extra-marital liaisons—either by himself or by Kate. From the sources I have, I can see that they were remarkably faithful to each other.”
“Or very discreet.”
Alice laughed “Or that too. But we can discuss that later”
“Back to 1814”
“Yes. So it was wide public knowledge that Lord Bridgerton was in search of a wife this season. Whistledown mentions that his mother, Lady Dowager Violet Bridgerton herself announced his intentions at one of the earliest balls that season.”
“And so he did.”
“And so he did. But it certainly wasn’t straightforward.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well this is the remarkable thing: for much of the season our Anthony was not in pursuit of Kate. In fact, he was courting her sister.”
Sal choked on the tea she was sipping.
“Her sister!”
“Yes, Miss Kathani Sharma—as she was known before her marriage—had a sister, Edwina Sharma who made her debut that season.The Queen had dubbed Edwina the diamond of the season, and we can expect that Anthony, behaving like most very privileged young men, had decided that only the best would do, and sought to court Edwina. It’s one of the primary topics of Whistledown’s sheets that season.”
“So Anthony was courting Kate’s sister. How unfortunate. But I suppose eventually his attention moved on to Kate? Is there any indication about how Kate felt about this?”
“Well, quite a bit at the beginning. It seemed that Kate was very protective of her sister and was particularly against Lord Bridgerton marrying her. Whistledown writes of Kate as being rather like a fierce dragon protecting her egg against the horde of predatory suitors. But she appears to have at least settled in her dislike of Anthony Bridgeron, or rather that he bulldozed his way in his courtship because Lady Whistledown reported that the Sharmas actually stayed here at Aubrey Hall for a week before a wider party joined them, the clearest indication of Anthony’s intentions.”
“Maybe that’s when their rivalry turned into love. Surely Kate and Anthony would have become more acquainted during this time?”
“Perhaps. One gentleman noted in his diary that Kate was the single lady in a hunting party at Aubrey Hall that prematurely ended because of rain. It was noted as a highly unusual thing for a young lady to do, but the Bridgertons could be quite permissive in that way.
Of anything else or of more pertinent gossip, we don’t know because Lady Whistledown did not report on the party except for its outcome.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well Anthony proposed.”
“To Kate.”
“No, to Edwina”
This time, Sal really choked on her tea.
“No. He ACTUALLY PROPOSED? TO HER SISTER?”
“Yes, as they were all leaving to return back to London. Lady Whistledown reports that he knelt on the gravel entrance where we first met, and proposed to Edwina.”
“Poor Kate ”
“Well we don’t know how she was feeling. There aren’t any letters or records from her of this time. She didn’t keep a diary. Kate and Anthony were both quite inscrutable in that way. It’s as if writing about their life took time away from actually living it. I like to think it augured well for their life together, but of course it’s maddening for a historian.”
Sal sat back in her chair and whistled.
“Nah. I think they probably fell in love here. That it was here at Aubrey Hall they had learned to understand each other.”
“You think?”
Sal shrugged. “Yeah. Call it an instinct.”
Alice grinned conspiratorially.
“Well, if I’m being honest, though I can’t PROVE it, but I think so too. It’s the only theory that makes sense, knowing what happened next.”
“Well, what happened next?”
“So after the party at Aubrey Hall, Edwina and Anthony were engaged. The Queen was so delighted by the news that she insisted that she host the wedding herself. Lady Whistledown describes it in much detail. It was very grand, filled with peacocks and daytime fireworks for some reason.”
“But surely it didn’t come to that? The wedding, that is. Surely, one of them called it off.”
“Well remember gentlemen could not call off the wedding. So even if at this point Anthony wanted to, he couldn’t without incurring scandal. But the lady could end the engagement without too much fuss. But all reports were that Edwina was very happy with her imminent marriage. Though Whistledown reports it as if Anthony wasn’t quite so effusive.”
“Because he was in love with her sister. But if he was in love with Kate, why didn’t pursue her in the first place?”
“Oh I forgot to mention that. Edwina was Kate’s half sister. They shared a father - a U.V. Sharma, who began his career as a clerk to the last Raja of Satara, but had risen to quite a senior and trusted advisor by the end of his life. He died when Kate was sixteen and Edwina was eight, so by the time the sisters were twenty six and eighteen respectively, it seems like funds were quite low for the life that three unmarried ladies of society were accustomed to.
You see, Edwina’s mother was Lady Mary—a member of the ton, and Queen’s favourite, before she met Kate’s father. Her parents, the Sheffields, came from a long and august family, and had wiped their hands of Lady Mary when she ran off with Kate and Edwina’s father. So while Kate had a rather obscure background, Edwina was half a Sheffield and had breeding enough to warrant her eligibility by the Queen. You'll also note that by the time the Sharmas arrived in London in the spring of 1814, Kate was 26, a spinster.”
“I guess she was only two years away from Anne Eliot’s age at the start of Persuasion ”
“Exactly.”
“So, the wedding was organised by the Queen. Don’t tell me that Anthony and Edwina actually got married? Surely it didn’t get that far?”
“It practically did. Lady Whistledown had an absolute minefield of gossip that day. According to her sheet, and verified by some diary entries and letters from the ton in attendance, the engagement went all the way to the altar. Edwina, a bride all in white. Anthony, a groom. The queen, no doubt wearing some preposterous wig. Kate as maid of honour.”
Sal whistled again. “What a mess. If this was a tv show, I don’t think I could have survived the suspense. So what happened next?”
Alice took a long sip from her cup before continuing.
“So, it’s unclear because the families at this point seemed to be making considerable efforts to deflect the real reasons for the failed wedding, but somewhere in the middle of the ceremony—the vows, in fact—Edwina simply ran out of the church.”
Sal gasped. “No. Really? Why?”
“As I said, we don’t know the particulars. Francesca—one of Anthony’s younger siblings—wrote to a Miss Stirling in Scotland that Anthony seemed distracted throughout the wedding and she had felt rather sorry for Edwina as she would not like a bridegroom who was not completely attentive on his wedding day of all days.
A member of the ton, Lady Cowper, wrote to her sister that Kate had interrupted the wedding due to her ill breeding. Lady Cowper said Kate was fidgeting with a bangle that had dropped on the floor in the middle of the ceremony and distracted Lord Bridgerton because he had bent down to help her.”
“Aha!” exclaimed Sal. “I bet you that he was looking at Kate, begging her to do something. To extricate the three of them from this mess. She dropped her bangle out of stress and he could not help but assist her—right as he was marrying her sister!”
Alice laughed. “That’s an interesting theory.”
“What happened next?”
“Well all of the wedding guests were trapped on the Royal grounds for several hours before it was announced that the day’s events were well and truly futile. You can imagine that the Bridgertons and Sharmas were enmeshed in scandal as a result. The Queen was naturally very put out.”
“I can imagine. So how did Bridgertons and the Sharmas come out of it?”
“Rumours were rife, and again primary documents show that they were ignored by most of the ton. In fact, the two families had tried to throw a ball together at Bridgerton House—a Harmony ball—to show that they were united as one, with no scandal or ill feelings between the family. However, nobody seemed to have attended.”
“Because of the aborted wedding.”
“That, as well as the fact that second oldest daughter, Eloise, was reported by Lady Whistledown to be fraternising with political radicals decidedly not of her class.”
“What?!?”
“Yes, but that's another story altogether. As you can see, this single generation of Bridgertons could fill a whole family biography—if not two.”
Sal nodded.
“But back to Kate and Anthony. Surely with no other obstacle like being engaged to your lover’s sister, they got together soon afterwards?”
“Yes, but first Lady Whistledown reported that Kate suffered a horrendous fall from her horse the morning after the Harmony ball, and was in a coma for a week.”
“A week! She was lucky to survive.”
“Yes, according to Lady Whistledown it was Anthony herself who found and rescued her.”
“That’s VERY romantic. And very coincidental. Maybe they had arranged to meet?”
“It would be quite scandalous if that was the case. But I agree it was most coincidental.”
“So she married him because he saved her life.”
“Not quite, Lady Whistledown wrote that upon awakening from her coma it seemed Miss Sharma was determined to return to India post haste, sans Lord Bridgerton, but fate, or rather the Featherington Ball, had other plans.”
“Featherington?”
“Yet another story but one that has a particular connection to myself.” Sal made a note to ask Alice later.
“What happened at the Featherington ball?”
“In addition to Lady Whistledown, we have a few primary sources about the ball, diary entries from members of the ton, etc. It seems that Lord Bridgerton asked Kate to dance, which they did, and very well—with seemingly no eyes for anyone but each other. The ton were still disapproving and had left them alone on the dance floor until the Queen declared them a very handsome couple and demanded that the ton join them.”
“The Queen! How extraordinary. What caused such an about-face?”
“We don’t really know. Perhaps it was her fondness for Edwina and for Lady Mary. Perhaps she was remembering the early days of courtship with King George. Or perhaps Kate and Anthony were too compelling a couple to ignore. All we know is that after that ball, and the Queen’s tacit approval, Lord Bridgerton began to officially court Kate and they were engaged by the end of the month, and married by the fall.”
Sal, sighed. “What a story! Such drama. It’s like a soap opera, to be honest.”
Alice laughed. “Indeed. That’s why I’ve been so obsessed about this family as I’ve never been for anything I’ve researched before. Their connection to the Queen itself is fascinating, and of course what happened to Edwina.”
“Wait, what happened to Edwina?”
“She became a Princess! Do you remember Prince Frederic of Prussia who was briefly pursuing Anthony’s sister in 1813 before she married the Duke of Hastings? Well, he obviously took much credence of his Aunt, Queen Charlotte’s, opinion because he married the Queen’s diamond in 1815, with much pomp and ceremony. It is why we have any of Kate’s letters still with us. There are only a handful—but there were some efforts by the royal secretaries to preserve some of Princess Edwina’s correspondence.”
“So Edwina became a Princess? That’s amazing. I was wondering if she was ok. It must have been hard to see your ex fiance marry your sister.”
“Indeed. I haven’t read the primary resources yet, but the monographs I’ve read recounts a very happy and successful royal marriage—I believe they had six children—four boys and two girls.”
Sal laughed. “This is fantastic, Alice. Love triangles, ill-fated weddings, a Royal happy ending. But again, what of Kate and Anthony? Was that a happy marriage? You mentioned a few discoveries, the first was the Whistledown archive.”
Alice nodded and fumbled around the stack of folders until she found a red covered one, and opened it for Sal. Inside were scans of letters from elegant and confident hand. Sal inspected one.
“These are Kathani Bridgerton’s!” exclaimed Sal.
“Yes” said Alice, excitedly. “There aren’t too many that have survived, but from them we can glean certain personal details about Lady Bridgerton, the 9th Viscountess—that she was mad about horses and known to ride every day and that she and Anthony both loved music, opera especially. We also find out from the letters tidbits about the lives of all seven of Anthony’s siblings—their life together seemed filled with managing a rather rambunctious bunch. We also know that she and Anthony did visit Kate’s childhood home in Mumbai—they brought their two sons who were eight and six at the time, and were away from England for almost two years.”
“They travelled to India?”
“Yes, quite extraordinary. There’s a fine description by Kate to Edwina of bringing her sons to visit the river turtles in Bombay.”
“I would love to read it later. Did she mention Anthony much?”
“Indirectly, frequently. But the tenor of the relationship, the intimate details, no. I guess it will always be a little awkward to write to your sister about how much you love your husband, if your sister was once engaged to said man. But she does write something intriguing to her sister in a letter we have in 1836, as Edwina celebrated her own 20 year anniversary with her prince. I know it by heart because it is so strange and sweet. Kate writes of Anthony:
“There is not a day that Lord B vexes me, and sometimes more than once a day, and I thank the stars every night that he does so.”
Sal laughed.
“I think that’s romantic. I also think Kate means something else when she writes about Anthony vexing her. But what about Anthony? Are there any letters from him?”
Alice shook her head, a little wistfully. “No, he was even less of a letter writer than his wife. Only a handful of memorandums to his majordomo and secretary survive, a few speeches in parliament—that is the breadth of Anthony Bridgerton’s voice committed to recorded memory. You must remember that most of his family lived, for a vast amount of his life, in walking distance to him in Mayfair, and that even his sister, the Duchess, visited Bridgerton House once a week. He had no need of personal correspondence. His whole world, it seems, was his family.”
Sal felt a bit bereft by this revelation.
“But here.” With this, Alice opened another folder, this time scans of a ledger book. “This is where it starts to get really romantic. This is a ledger book he kept for expenses at Aubrey Hall.”
Sal noted the spiky but confident handwriting of what she assumed was Lord Anthony Bridgerton's.
Tulips - 2s
Lillies - 3s
The flowers were a frequent entry.
Pointing at the entries, Alice continued.
“It seems Anthony Bridgerton always had a perennial order for tulips and lilies for both Aubrey Hall and Bridgerton House. When in season, he ordered them week after week, year after year, until his death. After his marriage, Lord Bridgerton became very popular with the local florists of London.”
“How do we know they were for Kate specifically?”
“Good question. Well, we know from a description from another of Francesca's letters that Kate held a bouquet of tulips and lilies at her wedding, a tradition that continued for every Bridgerton bride—it still continues to this day. But also—and this is the clincher—there were expense entries of lilies soap to be delivered to anywhere that the couple were in residence—and this order seems to have started the very first year of their marriage.”
“So Kate smelled of lilies her whole marriage.”
“I suspect so,” Sal and Alice grinned at each other.
“But what of the tulips?”
“Well, that is less certain, but you do know in flower parlance, they represent deep love.”
Sal sighed wistfully.
“What else have you found in the ledger?”
“I found out that on their tenth anniversary, Anthony commissioned a portrait of Kate on horseback.”
“Another portrait of Kate? Can we see it? Is it here?”
At this question, Alice frowned and shook her head sadly.
“Do you remember when I told you that Bridgerton House was practically destroyed by the Blitz? Well the study was completely destroyed, leading to the erasure of priceless documents and family treasures, including the painting of Kate, which was said to have hung in the study until it was destroyed. I know this because fortunately someone had catalogued the family’s artwork in the 1920s and wrote some notes about each work. I’ll get it up here.”
Alice grabbed her laptop and started clicking and typing.
She pushed the laptop so that Sal could read for herself:
Viscountess Kathani Bridgerton on her steed, Darsha, circa 1824, oil
Commissioned by Lord Bridgerton on the couple’s tenth anniversary of their marriage, for his own private collection. A fine work by Mary Partridge, the painting depicts the Viscountess, astride on her horse in an early morning in Hyde Park.
Alice started to fiddle with her laptop again.
“So, the archivist also took photos of the artworks too, and we were able to find this one, of course, only in black and white.”
Sal peered eagerly.
The painting, though in oil, was smaller than expected. However, even in the grainy sepia photo almost a hundred years old, Sal could see that the painting was exquisitely detailed, like the Elizabethan miniatures that she so loved to look at in V&A. And here was Kate again, the same regal lady sitting on a snowy stead, her hair down in a loose braid.
Here her expression was one of mirthful challenge—as if she was ready to throw the gauntlet and demand the viewer race her. She was wearing a heavy cloak. She was, as the catalogue had described, sitting astride—unusual for a lady of her period and class. Sal zoomed into the photo and gasped. In the painting, on Kate’s left side, the painter had painted her dress lifted up to reveal a noteworthy expanse of brown thigh and a white stocking. The effect seemed very racy and incredibly intimate.
Alice chuckled at Sal’s reaction. “Quite shocking is it not? You now know why this painting was kept in an alcove of Lord Bridgerton’s study and not for public viewing.”
“I daresay. This is probably the regency equivalent of a nude pic. I wonder if Kate had her own equivalent mementos of Anthony?”
Alice smiled then, “Well, interesting you say that, it leads me to my two greatest discoveries, and indeed the two discoveries that started it all.”
“I don’t know if I told you but my initial plan for my second book was initially not about the Bridgertons at all but about my own family history.
You know, I mentioned that my mother’s side of the family arrived in the US in fall of 1814. That was my great, great, great, great grandfather, Jack Featherington - or Black Jack as he was known to most. He’s a bit of a folk outlaw in some parts, some say he scammed the entire Northeast coast of the country before settling near Boston and producing his first of three sons at the age of 50—but his favourite child was his only daughter, named Portia, who is my great, great, great grandmother.”
Sal was impressed. “You could definitely do a documentary on him. PBS would eat it up.”
Alice laughed, “Possibly, but the reason why I contacted the Bridgertons in the first place is that I myself am related to the Bridgertons through marriage. You see, one of Jack Featherington’s cousins, Penelope Featherington, married one of Anthony’s younger brothers, Colin and was a close friend of Anthony’s sister, Eloise,”
“The political radical”
“Yes exactly, the political radical, who the Queen once accused of being Lady Whistledown herself.”
“You do know there’s probably a book in there itself.”
“What is?”
“Exactly who Lady Whistledown was. You mentioned that the ton suspected that it must have been one of their own.”
“Did I? Well yes, I think that would be trickier to ascertain—it is believed that there may have been more than one person to take up the mantle of Lady W. But I am writing notes for that, yes.”
Sal, looked at her watch. “Shit, sorry Alice but it’s almost lunchtime and I promised my brother I would have his car back in London by 4pm. But before I go, I must know your two great discoveries.”
“Oh yes,” Alice took a deep breath.
“Well, I was searching for some primary documents by or about Penelope Featherington, or the Featheringtons in general, when Lord Bridgerton invited me to have a look at the records in Aubrey Hall’s library and perhaps even have a go at cataloguing some of its treasures.
So a couple of months ago, I was here rummaging through the library when I noticed something odd in the bookshelves. You see, my father used to read Daniel Defoe’s Robinson Crusoe and since his death I’ve been rather obsessed with collecting various editions of the book. I don’t know why exactly but it always felt like a nice tribute to him. Anyway, I now have a dozen really interesting versions of the book. Well to my surprise, I found not one but two copies of the novel here and so naturally I had to examine them. One of them was a first edition from 1719 (my kingdom for a copy), but the other was a very ordinary edition printed almost a hundred years later, and which I would have not minded so much except that it contained the most ordinary but also extraordinary things between its pages.”
Sal was transfixed. “What did you find?”
“A program, slightly crumpled but otherwise pristine condition of an opera performance of The Marriage of Figaro in the Royal Opera House in the London season of 1814, and a handkerchief embroidered A.B.”
“You don’t mean…”
Alice nodded excitedly.
“I mean, I can’t prove it. That it was Kathani’s or Anthony’s. That one of them kept this program and this handkerchief. I looked it up, the performance was held during the first half of the season, in fact—the week before Anthony was to wed Kate’s sister. There should have been no reason either would have kept this, or that it would be meaningful to anyone else.”
“So they were in love, even when Anthony was engaged to Edwina. Again, extremely messy, but also quite romantic and tragic?”
Alice shrugged. “This we can’t know, only speculate. But I do believe that Kate loved Anthony as much as he loved her, that theirs was not—as so many marriages were at the time—a marriage of utility, but an honest to goodness love match. And the reason I believe so is because of my last and most wonderful discovery.”
With this, Alice rummaged in one of her many totes to produce two pairs of white archivist gloves. She pointed her head at the two now almost empty mugs of tea and plate of biscuits, which prompted Sal to quick action, moving them to the windowsill, away from the contents of the table. Alice then produced a large folio tied with a faded green ribbon. She and Sal quickly put on the gloves.
She began, rather cryptically.
“I like to think of it as fate. If it hadn’t been for me wearing my 2nd favourite pair of earrings that annoyingly get loose if I shake my head too much, which they did when I sneezed here in the library. If I hadn’t had to go on my hands and knees to find my earring, if it wasn’t an usually sunny afternoon, and a particularly brilliant shaft of light was not illuminating a very thin sliver of light between the bookshelves, perhaps I wouldn’t have seen the ribbon, this ribbon, and what looked to have been something in between the bookshelves.”
Sal ran her gloved finger across the faded green leather and the gilt curlicues of the the folio cover.
Alice continued.
“Well Lord Bridgerton was so generous that he even allowed me to remove all the contents of that bookshelf, and even remove a section of the lower panel so that we could retrieve whatever this thing was wedged between the shelves. And I was fortunate that my instincts were correct. It could have been some receipts, so newspaper clippings, important indeed but nothing related to my search. Instead what I found was so remarkable that I can only see it as meant to be. That I was meant to find it. That this is my inheritance.”
Sal couldn’t wait “What is it?”
Alice carefully untied the ribbon and opened the folio,
Inside were sketches and watercolour studies, in glorious condition for they had not seen light for decades if not centuries.
Inside were sketches of a plump corgi, of a chubby baby with skin the colour of toffee, of a man with a strong nose, and slightly over large ears, asleep, said baby on his chest, of a young girl holding a bunch hyacinths, of an older woman holding violets, sketches of lilies and tulips, and then many of them: a man’s hands and forearms, a least a dozen sketches, in close up. Beautiful hands, and all the same man’s hands, for every sketch featured a hand bearing a small signet ring.
Sal wondered. “Was it the brother’s? Or do you think it was….”
Alice looked at Sal then, and Sal was both alarmed and moved that to see that Alice’s eyes seemed to be brimming with tears.
“There’s a copy of a letter from Princess Edwina thanking her sister for sending her a watercolour of her beloved Newton, Kate’s corgi when they were both Miss Sharmas. I remember the line:
“My darling Didi, your sketch of Newton reminds me of when we were no more than the two Miss Sharmas, fresh from India, before I was a Princess of Prussia and you a Viscountess. Sometimes, I miss those days, and everyday I miss you.”
Sal felt her eyes begin to water too. How they must have loved each other, these two sisters, so far away from each other for much of their adult lives.
“So Kate was a painter.”
“Yes, nothing more than a dabbler, the way so many talented women no matter their class were relegated to be. But I think she has talent and feeling.”
“And she loved Anthony.”
Alice smiled wryly. “She loved his hands, that is clear. But I think she also loved him, the man, deeply, irrevocably. As he loved her. It’s not academically rigorous to say that of course. Not a very historian-like thing to say, really. But like I said, I feel a tremendous certainty that my instincts are correct, even though I don’t necessarily have incontrovertible proof.”
“But here you have a wonderful record of a Viscountess’ inner life, the things she found beautiful. The people she loved.”
“Yes, we have so much of what life was like for men of this age. But hardly any details for women. These sketches really are the most wonderful insight.”
Sal blew out a long breath. She ought to take Nick and Tim out for dinner tonight. Nick had led her to a goldmine of a story. The BBC would lap it up, maybe she could get Amazon on it too.
“Alice, I think the documentary is a no-brainer, but all it depends on how quickly you can write the book and a general script.”
Alice, breathed in deeply. “Yes, I think I have most of the elements. A book would be good, but I think the story has legs by itself.”
Sal, looked at her watch again and muttered an expletive. “So sorry Alice, but I’ve got to head off if I’m going to avoid the Sunday afternoon traffic. I’ll be in touch very soon to go over the next steps. Thank you so much for this wonderful morning. It has been a dream.”
She extended her hand and found Alice shaking it warmly. Then Alice’s expression changed and she looked at Sal thoughtfully.
“You know it's interesting, the fact that you haven’t asked me the question, the one that most people ask.”
Sal was puzzled.
“What do you mean?”
“You haven’t asked me how they died.”
Sal shrugged. “I guess it’s the detail I like the least, that I don't really want to know the answer to. Please tell me they were able to live a long and happy life together.”
Alice smiled then. “They did. In fact Anthony Bridgerton lived until he was 85 and died peacefully in his sleep. And do you know? Kate followed him only a couple of days later, just as peacefully. They are buried here, in a grove next to the graves of Anthony’s father and mother. You should visit it the next time you visit.”
---
A year later, while the film crew were prepping a shot on the lawns, Sal made exactly that pilgrimage to Kate and Anthony’s final resting place.
She found that they shared a tombstone inscribed with the words:
Beloved forever, never forgotten.
Sal liked to think that, with this documentary she and Alice were ensuring just that promise more than 200 years later.
She laid down her bouquet of lillies and tulips.