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“What the…?” Benedict’s voice fades out, standing by the window.
“What is it, my love?” you ask mildly, taking a bite of toast as you read the newspaper.
“Thomas… he is running full pelt down the lawn… absolutely nude,” he answers, perplexed, “…. and there goes Abigail…” he adds, referring to your nanny, “she can barely keep up, poor thing.”
Wiping the toast crumbs from your fingers onto a serviette, you get up, walk over to join your husband at the window, and have to stifle your giggle behind the back of your hand as you observe the tableau before you.
Out in the early morning sun is your youngest child, now four, running circles around his nanny, giggling loudly. As naked as the day he was born.
“You know you could go help her. Round up your son?” you twist your mouth into a bemused pout and look up at him, bumping him gently with your shoulder.
“She seems to have it in hand,” he responds as you both watch her change direction and fool Thomas, catching him and picking him up to bring him back indoors. “I do hope this doesn’t become a habit,” Benedict comments airily as you retake your seats at the breakfast table.
“What makes you think it would?” you frown.
“No reason…” he responds, a little too hasty.
Something in his tone makes you think there may be more to that story.
_____
“Mummy, Thomas has taken all his clothes off again.”
“Amelia, what are you talking about? And what do you mean by ‘again’?” you question your daughter as she throws herself into the chair next to yours on the terrace outside your home.
“He is always doing it, Mummy. Last week he lost a game of tag and took off his clothes in protest. Nanny Abigail had to give him bonbons to put them on again before you and Daddy got back from your walk,” she breezes, pushing a strand of hair from her face.
“Hmm, I never heard about that.”
“Well, now he’s done it again,” Amelia rolls her eyes.
“Where is he?” you ask.
“He’s down by the fish pond. He’s upset about something,” she shrugs.
“And his answer was to take his clothes off?” you check.
“Apparently,” she says dryly, with an almost world-weary expression of someone who has seen such a thing far too many times.
“Let’s go find out what is going on, shall we?” you offer your hand to your daughter and round the garden to the pond where sure enough, your son is naked—and looks absolutely furious.
“Thomas,” you call gently, “what on earth is the matter, my love? And why are you without your clothes?”
“Frogs.” He opines—as if that one word explains everything.
“Explain to me, please, and put your clothes back on.”
“Do not want to,” he pouts.
“That was not a suggestion, Thomas,” you warn firmly and raise an eyebrow. All your children know better than to argue when you use that tone.
Thomas stomps back to the pile of clothes and starts to redress with tantrum-like dramatic flair, and again, you have to stifle your giggles about his antics behind your hand.
“Now come here, my love,” you kneel now he is back in his shirt and trousers, holding your hands out wide for a hug, “and tell me what the problem is.”
“The tadpoles are not frogs yet, and Daddy said they would be soon. I want to see frogs Mummy,” he huffs into your shoulder as he accepts your embrace.
“Of course, Thomas. As soon as they are frogs, Daddy will show you. But why did you take off your clothes?”
He just shrugs as if even he doesn’t know why.
“Next time, rather than take off your clothes, please find me or Daddy, and we can talk about whatever is upsetting you,” you soothe.
“Alright,” he grumbles mutely.
_____
Later that night, as you lie in bed, you raise it with your husband.
“Thomas took off his clothes again,” you comment casually.
“Why?” Benedict puts down his book and frowns deeply as if he appears very troubled by the idea.
“He was upset about the tadpoles not being frogs,” you sigh, nonplussed.
“And his answer was to remove his clothes?”
“Yes.”
“What did you tell him?”
“To come and speak to you or me before taking off his clothes next time.”
“Let’s hope that works,” Benedict hums thoughtfully. Again you get the sneaking suspicion there is something he is not telling you.
_____
You are hosting a party the following week with all the Bridgerton clan visiting your cottage when it happens again. The dinner table chat is lively and convivial as dessert is served. Suddenly the door swings open, and in runs your youngest son.
“Mummy, where is MooMoo?” Thomas calls loudly, asking about his favourite cow toy.
Everyone stops talking, their attention drawn to your child, completely unphased by his audience as he stands there. Once again, completely naked.
Hyacinth snorts so loudly that apple juice shoots out of her nose just as Benedict slumps his head into his hands, mortified. As you go to stand and move him, Abigail bursts through the doorway, out of breath.
“My sincerest apologies, my lady,” she puffs, “he managed to unlock the nursery door somehow,” she adds very contritely, curtseying and picking Thomas up, bundling him out of the room before you can reply.
“Apologies for the interruption, everyone,” you call a vaguely embarrassed smile painted on your face as you gesture for them to continue talking as they were before.
Conversation restarts, but as you take your seat at the far end from Benedict, you notice that Violet sitting next to you is trying valiantly but failing to control a bout of silent giggles. When she sees you looking at her, she attempts to school her expression and calm herself to speak.
“Oh my. I was wondering if this would ever come to haunt my darling son,” she stutters between laughs.
“What do you mean?” You ask, genuinely baffled.
She clutches her sides and dabs her eye. “Your husband was quite the nudist himself as a child,” she says drolly. “He would embarrass Edmund and me by bursting into soirées completely without his clothes. And he was so fast no one could ever catch him, the little scamp.”
Your eyes drift to Benedict at the head of the table, who looks deep in conversation with his eldest brothers, almost like he knows what his mother is saying and wants to look very much otherwise occupied to avoid the topic.
“I KNEW IT!” you exclaim quietly. “He keeps saying things like ‘Oh, I hope this doesn’t become a habit’… I just knew there was something he was not telling me,” you shake your head as Violet continues giggling in sympathy. “How on earth did you get him to stop?!” You quiz with a touch of desperation.
“He grew out of it,” she shrugs, reaching over to pat your hand, “I’m certain Thomas will too.”
“And in the meantime, I just need to accept this will happen?!” you decry.
“Or a stronger lock on the nursery door,” Violet suggests, giggling louder.
Just then, Benedict glances down the length of the table to you; you shoot him a look of daggers that makes his brow knit in confusion.
_____
“What was that look for?” Benedict asks as you guide your guests into the parlour after dinner.
“Thomas. It’s all your fault, this nudity thing,” you scowl.
He has the decency to look contrite. “Mother said something?” he guesses, looking sheepish, folding his lips under his teeth and averting his eyes.
“Yes, she did,” you volley, “why did you not inform me?”
“I did not think such things would be inherited!” he argues defensively.
“Well, I need you to think back. What would have stopped you from doing this when you were a child? Your mother seems to be under the impression nothing can be done. That we should merely wait for him to grow out of such behaviour….”
“I… was three… I honestly cannot recall,” he confesses.
You sigh. “Fine, but next time this happens? It is all upon you, husband.” You raise an eyebrow indicating the finality of your opinion on this topic.
“Understood.” he nods, chastened.
_____
The following day you are all gathered around the lake, having a relaxed afternoon watching the children all playing together spiritedly - Simon and Daphne’s, Kate and Anthony’s, as well as your own.
Isobel and Amelia tag out of the games and come to sit with you under a parasol with Violet.
“Hello, darlings,” you kiss them both on the head as they snuggle against you, panting a little from their gameplaying, reaching gratefully for the glasses of water laid out for them on the little table behind.
“Mummy,” Amelia begins, “why did Daddy just give Thomas bonbons and tell him he can have more if he keeps his clothes on?”
Out of the corner of your eye, you can already see Violet shaking with laughter behind the back of her hand.
“He did what?!” you cannot prevent your outburst.
“It is bribery, Amelia,” Isobel pipes up, ever your family’s straight-talking lawyer.
“If I take off my clothes, do I get more bonbons, Mummy?” she asks, twisting to look up at you with fluttering eyelids.
“Most certainly not!” you scoff. “Girls, please remain with your grandmother here,” you add, brushing your dress and going to stand up.
“BENEDICT BRIDGERTON!!!” you yell sternly, striding purposefully towards him, your irritation barely contained.
As you walk through the assembled family, they all move aside, smirking, already knowing what is about to happen. If there is one thing the Brigerton men are known for, it’s their spirited wives.
“Now, ladies,” Violet leans in to whisper with her granddaughters, “pay great heed to your mother. If there is one thing that a man must know, it’s when he has done something unacceptable to his wife.”
“Daddy said he likes it when Mummy tells him off,” Amelia answers, between gulps of water, watching you remonstrate with Benedict as he looks suitably chastised.
“When did he say that?” Violet inquiries intrigued.
“I heard him say it once when they were in bed and wrestling noisily,” Amelia sighs, matter-of-fact.
Violet turns bright red and almost chokes on her tea.
“I had left the nursery to ask for biscuits when Nanny Abigail was sleeping, but they didn’t hear me, so I just went and got some from the kitchen myself,” Amelia continues, finishing her story with a shrug.
“The lock on the nursery is broken, by the way, grandmama,” Isobel adds, as if sensing this is the right time to announce such a thing.
Just then, Thomas wanders over, fully clothed for once. “Grandmama, more bonbons, please?” he grins toothily, nodding to the glass jar next to her, his eyes so hopeful.
Some family moments are very entertaining indeed.