Chapter Text
Every morning, the new Viscountess Kate Bridgerton sat in the drawing room of her new home and found herself marvelling that she could have forgotten, yet again, how riotous Bridgerton House truly was.
She supposed it made sense that she would be always forgetting, though. After all, Kate and her husband spent so much of their days sequestered in their bedroom, suspending time in a private oasis of peace and lovemaking, that all the noise of the outside world quickly faded away to nothing for her.
Now, however, she had to acknowledge with fresh amazement that her new siblings could often be downright ungovernable.
In this particular moment, Anthony and Benedict sat at a table together, sharing coffee and the morning paper. She could hear snatches of conversation about the estate in Kent and the newest vote from the House of Lords. Benedict was still updating Anthony on all of the things he had missed while he had been on his honeymoon. Kate could almost detect a note of wistfulness and even… was it pride coming from Benedict? Almost as though, despite his casual attitude and lazy smile, he had actually enjoyed managing the family in Anthony’s absence. Over the general din, she caught fragments of their conversation.
“—to repair the roof of the cottage—“
“—are expected to vote in favour of the trade restrictions—“
On the sofa beside Kate sat Eloise, who was ostensibly trying her hand at needlework at her mother’s request, but was in truth using more of her energy to rail against the practice in its entirety.
“…could be reading about the fate of Jane Fairfax, but no, must practice my needlework. Be sure to learn your running stitch, Eloise,” she muttered. Then, catching Kate’s eye, she added, “I wish the running stitch could run me far away from here.”
“I must say,” Kate spoke, holding back a laugh. “I admire your creativity. You seem to have invented a brand new stitch of your own. At least, that is not a pattern I am familiar with.”
Eloise held up the hooped fabric, showcasing hopelessly criss-crossed and jagged lines, which formed no discernible shape. “Oh, yes, I call this the ‘disaster stitch.’ I believe it shall make me famous one day.” She returned to stabbing her needle into the fabric over and over again with more violent force than was perhaps necessary. “I think I shall stitch myself and end it all. Put myself out of my misery.”
Kate couldn’t help the giggle that escaped her, and though Eloise may have glared at first, soon she joined in, laughing at her own absurdity.
“Ooh, I say, sister,” Benedict exclaimed, suddenly appearing over Eloise’s shoulder. He could sniff out an opportunity to provoke his siblings from a mile away. “That’s absolutely lovely work. A perfect likeness. It is supposed to be a self-portrait, is it not?”
“Kate! Kate!” Gregory popped up at Kate’s side while Eloise began swatting Benedict with her needlework at her other side. (At least she was not using the needle itself, Kate reasoned.) “I brought you a piece of morning cake, in case you’ve not yet eaten.”
Kate smiled fondly at him as he sat down opposite her, but before she could make a reply, they were interrupted by yet another disturbance.
“Gregory! That is mine,” came the angry voice of Hyacinth as she too appeared in the doorway. Caught, Gregory gave chase. Hyacinth pursued him behind the sofa, past Anthony at his table (nearly colliding with Benedict as he returned to his seat) twice around the piano, and out of the room. Gregory scampered away, cake still perfectly balanced on its plate.
Hyacinth, having successfully chased Gregory off, returned. Apparently she had not actually wanted the cake, but had merely coveted the seat across from Kate. She threw herself down onto the chair and began offering her own opinions of Eloise’s technique (safely out of her sister’s swatting range) and exchanging grins with Kate.
Still, not everyone was contributing to the noisy discourse. Francesca sat at the piano, practicing a particularly complex piece that Kate recognized as Beethoven. It sounded perfect to Kate’s ear, but Francesca must have been struggling with some part of it, for she kept returning to the same few measures over and over again.
“Is Colin not joining us this morning?” Hyacinth broke in suddenly.
“I’m sure our brother is merely reacquainting himself with London’s… beauties,” came Benedict’s cheeky reply from his seat at the table, where he was stretching his arms languidly. Anthony slapped his brother with the folded newspaper, and Benedict altered his course. “I suppose he ought to be here, regaling us endlessly with the stories of his travels.”
“The way he dresses himself lately, he ought to be pillaging and plundering on the open seas,” Eloise chimed in. (Kate thought she heard Eloise add the words “ridiculous pirate coat” under her breath.)
At that moment, Gregory reappeared, this time carrying a book written in Greek, asking Kate if she could help him to translate a particularly difficult passage. Of course, she made room for him on the sofa and began to help him to puzzle it out.
Once, her eyes made contact with her husband’s over Gregory’s head, and felt herself flush at the look of wondrous affection in his eyes.
But very soon, as if this family could not handle too many peaceful moments at once, Gregory abandoned his Greek passages in Kate’s hands and reached forward on an impish impulse to pull a ribbon right out of Hyacinth’s hair. She let out a scream and began to chase him in earnest around the drawing room.
Kate expected Anthony to scold them, but instead he just swiped at Gregory with his newspaper as he passed by, and turned to share a laugh with Benedict. Even amidst the shouting, Kate heard him say, “he’ll be grown soon enough and we’ll long for these days.”
It was a sweet, unexpectedly paternal thing to say, and Kate was touched. She smiled softly as she gazed at her beautiful husband, who was still deeply engaged in conversation with Benedict. Kate’s gaze happened to find Francesca’s. She was also smiling, and it warmed Kate’s heart even further.
Finally, Violet swept into the drawing room, and everything was set to rights. She first attempted to put Anthony in charge of Gregory’s behaviour, but he simply pouted up at his mother and said something about a meeting at Parliament, so she set her sights on Benedict instead.
Unfortunately, Benedict may have taken his mother’s instructions too much to heart, for he also joined in the chase, running after Gregory and Hyacinth as they scrambled out of the room.
“That is not what I meant,” Violet called after them. Turning to Kate, she said in an exasperated tone, “now I have three children running in the house. How is that helpful?”
Kate was laughing too hard to respond.
“Eloise, you are needed at the modiste today,” Violet went on seamlessly. “Francesca, you will be required to come as well, but I think not today. Madame Delacroix has only sent for Eloise today.” She narrowed her eyes at Eloise, who exaggerated a sigh. “Be ready to depart in five minutes, please,” she said before she left the drawing room again.
“I must go, too,” Anthony’s officious voice cut through the room. “I am expected at Parliament.”
He rose, folding the newspaper, and approached Kate where she sat next to Eloise. He bent down to kiss her, and she lifted her face to his expectantly.
“Must you, brother? In public?”
Eloise’s dry remarks were certainly effective at ruining the mood, but Anthony merely covered his sister’s entire face with his hand and kissed his wife anyway. Kate could hear Francesca laughing from her piano bench. Eloise swatted her brother’s hand away, and Anthony took his leave, grinning over his shoulder at Francesca as he went.
“Can you say you are helping me with my needlework to get me out of a trip to the modiste?” Eloise asked Kate hopefully.
Kate shook her head. “I would never dream of taking credit for such a masterpiece,” she said, gesturing to the mutilated scrap of fabric in Eloise’s lap.
Behind her, Kate again heard Francesca’s tiny laugh over the tinkling of the piano keys.
“Anthony?” Violet called as she reappeared in the doorway.
“I’m afraid he has already gone, Violet,” Kate replied.
Violet heaved a sigh. “Alright, dear. Well, when he returns home, could you please tell him I need to speak with him? Oh, and when you go over next week’s menu with Mrs. Wilson, please remind her that the Churchills will be joining us for dinner on Thursday at my invitation.”
“I have already seen to that,” Kate replied. “I have told the kitchen staff to prepare venison in their honour.”
Violet looked impressed. “Thank you, dear,” she said, before turning her attention to Eloise again. “Come, Eloise. Let us make haste.”
Eloise tried once more in vain to come up with an excuse to remain at home, but Violet eventually succeeded in shooing her daughter out the door.
And then all was quiet.
Even Kate felt the relief of the silence. She had always considered herself a rambunctious youth, and Edwina had certainly been no mouse, but Kate had never lived in a home quite as lively as this one.
Looking up, she shared a knowing grin with Francesca and, heaving an exhausted sigh, and she was rewarded with another little laugh from her sister-in-law.
And then Francesca returned directly to her music.
Kate wondered how the girl was faring this week. She remembered all too clearly the whirlwind of Edwina’s season last year — the queues of suitors winding through Danbury House, the endless appointments for balls, soirées, and dinner parties. But at least Edwina had seemed to shine in the face of all the attention she received. Francesca was more difficult to read.
Kate had made Francesca’s acquaintance last summer during her stay at Aubrey Hall. She had found the girl to be very pleasant. Though certainly quieter than the rest of her rambunctious family, she held her own among them. This season, however, Francesca was even more reticent than usual. Perhaps she was, in fact, finding the demands of the season to be overwhelming.
According to Violet, Francesca was taking quite a practical approach to the marriage mart. She was seeking companionship and cordiality, but what she was apparently not seeking was a love match. When Kate first heard this, she had wondered if perhaps Anthony had been a negative influence on his sister last year during his desperate attempts to evade love in his own marriage.
But no. No matter how closely she scrutinized her, Kate could not detect any cynicism or resentment in Francesca. She could detect no disillusionment with the idea of love, nor any disapproval of the marriage mart itself.
But then, what was going on in her mind?
It was so difficult to know for sure. Was Francesca merely inhabiting the role of the dutiful daughter? Perhaps, but she also seemed to speak freely and plainly to Violet when she did choose to speak. It did not seem as though she held back her true opinions.
Was she going through the motions in an effort to get it all over with as soon as possible? The marriage mart could be overwhelming. Perhaps Francesca simply wished to marry quickly and be done with her first (and therefore only) season.
Or was it something else?
For a moment, Kate merely sat and listened to the music Francesca was making. It was a beautiful tune, sweet and melodic in parts, strong and frenetic in others. After a while, Kate cleared her throat.
“Did you enjoy yourself at the ball last night, Francesca?”
“Yes, of course.”
Francesca met Kate’s eyes briefly, but she did not stop playing. Kate hesitated, placed Gregory’s book on the nearby table, and tried again.
“I believe I saw you speaking with Lord Fife and his friends?”
Francesca nodded. “Yes, they spoke to me.”
“And you danced with Lord Stanton, did you not?”
“I did.” Her fingers flew across the keys.
Kate had no wish to make herself irksome, but she found Francesca’s answers perplexing. She dearly hoped that Francesca knew she could confide in her if she wished. Kate was very familiar with the difficulties of feeling as though she could not speak her mind to those around her. Everyone needed a person to whom they could confide their true feelings and their hopes for the future.
Of course, Kate knew herself to be a formidable woman when the occasion demanded it. She had never held back her opinions, nor shied away from a challenge, nor failed to stand up for those dear to her. When her family required a leader, she had not hesitated to fill the role.
There was very little timidity in Kate’s nature.
But her truest thoughts? Her sorrows? The desires of her heart that she had locked up tightly inside herself? She had been much less forthcoming with those.
And what a disaster that had been.
Kate thought back to all the moments last year when her heart had been full to bursting with grief or longing, to all the moments when she had wanted to tell her mother everything, to cry in her arms, to unburden her heart and bridge the gap between herself and her family. But how could she? Her thoughts at that time had been a jumble, her heart a painful, snarled bush of thorns. How could she have ever ordered her thoughts in a way that would have enabled her to express them? And even if she had managed it, how could she bear to expose anyone else to them?
Once, the afternoon before the disastrous dinner with the Sheffields, Kate had come very close. She had begun a line of conversation with Mary that could have led her to taking her mother into her confidence. But the stretches of silence had not provided enough time to persuade her to speak, and the conversation had turned before she could force the words out.
Kate hoped Francesca did not feel that way. She hoped that the girl’s reticence was a choice, and not a prison sentence.
Rising from her seat, Kate moved to Francesca’s side, gesturing to the piano bench.
“May I join you?”
Francesca nodded, despite the look of surprise on her face, and she moved over slightly to make room.
She looked at Kate expectantly.
“Do not stop on my account,” Kate said kindly.
Francesca ducked her head. She returned her hands to the keys, this time playing a softer, less complicated sonata by Beethoven. Kate was pleased to recognise it as a song she herself was also familiar with.
For a time, Kate merely listened. She considered asking another question, but she could already feel herself becoming tiresome to Francesca. How many probing questions must the child answer in one day?
So Kate decided to try something different.
Putting her own fingers on the keys, Kate began to play along with Francesca.
Poorly.
“Do you play?” Francesca asked, her eyes widening.
“I learned the fundamentals of the pianoforte, just enough to help Edwina, but as you can see, my own abilities leave much to be desired.”
As if in proof, Kate’s fingers stumbled across the wrong notes, and she laughed at herself. Francesca, too polite to risk offending her new sister, merely smiled indulgently.
Acquiring mastery of a musical instrument required patience and a willingness to sit still to practice, and Kate had never truly been in possession of either. Still, she loved listening to music. She had loved it all her life. She appreciated the many shades of emotion music could communicate when played by a skilled hand.
The morning of her presentation, Francesca had played a funeral march, if Benedict was to be trusted. A rather dismal outlook on what ought to be an auspicious day, in Kate’s opinion. Yet Francesca had also performed the dirge with a playful impertinence while all her family had looked on helplessly. Perhaps it had been her own little private joke?
She wondered what Francesca was trying to communicate now.
Kate had never encountered any resistance when she trained Edwina. Edwina had been the perfect student, eager to learn, eager to please, eager to succeed at everything she tried. Francesca might simply require more patience.
Kate pushed her own hands through the unfamiliar movements, struggling to match Francesca in the simple melody, hoping her own poor excuse for musicianship would be enough to show her new sister that she was willing to hear whatever Francesca wanted to say, in words or otherwise.
Francesca led Kate through the steady, melodic tune for a moment longer, and then, quite abruptly, skipped over the middle of the sonata entirely, playing the third, livelier — much faster — movement. Kate’s fingers fell hopelessly behind Francesca’s, fumbling and twisting in all the wrong places of the intricate melody.
Turning in exasperation to the young woman sitting beside her, Kate was startled to see a cheeky little smirk on Francesca’s face. The girl was teasing her. Kate actually laughed out loud in surprise and relief.
She had broken through the barrier. Francesca was speaking to Kate. She was simply not speaking with words. She was communicating in her own way.
Well, two could play this game.
Kate returned her fingers to the keys and began to play a different song entirely. It was a beloved song from her childhood, a traditional song composed in India, which she felt sure Francesca would have never heard before.
Francesca paused her own playing, puzzled. She listened quietly for a few moments, and then began to accompany Kate once more. It was not perfect, nor was it true to the song’s original composition, but Kate was impressed to see how quickly Francesca integrated herself into the melody. It was something new, an infusion of two interpretations, but together they made a pleasant harmony.
Francesca was a remarkably fast learner. It was on Kate’s tongue to compliment her talent, but she felt unsure that it would be helpful. She was making more progress speaking to Francesca without words, after all.
So instead, they continued to play in silence, giggling together on the occasions when they fell out of step or when their hands collided accidentally.
It came as a shock to Kate when Francesca was the one who finally broke their silence.
“Did you teach your sister to play the pianoforte?”
For a moment, Kate was almost too stunned to reply. “I did,” she finally said. “Well, I was able to help her on occasion. Edwina’s talents far exceeded my own abilities very quickly.”
“And does she fare well in her new marriage?”
“She does,” Kate’s heart swelled with warmth and affection to even speak the words aloud. “She writes that she has finally met her match. That her husband appreciates her mind and spirit as much as her beauty and poise, which is what she truly wanted from a husband in the first place. She has found someone whose soul dances with her own,” she added, remembering the words she spoke at Edwina’s haldi ceremony.
Suddenly, Kate felt she could almost weep with missing Edwina. She was so thankful they had managed to heal the rift between them before they had to part ways, each sister on her own journey toward finding herself. Things would never again be the same as they had been, but the more Kate reflected on it, the more she thought that it was probably for the better. There was an honesty now, an equality, between them that had not been there before. They were well on their way to truly being the best of friends as well as sisters. Kate’s only regret now was that Edwina had made her home so very far away.
“I am pleased to hear she is happy in her marriage,” Francesca said, drawing Kate back into the present moment. Kate waited for more, but nothing came.
“As am I,” Kate rejoined. “For a time, I thought I had ruined her entire life by falling in love with your brother. I am still so very proud of the way she rose from the ashes of last season stronger than ever. She has found something real and true, better than anything I could have orchestrated for her. Certainly better for her than the arrangement she would have had with Anthony.” Kate shuddered at the very thought.
“Anthony did not love her,” Francesca mused. “He loves you. I could see it at Aubrey Hall, and I can see it now. It is in the way he seems to have come back to life. He made the right choice for himself.”
Francesca, though still smiling, fell quiet again. Kate fought the impulse to speak into the silence. She could tell Francesca wanted to say more. So she waited, taking her own hands off the keys as Francesca, as if from habit, returned to playing her original song.
After a long moment, Kate’s patience was rewarded.
“But then,” Francesca began hesitantly. “Anthony was always a passionate sort. Even when he held himself so distant, I knew it was there inside of him.”
Again, Kate held her tongue. Not for the world would she stop the flow of Francesca’s thoughts, as long as Francesca was willing share them.
“I am not like the others in my family,” she said at last, her eyes trained on her fingers as they flew across the pianoforte. “They are all such passionate people. And… shall we say, forthcoming,” she added with a wry smile. “I have often thought that passionate romance is for the passionate at heart.”
“And you think that does not describe you?” Kate ventured.
“I am passionate about music. But I would hardly describe myself as a passionate person.”
In the doorway, a flicker of movement captured Kate’s attention. She glanced over, only to meet the eyes of the dowager Viscountess. Silently, she placed a finger to her lips and retreated into the hall. Kate understood that Violet was giving them this time alone.
“Must a passionate person also be forthcoming?” Kate asked, returning her attention to the conversation at hand. “Are those traits always found together by necessity?”
Francesca abruptly took her hands off the keys, placing them in her lap. For a moment, Kate worried she had offended the girl, but no, Francesca merely seemed deep in thought.
“I know that when those men at the ball last night spoke to me, they were inspecting me,” she finally said. “And I am aware that I was found wanting.”
Once again, it took all of Kate’s strength not to speak. She wanted to argue the point, to list all of Francesca’s positive qualities, but she reminded herself that this was not her moment to speak. It was Francesca’s.
“I do not mind,” Francesca continued earnestly. “I did not much care for those gentlemen, either. But I do find it all rather… disappointing. I know that I am not very like the other debutantes. I know that it is not fashionable to prefer the quiet as I do. To eschew gossip and idle chatter. I know that I have nothing truly unique to add to most conversation, at least not by our society’s standards.”
She turned in her seat, facing Kate properly, her lovely eyes bright and expressive.
“You must understand, Kate. This does not trouble me. I am not seeking your pity. I have no wish to change myself for anyone. I like myself as I am. But I must be practical. I am aware that most of the gentlemen of the ton will not… understand me. I do not believe I shall ever encounter a man whose soul dances with mine, to use your phrasing. That is not what I seek. I believe I shall be content to find a husband with whom I can enjoy an amiable companionship.”
At last, Kate had a glimpse of Francesca’s feelings.
“I can very much relate to your concerns, Francesca,” Kate said, choosing her words carefully. “When I was much younger, I declared I would be a spinster because I believed that no man would ever want a wife as bold and brash as I. And much like you, I had no interest in altering myself for anyone. And then I met Anthony…”
She related the story of meeting Anthony on horseback one morning, not seeing any reason to hide that detail now. How Kate had tried to put him off! She had done her best to showcase her most disagreeable qualities: her short temper, her affinity for arguing, her sharp wit and even sharper tongue. And yet, not only had Anthony not been frightened off, he had seemed to enjoy her as much as she had begun to enjoy him. It had intrigued her, to say the least.
“You might be surprised to find that someone in this city can and will appreciate the unique qualities you have to offer,” she finished. “Although I do admire your practical approach to the marriage mart, I also know that it is an incredible gift to feel seen after being so long misunderstood. I certainly would like to see you married to someone who speaks to your heart in a language it understands.”
Kate saw a look of wistfulness pass over Francesca’s countenance. Kate thought perhaps that Francesca was interested, even curious about romance… that perhaps she would like to know the power of a great love. But the expression was fleeting. It only flickered there for a moment, and then it was gone.
“I am very practiced at keeping my own company, rather than depending on anyone else’s,” she said pleasantly, as though she were simply stating a fact. “I think I shall be content if only my husband is a kind man with whom I can share companionship. I do not believe I need to find a kindred spirit to have a happy life. I believe I am less likely to be disappointed this way.”
At these words, Kate felt a little sad. Still, she herself had certainly felt the same way about her own life before she met Anthony. In her youth, Kate had harboured no hopes for finding someone who would love her as she was. She would have been perfectly content in her life as a governess if love had not knocked her off of her feet. Perhaps Francesca would also be surprised by love this season. Or perhaps she would truly be content with amiable companionship.
“Well,” Kate said. “In truth, Francesca, there are many kinds of love, and some of them are certainly quieter than others. Only you can know what it is you are looking for, and one person’s idea of love may not look like another’s. The season can be overwhelming, but I have every confidence that you will find what you are seeking, and I hope you will not settle for less.”
Not wanting to intrude any longer on what little time Francesca would have to herself in the coming months, Kate stood up to leave. She felt a touch on her hand and turned back.
“Thank you, Kate,” Francesca said. Kate waited in case Francesca wished to say more, but nothing else came.
Then she squeezed the girl’s hand, and took her leave. She was not sure she had done enough, said enough, to let Francesca know that she had an ally. She wished to do more to make Francesca feel seen, to make her feel as though she mattered. To help her see that she was worthy of a great love of her own, no matter what form it took. But Kate was not sure what she could say that would help, and she had no desire to pester Francesca, or to place even more expectations upon her shoulders.
And then, just as Kate reached the drawing room door, she heard Francesca playing the tune Kate had just taught her. Turning at the familiar sound from her homeland, Kate’s eyes met her new sister’s. Francesca was smiling in a way that spoke directly to Kate’s heart.
This tune was a message. Francesca was thanking Kate for listening.
Kate was overjoyed. They had made a connection after all. Even for a moment, Francesca had felt seen, and now she was telling Kate that she saw her, too.
Not only that, she was playing this traditional melody, so dear to Kate’s heart, with a style and substance all her own. Francesca’s natural instincts guided her through the rhythm, and she added her own unique voice to the song. Kate smiled warmly, thinking how silly Francesca was to believe she had nothing special to contribute to society.
This girl had hidden depths. It would be very surprising indeed if there were not some wonderful man tucked away in the ton just waiting to appreciate — and fall in love with — every special and unique quality Francesca had to offer.