Chapter Text
Violet Bridgerton wasn’t old. Her children knew that. She hadn’t even hit sixty yet, and she carried herself with grace and energy that belied her years. But she was Mum. And in the Bridgerton household, that title carried certain unspoken rules—like not dating.
Gregory, being the youngest and the only one still technically living at home (though he spent more time at Lucy’s than at home these days), was naturally the first to notice any changes in Violet’s behaviour. That Saturday evening, he was sprawled on the living room couch, the Liverpool match blaring from the TV. Lucy was perched next to him, laptop balanced on her knees as she typed furiously, occasionally glancing up to comment on the game.
“Now, I won’t be back for dinner,” Violet announced, breezing into the room.
Gregory barely looked up from his phone. “That’s fine,” he muttered.
But Lucy’s head tilted up at the sound of Violet’s voice. Her future mother-in-law wasn’t dressed in her usual cozy sweaters or gardening attire. Instead, Violet was wearing a sleek navy dress that hugged her figure just enough to be flattering, paired with low heels and understated jewellery. Her makeup was subtle but polished, and her hair was swept into an elegant twist.
“Lucy, could you do this button for me?” Violet asked, turning to reveal the top button at the back of her dress.
“Of course,” Lucy said, setting her laptop aside. She stood and fastened the small button, her curiosity piqued. “Where are you going all dressed up, Mum?”
Violet hesitated for the briefest moment, then decided there was no use hiding it. “Dinner with Marcus,” she said lightly, smoothing her dress and checking her reflection in the nearby mirror.
“Marcus?” Lucy repeated, glancing at Gregory.
“Anderson,” Violet clarified. “Agatha’s brother.”
Gregory’s head shot up at that. “Is it a date?” Lucy asked, her voice curious but calm.
“Gross. No,” Gregory answered quickly, grimacing as if someone had suggested putting pineapple on a pizza.
Violet turned to face him, her expression cool but amused. “And what exactly would be so terrible about me having a date, Gregory Bridgerton?”
Gregory sat up straighter under her piercing gaze. “Oh, nothing,” he said quickly, raising his hands in surrender. “You look great, Mum. Enjoy yourself.”
Violet gave him a long, knowing look before reaching for her coat. “I don’t think I’ll be back late,” she said, slipping it on. Then, in a move that was so quintessentially Mum, she leaned down and kissed the top of Gregory’s head before sweeping out of the room.
As the sound of her heels faded, Gregory turned to Lucy, his face a mix of confusion and mild horror. “Is it a date?” he asked again, as if Lucy might have cracked some secret code in Violet’s tone.
Lucy shrugged, suppressing a laugh. “I think it might be.”
Gregory shuddered, throwing himself back onto the couch. “Ugh. That’s so weird. Mum dating. It doesn’t seem right.”
Lucy smiled softly, closing her laptop and nudging Gregory’s leg with her foot. “You know she’s been alone practically your whole life, right? Don’t you think she deserves to find someone?”
Gregory sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. He hadn’t thought about it like that. “I guess. But still… Marcus Anderson? Isn’t he like… old?”
Lucy raised an eyebrow. “He’s probably around her age if he’s Agatha’s brother.”
Gregory groaned. “This is going to be so weird.”
Lucy laughed, leaning against him. “Maybe. But think about it—she’s happy enough to go out and try. That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”
Gregory thought about it for a moment. His mother had spent decades caring for all eight of them, putting her own happiness aside to make sure they grew up in a house full of love and warmth. Maybe it was time for her to have something for herself.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he muttered.
Lucy patted his arm. “Good. Now let’s finish this match and try not to think about it too much.”
Gregory nodded, though he couldn’t shake the image of his mum sitting across from some guy, laughing and flirting. He shuddered again, but this time, a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
The next three Saturdays unfolded in much the same way, each more puzzling than the last. Gregory would find himself loitering in the living room, pretending to scroll through his phone or half-watching the TV, his attention really fixed on the driveway. And today was no different.
“Should I go out to him?” Gregory asked, standing by the window, his arms crossed. He was peering out at the same sleek black car that had become a regular fixture on Saturday evenings. Inside sat Marcus Anderson, as calm and collected as ever.
Lucy looked up from her spot on the couch, her lips twitching into a smirk. “And do what exactly?”
“Ask him what he’s doing with my mum,” Gregory said matter-of-factly, though his tone betrayed a mix of suspicion and mild irritation.
Lucy stretched and got up, moving to stand beside him. “And what would you say? ‘Hi, I’m Gregory Bridgerton, fully grown adult, and I demand to know your intentions toward my mother?’”
“That’s exactly what I’d say,” Gregory muttered, though his confidence wavered as he said it.
Lucy raised an eyebrow, her smile turning mischievous. “I’m not sure if you’d want to know the answer.”
Gregory turned to her, narrowing his eyes. “Why?”
“Because what do we do when we’re alone?” Lucy teased, crossing her arms and cocking her head.
Gregory recoiled as if she’d just thrown a cold bucket of water on him. “Ew. Gross. Gross. Gross. Why would you even say that?” He threw his hands over his ears as though to block out the thought.
Lucy couldn’t hold back her laughter. “I’m flattered that the idea of us is so repulsive to you!”
He shot her an incredulous look, shaking his head like a disgruntled teenager. “Not us! You know what I mean. Her! Mum. Dating. It’s weird.”
“It’s only weird because you’re making it weird,” Lucy said, patting his arm. Then, a playful glint flashed in her eyes. “Want me to go out and invite him in for a drink? If your mum’s not ready yet, he might like to stretch his legs.”
Gregory spun around, horrified. “You wouldn’t.”
“Oh, I would,” Lucy replied sweetly, already heading for the front door.
Gregory darted after her, grabbing her arm just before she reached the handle. “Lucy, don’t you dare.”
She looked back at him, feigning innocence. “What? I’m just being polite.”
“Mum would kill me. No. Worse—she’d scold me. And then he’d just sit there all… suave and charming while I have to make small talk. No way.”
Lucy chuckled, stepping back. “Alright, alright. But you need to chill, Gregory. Your mum’s a grown woman, and she’s allowed to have a life.”
Gregory sighed and leaned against the doorframe, glancing back out the window. “I know. I just… it’s hard to picture her with someone. Especially someone not Dad.”
Lucy’s expression softened. She reached up to touch his arm. “That’s understandable. But it’s been a long time, and she deserves to be happy. Don’t you think?”
He nodded reluctantly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, I guess.”
Just then, Violet appeared at the top of the stairs, her heels clicking against the polished wood as she descended. She looked radiant in a deep burgundy dress, her hair styled in soft waves.
“Am I presentable?” she asked, smoothing the front of her dress.
Gregory looked her over and frowned. “Why do you look like you’re going to the Oscars?”
Violet gave him a sharp look. “Because I’m having dinner, Gregory. Not joining you in front of the TV to watch football.”
Lucy stepped in, grinning. “You look lovely, Mum.”
“Thank you, dear,” Violet said, smiling warmly at Lucy. Then she turned to Gregory. “Stop scowling, or your face will stick that way.”
Gregory opened his mouth to retort but thought better of it, crossing his arms instead.
Violet grabbed her coat and purse, giving both of them a final glance. “Don’t wait up,” she said breezily, stepping outside and closing the door behind her.
Gregory sighed dramatically and flopped onto the couch, dragging his hands down his face as if the weight of the world had just landed squarely on his shoulders. “This is going to take some getting used to.”
“You’ll survive,” Lucy teased.
Gregory gave her a skeptical look. “Will I, though? Because I’m not sure my fragile psyche can handle this level of trauma.”
Lucy laughed softly and leaned over to poke his arm. “Oh, stop being so dramatic. Your mum deserves to have a life, and you know it. You’re just being protective.”
Gregory groaned, letting his head fall back against the couch. “It’s weird, Luce. Really weird. And now she’s out there… with him. Doing what? Laughing at jokes? Sharing dessert? Holding hands? Ew.”
Lucy rolled her eyes, a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth as she watched Gregory squirm. “You’ll get over it. Trust me. Give it a few weeks,” she said, her voice full of mock sympathy.
Gregory shot her a dark look, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Not helping,” he grumbled, flopping back against the cushions.
She leaned in closer, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Well,” she began, her tone slow and deliberate, “how about we stop worrying about what your mum is doing, and I see if I can make you forget all about her boyfriend?”
Gregory’s head snapped up so quickly that he nearly gave himself whiplash, his eyebrows climbing toward his hairline. “Please. I’m begging you,” he said, the tiniest trace of a hopeful smile curving his lips.
Lucy’s grin widened, and she dropped her voice to a low, teasing whisper. “Last one to your room has to stay dressed.”
The words had barely left her mouth when she sprang from the couch, agile as a cat, her laughter echoing in the living room as she bolted toward the stairs.
For a split second, Gregory just sat there, stunned, before the challenge fully registered. Then, with a loud groan, he scrambled to his feet. “Not fair!” he yelled, already sprinting after her.
Lucy was quick, but Gregory had the advantage of longer legs. She hit the staircase first, her laughter bubbling up uncontrollably as she skipped two steps at a time. “You’re slow!” she called over her shoulder, glancing back to see him charging after her like a man possessed.
“Slow? You won’t be saying that in five seconds!” Gregory shouted, lunging to grab the banister and using it to propel himself up the stairs.
Lucy let out a squeal as she reached the landing, darting down the hall and fumbling with the handle of his bedroom door. “Cheater!” she accused, laughing so hard that she could barely get the door open.
Gregory caught up to her just as she slipped inside, his hand catching the edge of the door. “You don’t stand a chance,” he declared, his breath coming in short bursts.
Lucy whirled around, backing toward the bed, her eyes alight with playful defiance. “Looks like I’m winning to me,” she taunted, her voice sweet and teasing.
Gregory shut the door behind him with a quiet click, leaning against it with a triumphant smirk. “We’ll see about that.”
The room was suddenly charged with an electric energy, their laughter fading into a more intimate silence. Lucy stood in the middle of the room, her cheeks flushed and her chest rising and falling with each breath.
“Alright,” she said, her voice softer now but still full of that playful edge. “What’s your next move, Bridgerton?”
Gregory’s smirk grew, his eyes locking on hers as he closed the distance between them in two deliberate steps. “Oh, I’ve got a few ideas,” he murmured, his voice low and suggestive as he made her move backwards until her legs were pressed against the bed.
Lucy raised an eyebrow, tilting her head with mock suspicion. “Do they involve you admitting defeat?”
“Not a chance,” he said, wrapping his arms around her waist and leaning forward so the both fell on to the bed.