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The Viscount’s study scarcely felt as if it belonged to Anthony alone. Or at all, for that matter. Nor did the title of Viscount Bridgerton. Although six years had gone by, paced akin to grains of sand slowly sifting through an hourglass, slowly yet surely, a part of Anthony still expected to turn and see his father standing there when someone called for Viscount Bridgerton.
But his father had passed, leaving Anthony to tend to all the duties he had done in a seemingly effortless manner. Ledgers, paperwork, and matters of those sorts were as simple as a promenade in the park in comparison to the most tedious task of all; managing his family. With his Mama’s return from the frail state her husband’s death left her in, Anthony was fortunate enough to have his younger siblings fall back under her care.
Well, for the most part. Disciplining the boys had become his responsibility along with the many others. His sisters’ possessed the delicate sensibilities of ladies, though both he, along with the rest of his siblings, would disagree when it came to Eloise. His brothers, on the other hand, were capable of getting into the rambunctious mischief their sex afforded them.
Anthony was no stranger to discipline. He had been turned over his father’s knee many times as a child. Not nearly as much Benedict, regardless of what his brother may claim, of course, but enough to know how to wrangle a naughty lad.
The girls, however, he was happy to leave to his mother. His sisters seemed content with the arrangement, with the exception of his littlest sibling.
“Hyacinth,” the stern tone he ought to have taken with a chastised child who’d slipped out of bed and crept into the study, failed to come out as anything but fond. “You are meant to be asleep, are you not?”
Hyacinth squirmed at the reminder. Even still, she dared to venture further, letting the door shut behind her as she shuffled closer to Anthony.
Anthony pushed the armchair back slightly, creating enough space for his sister to wedge herself between the desk and himself. Hyacinth’s little hands gripped onto the leg of Anthony’s trousers, fisting the fabric nervously. “Mama smacked me.”
This, Anthony knew. Hyacinth’s wails, borne from shock rather than genuine pain, echoed across her chambers down the halls. He rested a hand atop her head, smoothing it down. “Were you behaving?”
The answer was given sans response. Anthony’s siblings possessed a wide range in ability when it came to hiding their guilt. Gregory, naturally, and Colin, though his younger brother loathed to admit it, were pitifully poor at deception. Daphne, on the other hand, could lie as sweetly as she played the pianoforte.
Hyacinth took after their brothers, much to his relief. Although that could be a trait of her age rather than of her character. Her quiet sulking told Anthony that she knew Mama had reason to spank her, even though she loathed the consequence.
Hands wrapping around her midsection, Anthony sat Hyacinth on his lap, her bum hanging off the side to prevent contact with his leg. Hyacinth wiggled, adjusting herself, before settling. She peered up at Anthony with those wide doe eyes of her. “Are you cross with me, brother?”
“No. Neither is Mama.” He assured her.
“But she smacked me!” Hyacinth’s whinged complaint sent a bolt of amusement through Anthony. He, too, had been certain it was the end of ends when his father had taken him to task at her age.
“Mama has smacked your siblings too.” Anthony hummed, stroking Hyacinth’s hair. “And she has not remained cross with any of them, has she? Well, perhaps Eloise.”
His remark succeeded in brightening Hyacinth’s mood. The child giggled, no longer sulking. “But not you.”
“Oh, most certainly me.” Anthony countered. “Both Mama and Papa gave me my fair share of hidings.”
Hyacinth gaped. Evidently, she was baffled by the notion her indomitable eldest brother could be smacked as if he were a mere child. She tilted her head. “Papa?”
“Yes.” Anthony affirmed. “And Mama. More frequently than I care to admit.”
“But you’re too big!” Hyacinth squeaked.
He chortled at her naivete. Her cheeks puffed up into a pout, catching onto his bemusement. Unable to resist, Anthony poked the right side. “I have not always been big, Hyacinth”
“You are the Viscount.” Hyacinth insisted. “It is why you have your study.”
“I have not always been the Viscount. And this has not always been my study. It used to be Papa is before me, for he was Viscount before me. Just as his father before him.”
Mystified, Hyacinth glanced around the room. The grim realization that to Hyacinth, this was and always had been his study, set in to Anthony. It made sense. Hyacinth had never known their father, much to the sorrow of Anthony, their siblings, and especially their mother.
“He used to let me, and the others, play here while he worked on his ledgers.” Anthony recounted. The memory, although distant, washed over him pleasantly. “Occasionally, he would attempt to go over them with me. I was never keen on doing so, though.”
He would now. Anthony would trade all the play and running around as a carefree child he had done for just one more moment sitting with his father in the study.
“It was also the room where he smacked me.” The corners of Anthony’s mouth curved upwards. Hyacinth whipped her head back to look up at him.
“Gregory said you smacked him here.” Hyacinth whispered, fiddling with her nightgown. She clasped her hands over mouth suddenly.
“I shan’t tell him you told me,” promised Anthony, tugging on a loose lock of her hair. He really ought to have a conversation with the boy, though. Specifically regarding what is appropriate for the ears of one’s younger sister.
“Will you ever smack me?” Hyacinth’s question caused him to splutter.
“That is Mama’s job. And I would wager she has done it well.” He replied.
Hyacinth nodded, face scrunching in distaste. “It hurt.”
“As it is meant to.” Anthony said smoothly. “And will you behave rudely to Mama again?”
“Never!” Hyacinth swore earnestly. “I shall never behave rudely and get another smacking again.”
Anthony smiled. He doubted the latter part, but believed in Hyacinth’s commitment to behave. She was sweet, with an occasional streak of mischief when paired with Gregory, but never rude. Not truly.
“Did it hurt when Papa smacked you?” She wondered.
“A proper smacking will always leave one sore and repentant.” But never bruised, was the phrase Edmund Bridgerton had preached to his children. It was true, every spanking Anthony had earned left him remorseful with a sore bottom, but never genuinely hurt or bruised.
“Even more than Mama smacking me?”
“A smacking from either Mama or Papa could have hurt far more than the smacking you received.” Anthony told her. “Mama used her hand sparingly with you, and she didn’t even bother with the hairbrush.”
“Hairbrush?” Hyacinth echoed in horror.
Horror was the appropriate response. The wooden hairbrush Mama favoured when any of the Bridgerton children were particularly naughty left a nasty sting in its wake.
“Mama once used it with me after I had been a right terror all week. What sealed my fate was a cruel jest I played on Daphne.” Anthony mused. “I stuck a frog down her back. It seemed amusing at the time, but it was a terribly unkind thing to do. Daphne loathed them, and I knew I was wrong for it when she cried.”
“You made her cry?” Hyacinth’s eyes widened. Anthony, her eldest brother who protected her from Gregory’s reign of terror, making her eldest sister cry? It was unthinkable.
“I regretted it immediately. And Mama made sure I would not forget that regret.” His arse was terribly sore afterwards, but it was nothing in comparison to how rotten he felt after making Daphne cry.
“Mama used a slipper on Eloise. I saw it.” Hyacinth’s confession spilled from her lips before she could think better of it.
Anthony’s eyes narrowed. “Hyacinth Bridgerton.”
“I did not mean to!” She squirmed.
“You would not enjoy having Eloise watch you being smacked, would you?” Anthony’s brow arched. Hyacinth shook her head vigorously. “I do not wish to hear of you peeking in on things you are not meant to see.”
Hyacinth mumbled her apology, pressing her face into Anthony’s chest. He softened immeasurably, as he always did for his youngest sibling.
Opting to debase himself further to garner a smile, Anthony spoke. “Mama used the slipper on me, Papa as well.”
Hyacinth shifted. Sighing, Anthony continued. “Mama did not as often as Papa. However, Papa disciplined me more than Mama did, as I handle Gregory and Colin, and Mama handles you and our sisters.”
“The slipper hurts less than the hairbrush, which was only used when we did something particularly cruel or irresponsible.” Anthony said. “Though, I doubt either is something you should concern yourself with.”
The entire family– with the exception of Gregory, who saw Hyacinth more as a playmate than the baby of the family– tended to be softer regarding Hyacinth. Such was the territory that came along with being the youngest, as well as a girl.
“Promise?” The hopeful look she gave him was almost enough for him to cast all the slippers in the estate into the fireplace.
“I cannot promise you that for certain,” Anthony said instead. “But I swear that you may always seek comfort with me afterwards.”
Hyacinth snuggled into his chest. She nudged him. It only took a moment for Anthony to understand what she wanted. With another sigh, he continued to regale her with tales of his boyhood mischief and the ensuing consequence.
“Once, I stole Papa’s rifle to practice shooting. I had gone to Eton for a few years by then, and thought myself a man grown. I was roughly Colin’s age, which makes the assumption seem rather foolish in hindsight. I was allowed to handle it, under Papa’s supervision, but still desired to prove myself.”
Hyacinth listened raptly. Anthony allowed himself a moment to regret his childish delusions. “My aim was poor and I ended up firing it right by Papa and Mama’s window. I was fortunate that no one had been hurt, although I did not feel so when Papa took a belt to me.”
“A belt? Truly?”
Anthony nodded somberly. “It was an incredibly dangerous thing to do. I risked not only my own life but the well-being of others too. I daresay I would do that to any one of you that did such a thing.”
“Even me?” She pressed her chin against his chest.
“Do you plan to use a rifle alone?”
“No!”
“Then you should not fret over it.” Anthony said.
“Papa hurt you a lot?” She asked softly.
“Not hurt.” Anthony corrected. “He disciplined me. I could have died doing that.”
“Oh.” Hyacinth’s little face turns serious. “That is not good.”
“No,” agreed Anthony. “It is not.”
“Anthony?” Hyacinth said in a small voice. Anthony answered her with a soft hm. “Do you think Papa would have smacked me?”
“Perhaps.” Anthony replied. “And afterwards he would have soothed you.”
“As you?” Hyacinth asked.
“Yes, he soothed me.” Regardless of how old Anthony grew, Papa had always comforted him. Every trip to the study that ended in a sore bottom ended in a hug and with comforting words.
“No.” Hyacinth huffed. “As you do. With me, like in your study now.”
Ah. Anthony pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Yes. As I do with you in my study.”