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The late afternoon sun slanted warmly through the tall windows of Bridgerton House’s morning room, gilding the pale blue walls and setting the dust motes dancing like tiny fairies. Violet Bridgerton sat in her favourite chair near the hearth, her embroidery abandoned in her lap, for she had been quite thoroughly claimed.
“Grandmama, you are not sitting properly,” declared Charlie, aged six and very certain of his authority on all matters of comfort.
“I beg your pardon?” Violet asked with a smile.
“You must lean back so I can fit,” he explained patiently, already climbing into the chair beside her.
Violet obliged at once, adjusting herself to accommodate him. At her feet, Alex,, earnest and watchful, was arranging wooden soldiers into what appeared to be a very serious defensive formation along the carpet.
“They are guarding you,” Alex informed her without looking up. “In case of pirates.”
“How fortunate I am,” Violet said gravely. “I had no notion pirates might call in Mayfair.”
“They go everywhere,” Alex replied in a quiet whisper as he looked around earnestly,
A soft thump sounded against her skirts.
William, who even at two years old possessed the determined silence of his father, had installed himself against her knee and was attempting, with considerable concentration, to climb upward using her gown as a rope.
Violet set aside her embroidery entirely.
“Come along then, my dear,” she murmured, lifting him onto her lap opposite Charlie.
William settled immediately, pressing his cheek against her and sighing with the deep contentment of one who had achieved a great objective.
The door opened quietly.
Sophie slipped inside, her expression both apologetic and amused, and in her arms was the newest member of the household, a tiny bundle wrapped in soft cream wool.
“I fear she has decided that sleep is an unreasonable expectation,” Sophie said sheer exhaustion written on her face. “I know you’ve got the boys but Benedict is still out and she won’t settle for me…would you?”
“My dear, you know the answer before you ask.”
Sophie crossed the room and placed the infant carefully into Violet’s arms.
Baby Violet, Vivi, as she had been christened by William within a week of her arrival blinked solemn eyes at the world and made a small, indignant sound, as though she already had opinions about it.
Charlie leaned dangerously close. “She still looks like a potato.”
“Charles,” Sophie said, her tone tired but amused as though she’s not had this exact conversation everyday in the 4 months since her post-birth recovery .
“A very beautiful potato,” he amended.
Alex abandoned his soldiers and came to inspect. “Can we play with her yet? Or is she still fragile?”
“Extremely, you must wait until she is much bigger” said Violet.
Alex nodded and clasped his hands behind his back, observing from a respectful distance.
William, however, leaned forward and patted the baby’s blanket with all the delicacy of a small enthusiastic bear.
“Mine,” he declared.
“Yes,” Violet said softly, her heart swelling. “Yours.”
Vivi’s tiny fist emerged from the blanket and waved uncertainly in the air. Violet guided it gently so that it rested against William’s sleeve. He froze, eyes wide, as though he had been entrusted with something of tremendous importance.
Charlie shifted against her shoulder.
“When she is bigger,” he said thoughtfully, “I shall teach her to climb the apple tree.”
Sophie made a faint sound of alarm.
“And to fence,” Alex added.
“Perhaps,” Violet suggested diplomatically, “we shall first teach her to sit.”
Baby Vivi yawned, her mouth opening impossibly wide for such a small creature, and then at last settled, her breathing evening as she drifted into sleep.
For a few moments, the room was quiet.
Charlie leaned against her.
William rested heavily in her lap.
Alex resumed his careful guard on the carpet.
And Vivi slept, warm and impossibly small in Violet’s arms.
Violet Bridgerton looked down at them all the future gathered around her, noisy and solemn and tender and new and felt that same deep, steady certainty she had known all her life with her own children and now again through her grandchildren
Love, she thought, did not diminish.
It simply grew.
It was worth the sacrifice and she was grateful Benedict had fought for this future and his family.