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Anthony was jealous, and Kate didn't know why.
Well, that wasn't entirely true. She knew that he was jealous - his jealousy had become as familiar to her as the weight of her wedding ring, as the sound of his footsteps in the hallway, as the way he always took his chai without sugar despite claiming to like it sweet. She'd learned to read the signs. The tightness in his jaw. The way his hand would find the small of her back, proprietary and warm, whenever another gentleman so much as glanced in her direction. The clipped tone he used when addressing Lord Lumley after the man had complimented her dancing at the ball.
What she didn't know was why he was doing it now.
It had been insufferable when they were courting, of course. Before the ring, before the ceremony at Aubrey Hall's that had made her Lady Bridgerton, viscountess, wife. Back then his jealousy had a kind of logic to it, however misguided. He'd wanted to marry her - though it took him (no, them) an absurdly long time to realize it - and the prospect of other men wanting the same thing had driven him to fits of brooding that would have been amusing if they weren't so tiresome. She'd learned to navigate it. Learned when to soothe and when to provoke, when to roll her eyes and when to kiss him senseless just to remind him that she'd chosen him, difficult as he was, and no amount of posturing from Lord Whatever-His-Name-Was would change that.
But after the ring. After she'd become the viscountess, not just Kathani Sharma anymore but Lady Bridgerton with all the weight and expectation that came with the name. That's when it had gotten truly unbearable.
The matrons had flocked to her, of course. That was expected. Lady Danbury had warned her about it, the way society women would suddenly find her fascinating now that she'd secured one of the most eligible bachelors in London, now that she had the Bridgerton name attached to hers like a stamp of approval. They wanted to know her secrets, wanted to dissect how she'd managed it, wanted to include her in their circles and their gossip and their interminable afternoon teas where they discussed everyone else's business with a kind of gleeful viciousness that made Kate want to flee back to India.
But the gentlemen. That had been unexpected.
Not in an improper way, precisely. No one would dare be truly improper with the Viscountess Bridgerton, not with Anthony looming like a storm cloud at every social gathering, not with the entire Bridgerton family watching. But they were... attentive. In a way they hadn't been when she was just Kathani Sharma, too outspoken and too clever by half. Now they wanted her opinion on the politics. They asked about her thoughts on the latest agricultural reforms. They brought her lemonade at balls without being asked, stood too close during intermission at the opera, laughed too loudly at things she said that weren't particularly funny.
And Anthony. Oh, Anthony had made sure they never got too close.
Half a foot, maximum. That was the distance he would tolerate between Kate and any other man who wasn't family. She'd watched him calculate it, seen his eyes narrow as Lord Byron leaned in to hear her better during a particularly loud dinner party, seen the way he'd materialized at her elbow with an excuse - they needed to speak to Lady Danbury, or Benedict was asking for them, or there was something urgent about the estate that couldn't possibly wait - that would extract her from the conversation easily. It was absurd. It was overbearing. It made her want to throttle him.
It also made her love him more than she thought possible, though she'd never admit it.
Her silly husband.
But this… was different.
This jealousy didn't have the sharp edges of the other kind, the possessive territoriality that came from some primal male instinct to guard what was his. This was softer. Sadder, somehow. He looked like a kicked puppy, which was a ridiculous comparison except that it was also perfectly accurate. He looked exactly like Newton when she'd had to cut back on his treats because the dog had gotten rotund he could barely manage the stairs anymore. That same wounded bewilderment, that same sense of having been unjustly deprived of something that was rightfully his.
And Kate was beginning to suspect the cause had something to do with their son.
Edmund was ten months old now, with his chubby limbs and curious eyes and an alarming propensity for putting everything he could reach into his mouth. He'd started babbling a few weeks ago, nonsense sounds that occasionally resembled words if you had enough imagination and parental bias. Kate had been certain she'd heard him say "Amma" last Tuesday, though Anthony had insisted it was just "ma-ma-ma" repeated without meaning, which was probably true but which Kate chose to ignore because she was his mother and she could interpret his sounds however she pleased.
The trouble - if it could be called trouble - was that Edmund had developed preferences.
Not about food, thank goodness. He'd eat anything placed in front of him with enthusiastic gusto, including several things that weren't food at all, which meant they had to watch him constantly. But about people. He'd decided, with the arbitrary certainty that only babies possessed, that some people were more interesting than others.
And Amma. Amma was his favorite.
Kate knew this because Edmund made it abundantly clear. He'd reach for her when he was tired, would track her movements across a room with those big eyes, would settle immediately when she picked him up even if he'd been screaming moments before. It was gratifying. It made her heart swell with a kind of love she hadn't known existed before becoming a mother. It also made her feel slightly guilty, because she could see what it did to Anthony.
The way her husband's face would fall, just slightly, when Edmund turned away from him to look at her. The way he'd go quiet. The way he'd hand Edmund over without being asked, as if he'd already accepted that he was the second choice, the consolation prize, the parent who was perfectly adequate but not quite preferred.
It was breaking her heart.
Kate had arrived back at Bridgerton House just before dinner, mud-splattered and exhausted from the journey from Aubrey Hall. A day in a carriage with Edmund, who had decided that wheels and motion were personally offensive to him and had made his displeasure known at impressive volume. The roads had been terrible after last week's rain. One of the wheels had gotten stuck and they'd lost an hour waiting for it to be fixed while Edmund cried and the sky threatened more rain that mercifully never came.
She'd wanted a bath. A meal. Her bed. In that order.
Instead she'd gotten her mother-in-law asking about planning the second child, Eloise demanding to know if Kate had finished the book she'd lent her before they were going to India, and Hyacinth appearing from nowhere to steal Edmund and disappear with him into the drawing room. Which was fine. Good, even. It meant Kate could actually eat something without Edmund trying to grab her fork.
By the time she'd climbed the stairs to their bedchamber, her legs felt like lead.
Anthony was already there. Standing by the window, still in his shirt and breeches, jacket discarded somewhere. He turned when she entered.
"You look terrible," he said before he kissed her chastely.
"How romantic." Kate sat on the edge of the bed, started unlacing her shoes. "I feel terrible for Edmund. Our carriage got stuck in the muddy road, and he couldn't stop crying."
"That bad?"
"Hmm." The first shoe came off. She dropped it. "I think the coachman is considering early retirement."
"Poor baby." Anthony crossed to her, knelt, started working on the other shoe before she could. His hands were warm. Kate let her eyes close.
"Thank you, husband," she murmured, not opening her eyes.
The second shoe joined the first. But Anthony didn't move, stayed kneeling there. Kate opened her eyes, found him looking at her silently.
"What?" she asked.
"Nothing. Just-" He stood, offered his hand to help her up. "Let's get you into bed."
"Anthony Bridgerton, if you think I'm doing anything other than sleeping tonight-"
"I meant for sleeping, my love." Now there was a smile playing at his mouth. He helped her stand, started unfastening the buttons at her back. "Though I'm devastated you think so little of my stamina that I'd attempt anything after you've spent a day in a carriage with our lovely son."
Kate laughed. "Your stamina isn't in question. My consciousness is."
"Fair point."
She changed into her nightdress while Anthony banked the fire. Crawled under the covers, felt her body sink into the mattress with relief. Anthony joined her a few minutes later, and she'd been dozing, halfway gone, when she felt the mattress shift.
Opened her eyes. Found him beside her. Edmund was between them - Hy must have brought him up - and she could hear their son's soft breathing in the darkness.
"Long day?" she murmured.
“Not particularly, just usual nonsense.”
"Mm." Kate shifted closer, but Anthony didn't move to meet her. There was space between them. "Anthony."
A pause. Then the sound of rustling fabric, Anthony moving closer. But not quite close enough. There was a distance there that hadn't been before, a careful space he was maintaining between them. Kate opened her eyes again.
Anthony was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling. In the dim light from the dying fire, she could just make out his profile. The strong line of his jaw. The furrow between his brows that meant he was thinking about something he didn't want to say.
"What is it?" Kate asked.
"Nothing."
"Anthony."
"It's nothing, Kate. Go back to sleep."
She propped herself up on one elbow. "You're a terrible liar."
"I'm an excellent liar. I've been doing it at parliamentary functions for years."
"Yes, well, you can't lie to me, husband." She poked his shoulder. "Tell me."
He was quiet for so long she thought he might actually refuse. Then Edmund made a small sound in his sleep, and Anthony turned his head to look at him. Something in his expression shifted.
"He doesn't like me as much as he likes you," Anthony said finally. Quietly.
Kate blinked. "What?"
"Edmund." Anthony's voice was carefully neutral as he was trying very hard to sound like something didn't matter when it very clearly did. "He prefers you. It's fine. Babies prefer their mothers, it's natural, I understand that. I just-" He stopped. "Never mind."
"Anthony, that's not-"
But before she could finish, Edmund stirred, letting out a small cry. Kate started to move, but Anthony was faster. He sat up, reached into Edmund, lifted their son with the practiced ease of ten months' experience. Edmund fussed for a moment, rubbing his eyes with tiny fists, and Anthony held him against his chest, murmuring something too low for Kate to hear.
She watched, her heart doing something complicated. Anthony was so careful with Edmund. When he supported Edmund's head, when he swayed slightly, some instinct he'd developed between the second and third week of Edmund's life. The way he looked at their son like he was something precious and breakable and important.
Edmund blinked up at him, those big eyes focusing slowly. And then, as Kate watched, Edmund turned his head. Looking past Anthony. Looking for… her.
"Ma?" Edmund said. A question. His eyes found Kate, and he reached for her with both hands, leaning away from his father.
And there it was. That look on Anthony's face.
He looked exactly like Newton when she'd told him no more treats. Wounded and confused and trying very hard to pretend he wasn't hurt. It would have been comical if it wasn't so heartbreaking.
"See?" Anthony said lightly, already moving to hand Edmund over. "I told you."
But Kate didn't take Edmund. She shifted closer, pressed herself against Anthony's side, and put her arms around both of them. "Stay," she said. "Just... stay like this."
"Kate, he wants you."
"He wants both of us." She leaned her head against Anthony's shoulder and looked at Edmund. Their son was still reaching for her, but he wasn't crying. Just watching her with those serious eyes that were so like his father's. "Don't you, darling? You want Amma and Papa?"
Edmund's brow furrowed, as if he was considering this.
"He's ten months old," Anthony chuckled. "I don't think he understands the concept of 'and.'"
"Then we'll teach him." Kate reached out, took Edmund's small hand in hers, but didn't take him from Anthony's arms. "You think he doesn't like you as much. But that's not it at all."
"Kate-"
"It's not," she insisted. "He knows I'm always here. That I'll always pick him up, always come when he calls. So he takes me for granted a little. But you?" She squeezed Anthony's arm. "You're viscount. You have a hundred responsibilities pulling you in different directions. You're not always available. So when he sees you, when he has you, it's… it's special. Don't you see?"
Anthony was quiet for a moment, still swaying gently with Edmund. "That's a very charitable interpretation."
"It's the truth." Kate pressed a kiss to his shoulder. "He loves you, Anthony. Differently than he loves me, maybe, because we're different people and we give him different things. But he loves you. Anyone can see it."
"He literally just reached for you instead of me."
"Because I'm softer and I smell like milk and probably a dozen other things that appeal to babies." She smiled. "But just… wait."
She started humming. Nothing in particular, just a soft melody. And slowly, Edmund's attention shifted. He stopped reaching for Kate, instead bringing his hand to Anthony's face, patting his father's cheek with his pudgy hand. Anthony caught his breath.
"Hello, little one," he murmured.
Edmund patted his face again, and made a sound. "Pa."
Anthony went very still. "Did he just-"
"Pa," Edmund said again, more clearly this time. His whole face lit up with delight at having produced the sound. "Pa. Pa-pa-pa."
Kate felt Anthony's arm tighten around Edmund, felt something shift in his breathing. When she looked up at him, his eyes were bright in the firelight.
"He said-"
"He said Pa," Kate confirmed. "He said it, Anthony. His first real word."
"But I thought - you said he said Amma last week-"
"I was wrong. I wanted it to be Amma, so I heard Amma. But this." She touched Edmund's head, then Anthony's hand where it held their son. "This is different, dear."
Edmund, delighted with himself, continued his babbling. "Pa-pa-pa. Pa." He grabbed Anthony's finger, brought it to his mouth to gnaw on. Then looked up at his father with those big eyes and smiled that gummy smile.
And Anthony. Her strong, stubborn husband who'd spent the past weeks thinking he was second-best, who'd been so careful to hide how much it hurt. He looked down at Edmund and something in his face just crumbled.
"Pa," he repeated quietly, as if testing the word. Then he looked at Kate, and she saw everything there. The relief. The joy. His feelings he usually kept locked away. "Kate, he-"
"I know." She kissed his shoulder again, then his jaw, then his mouth. "I know, my love."
They sat there for a while, the three of them tangled together in their bed, with the fire dying in the grate and the night settling around the house. Edmund eventually tired of his new word, yawned widely, and settled back against Anthony's chest with a satisfied sigh. But his hand stayed curled around Anthony's finger.
"I have been an idiot," Anthony said after a while.
"Yes," Kate agreed.
"You're supposed to say I haven't."
"Why would I lie?" But she softened it with another kiss. "You've been an idiot. But you're my idiot. And Edmund's. And we love you anyway."
"Even when I'm being ridiculous?"
"Especially then." She yawned, rested her head more firmly on his shoulder. Edmund was already asleep again. "Though if you start getting jealous of Newton again, we're going to have words."
Anthony huffed a laugh. "Noted."
They lay like that, neither moving to put Edmund back in bed. "Pa," Edmund mumbled in his sleep.
Kate felt Anthony's chest hitch. Felt him press a kiss to Edmund's head, then to hers.
"I love you," he said. To both of them.
"I know," Kate said, already half-asleep. "We love you too."