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Colin remembers the first time his brothers took him to a tavern. Took him anywhere with them, actually, just the three of them, Colin finally having been somewhat allowed into their sacred little partnership.
He had just turned twenty and they were all a little over a month from Daphne's debut. And, really, his own entry into society, though there was far less importance placed on that event for boys as it was for girls.
It had been after dinner, and they'd all been falling into their regular evening routines — Fran at her pianoforte, Hyacinth and Gregory trying to wheedle an extra hour from their mother before they were sent to the nursery for the night. Daphne, practising her steps, her curtsey, her forms of address, and Eloise, camped out with her book, scowling and muttering about society's forced expectations of women.
Colin, in an attempt to appear grown up, had had the evening paper at the ready, though he had really wanted to return to his book of Byron's poetry, as Penelope had been invited for tea the next day and she was always so interested in his thoughts on the poems and he had wanted to impress her. (He laughs at himself now that he had been too foolish to recognise what that was then.)
Anthony and Benedict had been preparing to leave for their evening activities, muttering by the door as they donned their coats and hats, and he had done his best to ignore them. He had long given up asking, suggesting, hinting he could join them. He had been home from university now for weeks. He had not once ever gone for evening revels, even though he could have done so with his friends at the university. It would not have been the same, because he was not so interested in the activity rather than the symbolism, if he were honest.
But his brother's had frustratingly kept him out of their plans, and he had given up. Another year and he would be old enough to be admitted to White's so he felt perhaps they were waiting for that moment, and resigned himself to spending his first social season spending nights indoors with the girls and the children, when there were no parties to attend.
Anthony had given a frustrated sigh, and scrubbed his hand over his face, before, under Benedict's encouraging smile, he had turned and looked at Colin. "Well, come on then, get your hat and coat on."
Colin had almost dropped his newspaper in surprise, all thoughts of Byron's rhymes disappearing. "I am allowed to join?"
He had not missed the trepidation on Anthony's face, as he had held his breath, but his brother had simply nodded in acquiesce. "Yes."
Their mother had fretted as a footman appeared with Colin's accoutrements. "He is so young, though," she'd tried saying, as Colin ducked from her ministrations and Anthony had rolled his eyes in impatience. "Maybe you would be better to hold off."
"He is twenty mother," Benedict had reassured her, jovial as ever. "Really, we should have taken him with us sooner than this."
Violet's mouth had gone a little tight, but as much as she likely would have preferred to keep him at home, she had known her older sons were correct, and had let them go with firm admonishments to Colin to stay safe, and his brothers to keep an eye on him.
They'd not gone far, the tavern his brothers had chosen only a short walk so they did not need a carriage. Colin had practically been tripping over his feet like an overexcited puppy allowed to play for the first time, caught between the enthusiasm of being allowed to join, the desperation to match his brothers more mature energies and appear as one of them, and the anxiety of the unknown, that he'd had no real warning, no time to rehearse or prepare.
Once there, they'd bought him a drink, toasted his entry to adulthood, started easy conversation. But they'd been unused to having him there, and they have friends, connections, routines that Colin hadn't then. So Anthony had been pulled into a conversation with some people he knew from university. Benedict had drifted off, distracted by a pretty barmaid, or a card game, or something more interesting that his kid brother. And Colin had been left to wander around, a bit lost, amongst strangers in a social setting he had no clue on how to navigate.
A recipe for disaster, perhaps, because he'd managed to do… something, (time and memory and the haze of alcohol makes it hard to place what exactly) and without real warning, he'd suddenly been nose to nose with some large, burly merchant, who was snarling a few choice words at him. Colin's charm rarely failed him, but he'd been out of his depth and two ales deep, and struggling to summon any thought on how to slip out of harms way.
But then Anthony had been there, forcibly inserting himself between Colin and the man, pushing the stranger away. Anthony, scowling, radiating confidence and danger, who knew how to box. And Benedict next, firm hand on Colin's shoulder as he pulled him back and placed himself in front of him, a back up to Anthony, both brother's forming a type of impenetrable wall separating Colin from the man.
After, Colin had waited for what he felt was the inevitable — Anthony grousing he was always trouble, Benedict sighing maybe he had been too young after all, both of them sending him home to their mother. Instead, with a final dark glance around, Anthony had directed him further back into the establishment, both of them following Benedict in a move Colin would later realise was them wordlessly and deliberately covering his front and back.
There had been comfortable seats near the fire, blessedly empty, and they'd sat him down, then followed suit, one on either side. Anthony had called for more ale and Colin waited for the reprimand when Anthony passed him a glass, except his brother had simply grimaced and said, "do not tell Mother about… that."
And that had been that. The pattern then had been set. They took Colin out with them more, to taverns, and clubs, and boxing, and each time sat on either side of him, or kept him in between them somehow. It had the added benefit of Colin, for once, feeling nearly completely included with them. They had too much history, experience, social connection for him to ever truly fit into their rhythm, and their protectiveness felt too limiting at times, but he'd had fun, had felt, well, a man grown.
(Of course, then would come the whole debacle of his engagement with Marina, Anthony reverting to treating him as a child, and him pushing back against it. When he'd left for his tour and had been, for the first time in his life, alone, with no Mother to fuss over him, no brother's to be protective shields, no sisters for company, he had turned the situation over and over in his mind, looking at all the different outcomes. But before he had left, when it had all fallen apart, the first time he had felt somewhat normal again had been Anthony handing him his hat and coat, and Benedict choosing a tavern, and both of them sitting either side of him.)
Now, it feels different.
Anthony had shown up at Featherington House as dinner had finished and he and Penelope were debating how best to spend their evening. (Any room Portia was not in, had been his preference.) "Come, join me at White's," Anthony had said, and it hadn't been a request so much as a command (albeit it gentler than usual) from the Viscount.
Not one of an older brother dragging his younger brother along though, not one of someone teaching a child to experience the world. It had been… well, Colin had not been sure what it was then, when Penelope shooed them from the house, and they had travelled in the Bridgerton carriage to the club in idle chatter.
Benedict had been roused from wherever he was hiding these days, and it was almost on instinct that, upon locating three seats, Anthony took the left and Benedict the right, and Colin had hesitated just a moment before sitting in between them. It had not felt the same. They had sat as normal, and yet this time, his brother's were not shielding him.
It was Colin who was the shield this time, the necessary barrier between Anthony and Benedict. It had been in Anthony's invite tonight as well, he realised. An unspoken request for Colin to be buffer.
He sees Anthony's deflection, quiet introspection. His brother is planning his words, timing his delivery. Benedict is a picture of ease, except Colin can see it is all a front. He waits, bounds off at the slightest signal from Anthony, here's the raised tones and returns to find Benedict gone.
"What did I miss?" he asks, taking in Anthony's clenched jaw, the shake of his head, the frustration radiating off him.
Whatever it was Anthony had come here to say tonight to Benedict, it is clear it has not gone as planned.
"Nothing," Anthony grumbles now, as Colin takes his seat once more, setting the bottle down between them. "Benedict, he just… it is no matter."
In truth, Colin knows not what is going on with Benedict. One moment he looks for a Lady in Silver, the next he is talking about mistresses. He disappears frequently, and even when he is there, he seems miles away. He only seeks Colin's company out these days to try to rope him into drinking in the middle of the day, and talking about nothing, skulking off and declining tea when Colin turns down his initial suggestions.
And, perhaps even more importantly, whatever needs to be said between Anthony and Benedict does not involve him. As much as Colin has run after them his whole life, wanting to be included, there's always been one final barrier he could never breach, never would be. It was Anthony and Benedict together, before even they remembered, long before the rest of them were born. Anthony and Benedict grown and adult when they were all still in the nursery.
However, Anthony looks troubled, and well, Colin cannot help himself. Has never been able to help himself when one of his siblings has needed comfort. It is just that prior to now, Anthony has never truly let him close enough to offer it, and he may not now. But Kate is still at Aubrey Hall, so Colin needs to try.
"Is it about mistresses?" he says, softly, not looking up from his glass as he swirls the liquid around.
He senses rather than sees Anthony's head snap towards him. "He has talked to you about it?"
Colin shrugs, now looking at his brother. "Not in particulars. Some weeks ago, we were out and there was a friend of his. He seemed a little… too enamoured with the idea." He takes a sip, turning his next words over in his mind. "He used you as an example, in fact."
Anthony blanches, then covers his face with his hand, but does not respond. "I did not know," Colin says now, casually, after a moment of silence has passed between them.
Anthony's hand drops and he looks at him once more, a mix of emotions swirling across his face. "You were so young." He pauses, frowning to himself.
"Not too young to leave in charge whilst you gallivanted off to a duel."
He smiles, so his brother knows he is teasing, trying to lighten the mood a little, and Anthony huffs a laugh, leaning over to refill his glass. "Indeed." It is, of course, more serious than that — if Anthony had died, or had to flee, if Benedict had been arrested… then it would have been Colin, only twenty, that everything would have fallen on.
But it is is all a lifetime ago now, or so it seems. Daphne and Simon are married, with children, Colin and Anthony themselves both married, fathers, settled. It had all, thankfully so, worked out in the end.
Colin shifts so he is leaning forward, towards Anthony. He has sat and conversed with his brothers in these very seats many times before, but this feels different. Like there's a centre of gravity about it that has never been present before. "Did you love her?"
Once, this may have caused Anthony to scoff, to shout, to walk away. But now, he sees his brother also feels the importance of this moment between them, and weighs and considers his response in turn. "I thought I did," he says at last, with a sigh. "I cared about her, to be sure, but I think ultimately, I was enamoured with the idea of an escape. But I don't believe I could have ever left, not really." He stops, takes a long sip of his drink. "And did you love her?"
He does not need to clarify. "I liked Lady Crane," Colin says, settling back in his seat. "Or at least, I liked who she was pretending to be. I have never known the real her, so it is hard to say. It could not have been love in any of those circumstances." Anthony nods. "It was not an escape for me. I so wanted to be seen as adult as you and Benedict, and here it was — the chance to be a man, a husband."
But they were both, in the end, Bridgerton's, and neither would have survived a life that meant leaving that behind. Their choices would have been their exiles — Anthony abroad, Colin to rusticate in the country, both kept away to prevent further scandal from afflicting the family. It is something Colin had reflected on in the days following Benedict's revelation, how similar their experiences had ultimately been, how the distance between them had prevented them from knowing, or supporting one another.
He sees this set over Anthony now, who swirls his glass thoughtfully for a moment. "We did not speak much of it at the time," he murmurs, which is an understatement as well as the truth, because what had passed between them had been terse comments, shouted accusations, but nothing actually resembling conversation.
"I wish we had," Colin agrees now. "But it is the past. We shall now let it rest, and resolve to do better."
"Here here," Anthony agrees, leaning over to clink their glasses, before he sets his down and puts a firm hand on Colin's shoulder. "And to that matter, I must tell you how enormously proud I am of you, and the man you have become."
Colin rolls his eyes, pushing his brother's hand off, suddenly hot under the collar. "Get off with you."
Anthony settles back, laughing. "I am serious. I speak on behalf of myself and Kate, of course, but we have read the letters, and discerned the strength of the partnership between you and Penelope, how you are running your estate, raising your son, assisting our siblings. How you both dealt with, well, the Whistledown situation." He gives a light shrug, picking up his glass again. "There is a lot to be proud of, Colin."
Colin feels himself drumming the fingers on his free hand against the arm of the chair. "I think you would not have been so generous in praise if you had known the truth before you left for India."
Anthony fixes him with a serious look. "We were aware you and Penelope were not in quite harmonious bliss before the wedding, if you recall." Colin winces, thinking back on the anxiety ridden days of his engagement, and early marriage. "When the Queen appeared at the wedding, looking for Whistledown, well, of course we knew." And now he looks at his brother in shock, processing his words. "We debated staying that night, of course, perhaps waiting until after the situation had unfolded and the baby was born before we left…"
"Why did you not?" Colin asks, his mouth suddenly dry. He'd never imagined Anthony had known before Colin had sat down and written him a detailed explanation, as the dust had finally started to settle.
"I trusted you. Trusted you both, really, to navigate the situation." Anthony gives him a silent toast. "I see the man you grew into Colin. I am proud."
They sit in silence, sipping at their drinks, as Colin processes this unexpected gift Anthony has given him. Eventually, once he is sure he will not cry in the middle of White's and embarrass them both, he looks at his brother. "Thank you," he says, softly. "That… that means more to me than you could know." Anthony nods, and Colin wonders if he is not the only one fighting back tears. How wondrous, to see the man true love has let Anthony be. "I have always, and will continue to be, proud of being your brother."
There is no mistake this time, Anthony attempting to covertly rubs his eyes, ducking his head. When he has composed himself, he tips his half empty glass towards Colin. "One more thing, and then we may return to recounting the misadventures of our brothers and sisters."
"Alright," Colin laughs. "What is it?"
"Our sons," Anthony says, a soft smile on his face. The thought makes Colin smile as well. "It brings me endless joy to know that you and I have children, and will have more children, who will grow together. That you and Penelope live just across the square, and the four of us will have each other close, regardless of where everyone else ends up."
"That makes me happy too, brother."
"I fear, being born after us, you missed the bond Benedict and I had, in truth," Anthony muses, reflecting Colin's own thoughts of earlier. "You and the girls, especially with Daphne, you all had your own special bond we did not, of course, but the bond between two brothers…" he trails off, a slight frown filtering across his face, and Colin knows he is thinking of Benedict leaving moments earlier. "Well, it is a precious thing."
"I am sure you and Benedict will resolve whatever the issue is," Colin assures him.
Anthony waves him off. "It is my hope, of course, but not my meaning. I was talking of Edmund and Elliot. They are not brothers, not quite, of course, but it is my hope they will see each other that way. They will grow together, and attend Eton together, travel together, enter society together. With luck, it will be all as brothers."
It is, Colin thinks, the loveliest sentiment his brother has ever uttered to him, eclipsing even his praise just moments earlier. "That is my hope too."
Anthony lifts his glass. "To our sons then," he toasts.
Colin grins as he raises his glass in return. "And to our wives. Heaven help them, being married to the likes of us."
His brother laughs, and he joins him, the weightiness of the moment lifting easily as they shift back to conversation about all the moments Anthony has missed, and all the experiences of travel Colin is eager to consume stories of.
It is in the end, despite how it began, perhaps, the most pleasant time Colin and Anthony have had together to date. He hopes the next time, there is peace and Benedict will stay.