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The month of October had been exceptionally rainy, even by London’s standards. Mark regularly walked through the front door, shaking his umbrella dry and muttering under his breath about the state of his shoes, which were soaked almost everyday. Bridget usually gave him a sympathetic smile as she rocked Will on her hip, not even bothering to tell him she was sorry about the state of his oxfords because she knew he'd just give her a look.
Instead, she'd pass Will off to Mark as soon as his coat was shed and his umbrella in the canister. She could see the tension immediately melt off of Mark’s body as he inhaled Will’s smell, placing gentle kisses on the crown of his son’s curl covered head. It was amazing what a baby had done for Mark Darcy--he had become so much more relaxed and affectionate since Will’s arrival, and Bridget didn't know how he survived before Will. It wasn't until after Mark had sufficiently smothered Will with love and affection that he would turn to Bridget and give her a kiss. It still befuddled Bridget how one person could still send sparks flying down her nerve endings, even after nearly 16 years.
One night, after Mark once again entered the house with absolute annoyance at the weather outside, Bridget had an idea. Mark was toeing his oxfords off by the door, grumbling under his breath. Bridget approached him with Will in her arms and gave Mark a hesitant, “Hello, darling.” Mark turned towards her, the lines in his face deep and the frown on his lips severe. It melted, a little, when he saw his wife and son.
“Hello,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss her on the lips, his hand gently snaking around her free hip. He then turned his attention towards Will, bending down to kiss Will on the forehead before scooping him out of Bridget's arms. “Any chance we could put the kettle on? It's freezing out,” Mark said, switching the hip Will was on.
“Of course,” Bridget said with a smile. She made her way into the kitchen, and Mark followed, cooing at Will and blowing raspberries against his cheeks. Bridget put some water in the kettle and set it on the stove, then turned around to lean against the countertop. Mark had settled into a kitchen chair, holding Will up in a standing position on his thighs. He was making animated faces at Will and saying, “Who is the most wonderful baby in all of London?” Will reached out and grabbed at Mark’s nose, and Mark intercepted his fingers by gentle placing them between his lips and pretending to eat them. Will let out a delicious giggle, which of course set Mark and Bridget off.
After a few moments, the kettle whistled and Bridget busied herself with putting the tea in mugs for them both. She could still hear Mark and Will exchanging pleasantries, Mark mostly telling him how amazing he was and Will making appreciative noises in response. She delivered the tea to the table, and Mark gently grabbed her hand before she walked away. He placed a kiss against the back of it, his nose still cold from outside. “Thank you, darling,” he said, smiling at her. Bridget bent down and pecked him on the cheek.
They sat at the kitchen table, drinking their tea and making small talk while Will happily babbled in Mark’s lap. The topic of discussion soon shifted back to the weather, and Mark let out an exasperated sigh.
“It really has been bloody miserable out. My shoes are basically ruined...I'll have to buy a new pair by the end of the week if this rain keeps up.”
“Why don't you get a pair of wellies? That is the point of them--you can just stash your oxfords in your briefcase until you get to work.”
Mark gave her a look over the top of Will’s head. “Bridget, I haven't worn wellies since I was a boy. I would look ridiculous, stomping around London in a three-piece suit with a pair of bright green wellies on underneath.”
“I'm just saying, it would make your life a lot easier. But you're going to be vain about it, so there's nothing I can say to convince you otherwise…”
Bridget knew she struck a nerve. She could see the muscle in Mark’s jaw tense as he set his teeth. Despite all of Mark Darcy’s outstanding, admirable qualities, there was one quality that always embarrassed him by its truth.
Mark’s vanity was something of legend in their house. The three-piece suits, the crisp white shirts, the shiny black oxfords, the collection of handcrafted neck ties from Drake’s...Mark was fanatical about how he dressed and presented himself to the outside world. As he matured, he had started and perfected using pomade in his hair, to tame the soft, graying curls on his head in an elegant, backswept style. Despite his daily shave, he still took one day every other week to get a proper shave at the barber shop. Bridget also knew that every Christmas required her to buy a bottle of his favorite Tom Ford cologne, which she did with glee--the way Mark smelled was enough to drive her mad, and she had no issue being his enabler.
Therefore, the idea of wearing Wellington boots underneath an Armani suit was enough to make Mark Darcy cringe. He wouldn't be caught dead in mismatched socks, even if it was just a difference in the shade of black they were. Bridget knew that the suggestion was far fetched, but she was so tired of hearing him complain that she figured scraping the bottom of the barrel was better than nothing.
“I'm not vain,” Mark said.
“I never said you were. I just said you were being vain. Big difference.”
“I wasn't being vain either. I just think it's impractical.”
Bridget knew better than to argue with one of the top barristers in Britain over something so menial, so she shrugged her shoulders. “Fine. Do what you will. I suppose we'll end up down at Church’s by the end of the week so you can get a new pair of oxfords. Shame, really...I had just gotten you the other pair for Christmas.”
She could see the color rising under Mark’s collar as he studied her intently. She knew the arguing route would get her nowhere, but good old-fashioned guilt worked every time. Mark’s eyes glinted as he chewed the inside of his cheek. He was clearly choosing his words carefully, and Bridget suppressed the smirk she so desperately wanted to show.
“Church’s seems a bit extravagant. I can just pop in to Harrod’s after work one day and go that route.”
“That's fine.”
“Or even Selfridge’s. I’m not looking for anything fancy...just functional. I don’t want to keep ruining the ones you got me for Christmas because they’re so nice.”
“Well, I would hope so. I spent a bloody fortune on them. And they look so good with all of your suits...it’s a shame that you won’t be able to wear them with all of this muck outside.”
Mark’s eyebrows knit together as he looked at her. She knew she was breaking down his exterior, but he’d never admit it. Instead, he just took a sharp breath in through his nose and said, “We’ll figure it out.”
The next day, Mark and Bridget awoke to yet another deluge. Mark grumbled the entire time he got dressed, buttoning his dress shirt with sharp jabs and tying his tie with much more dramatic flourish than he normally did. Bridget watched him from their bed, Will propped up next to her.
Usually watching Mark get dressed for work in the morning was something she took secret pleasure in--she found that watching Mark assemble himself for the day was something that made her love him even more. He had cute little ticks and ceremonious habits that she knew by heart, and she never tired of watching them. She watched him extend his arms with a huff to slide the cufflinks into the buttonholes of his sleeves, and she smiled to herself.
“Everything alright?” she asked, feeding Will another Cheerio.
Mark looked over at her as he fiddled with the cufflink. His shirt was tucked neatly into his trousers, and his tie was done up in a full Windsor knot. He had already pomaded his hair back, and his suit jacket was draped across the foot of the bed. Bridget could see the infamous oxfords sitting next to the door of the walk-in closet.
“Yes, everything’s fine. Just over this god forsaken weather,” Mark replied, returning his attention back down to the cufflink. He straightened the cuff, pulling the sleeve of his shirt down.
Bridget smiled. “I’ll go down and start getting your breakfast ready.” She pushed the duvet back and scooped Will up in her arms. Before she reached the door, she stopped in front of her disgruntled husband, admiring the furrow in his brow as he squinted down at the other cufflink. “You should really be wearing your glasses,” she said, lifting her free hand up to cup his freshly shaven cheek. He already smelled like cologne and hair pomade, his skin soft and smooth beneath her hand. Mark looked at her through his eyelashes, but relaxed the tension in his forehead.
Even in his socked feet, Mark towered over her. He stopped fiddling with his cuffs and placed both hands firmly on Bridget’s pajamaed hips, pulling her and Will into him. Bridget always felt safest when they were at their natural heights, close to enough to each other to feel their hearts beating in rhythm. The top of her head barely reached his chin, and just the sheer breadth of his body immediately made her feel sheltered. Mark snaked his arms around her waist, and Bridget could feel the starched fabric of his shirt against her hands as they held Will.
Mark smiled as he leaned down and kissed her. He kissed the top of Will’s head next, and returned his attention to Bridget.
“You love to take care of me, don’t you?” he asked, cupping her chin as he ran his thumb along her bottom lip.
“Who, me? Pfffft, no. You’re a grown man...I don’t need to take care of you.”
“Yes, you do. You love to make sure that I’m eating well, and that I’m warm enough, and that I’m not straining my eyes to put on my blasted cufflinks.”
“Hmm, I suppose I do. I can stop, if you want.”
Mark shook his head slightly, a smile now playing on his lips as he brushed Bridget’s hair off of her face. “Please don’t ever stop,” he murmured, his sepia-toned eyes searching her face. “It’s probably the best feeling I’ve ever experienced.”
Bridget pushed herself up onto her tiptoes to place a deep kiss onto Mark’s lips. She hummed into his mouth, and Mark brought his other hand up to her face and held both of her cheeks in his hands. They kissed with the comfort of a couple who knew each other inside and out, but with the passion of two people who just connected for the first time. If it weren’t for Will squirming between the two of them, who knows where the kiss would have led…probably to all of Mark’s preening and prepping being in vain.
Bridget broke the kiss, pulling back from Mark with a grin on her face. “Let me go make you breakfast,” she said, giving his behind a quick squeeze.
Mark smiled at her and placed a kiss on the top of her head. “There you go again, always taking care of me,” he said, kissing her again.
Bridget pushed him away, giggling, and made her way to the bedroom door. Before she left the room, she pointed to his oxfords that were sitting by the walk-in closet and said, “Don’t forget your shoes.”
She could almost hear Mark roll his eyes behind her back.
Later in the day, Bridget heard the front door open. Her and Will had been playing with a train set in the living room, and she had expected Mark home an hour or so earlier. She didn’t think much of it, though--she knew he often got caught up at the office. Today, though, there wasn’t any grumbling as she listened to him close his umbrella and shake it out on the stoop before closing the door. In fact, there wasn’t any grumbling period. She heard him drop his keys in the dish by the door, shed his raincoat, and drop the umbrella in the canister.
“Mark? Is that you?” she called out, not bothering to get up from the floor where her and Will were seated. She could hear a squelching, squeak of rubber on the floor that was reminiscent of footsteps.
Suddenly, Mark appeared in the doorway of the living room, still in his suit jacket with his scarf around his neck. He gave her a barely discernable smile as he held both arms out at his sides. “Well?” he started. “What do you think?”
Unaware of what he was referring to, Bridget wrinkled her nose at him as her brow furrowed. She leaned up so that she could see over the couch, but could see nothing different.
“What are you talking about?” she said, leaning to the side to see better. She still could only see Mark from the waist up. Mark dropped his hands and closed his eyes before sidestepping the couch to give his wife a better look.
Bridget scanned his face first, but found nothing different--his hair was still perfectly in place and those eyes she fell in love with everyday were still looking at her intently. Her eyes dropped down to the full Windsor knot around his neck, the scarf draped around the collar of his shirt, the crispness of the suit...nothing unusual. Her gaze dropped further still--black leather belt, perfectly pressed trousers...that were tucked into a pair of olive green Wellington boots.
Bridget’s mouth dropped open as she allowed her eyes to slowly ascend to Mark’s face. “You can’t be serious,” she said, her eyes going back down to the wellies that were on Mark’s feet.
“Oh, I’m dead serious,” he replied, squelching forward into the room. The crease in his pants ran perfectly straight until it reached the top of his boot, where he had valiantly tried to tuck the pant legs into the boot as neatly as possible. Bridget couldn’t fault him for his effort--it was probably the cleanest tuck he could have gotten, given the circumstances.
“When did you get those?” Bridget murmured, still completely flabbergasted at her husband’s sudden spontaneity.
“I popped into Selfridge’s on my way home. I was thinking all day about how you take care of me, and I thought it was bollocks that I don’t take care of myself. So, vanity aside, I decided that a pair of wellies was worth the embarrassment. My feet haven’t been this dry in weeks.” Mark twisted his feet this way and that as he looked down at his new boots, clearly showing them off to his wife.
Bridget grinned at him. “I’m glad that I could finally guilt some sense into you, even if you do look ridiculous.” Hurt registered in Mark’s eyes for just a nanosecond. Bridget quickly closed her eyes, biting her top lip. “I didn’t mean that,” she began quickly. “That came out totally wrong.”
Mark let out a quick breath and held up a finger. He turned on his heel and went back out into the foyer, and Bridget could feel her entire insides coiling up from embarrassment and guilt. You bloody idiot , she thought to herself, pushing her body up off of the floor to go follow Mark. After all that, you go and insult him on something that you pushed him to do.
She walked towards the foyer, intent on apologizing to Mark properly, when she practically ran into him. In his hands, he had two boxes--a long, large one, and a much smaller one.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, surprised by his sudden appearance. “Sorry! Um, sorry, yes, about all of that. I truly didn’t mean it. I think they look smashing and they’re very practical.”
“Bridget.”
“I mean, you said yourself that your feet have never been drier! That sounds like exactly what you nee-” Her sentence was cut off by Mark’s pointer finger gently pressing up against her lips.
“Bridget, will you let me speak?” Her blue eyes widened as she looked up at him, and she gave him a slow nod. Mark nodded back to her in gratitude, and he thrust the longer of the two boxes towards her. “Here,” he said as she took it from his hands. “I’m well aware of how ridiculous I look, but I figured we could look ridiculous together.”
Bridget opened the box he had handed to her, and couldn’t stop the snort of laughter that escaped her when she saw what was inside. Lying inside the box was a cerulean pair of Wellington boots, clearly in her size. She grabbed them out of the box and looked at Mark. “Are these for me?” she asked coyly, holding them up.
Mark leaned forward and kissed her gently on the lips. “If you’re allowed to worry about me, I’m allowed to worry about you. Now I know you’ll never have wet feet on a rainy day,” Mark replied, giving her a smile. Bridget smiled back at him and leaned back up towards him to give him a kiss.
“Thank you, Mark. I love them,” she said. She eyed the smaller of the two boxes still in Mark’s hands. “And what is that?” she asked, nodding towards the box.
“Ah, yes. Well, I figured since you and I both have a pair, I’d be remiss to leave Will out. Soooo,” he said, opening the box with a flourish, “I bought him a pair as well.” Nestled inside of the tiny box was an identical pair of wellies to Mark’s, but in miniature size.
“Get out,” she said, playfully hitting Mark on the chest.
Mark laughed and said, “I’m serious! How could I say no to this wee pair of wellies? Look at them!”
“You are such a sap, Mark Darcy,” Bridget said, leaning up to kiss him again.
“A sap who just wants to show that he cares,” he replied, placing the lid back on the box of baby wellies. “Does this prove it to you?”
Bridget gave him a smile and nodded. “In a weird, passive aggressive way, yes. Yes it does.”