Work Text:
Light, lilting music filled the Bridgerton drawing room. Violet smiled at she noticed Daphne's brow furrowed in concentration. Pianoforte did not come naturally to her eldest daughter in the same way that her dancing or etiquette lessons did, but she had been practicing diligently the last few weeks and Violet could already hear the improvement, could see the much surer movements of her hands and how much faster she recovered if she did make an error.
She clapped as soon as the piece ended. “Brava! Oh, Daphne, that was lovely!”
“It still is not quite right,” Daphne said with a sigh. “Are you sure that I must learn pianoforte to be an accomplished lady?”
“It is not strictly necessary, no, but young ladies are often asked to play at small gatherings and it might help you impress a suitor, or a future mother-in-law.”
Daphne sighed, then nodded. "I understand. I will keep improving, Mama, you will see.”
“I have no doubt.”
As Daphne begun to practice her piece again, Violet heard a creaking noise behind her. She turned to see a slight gap between the doors, and in that gap, a pair of eyes peering into the drawing room.
She stood and walked over to the doors. “Whoever is out there, please come inside now.”
There was a second or two before the door swung open and revealed Francesca, shuffling her feet and twisting her hands behind her back. “Sorry, Mama. I just wanted to listen.”
“You can do that from in here, you know. I do not think Daphne will mind.”
“I can?” Francesca asked, brightening. “Could I also …”
She bit her lip and looked away. Violet frowned. “Could you also what?”
“Could I also have pianoforte lessons? Please, Mama, oh, please?”
“Oh, Fran,” Violet said, helpless against her daughter’s big pleading eyes. “I do not know if you are old enough, or big enough. You could not reach the pedals and you hands are still so very small.”
“I could learn until I was big enough. I could sit with Daphne when her teacher is here and Mama, I will be so quiet, I swear I will.”
“Of all my children, you may be the only one I believe is actually capable of keeping such a promise.” Violet could not help it; she wavered. “I will have to ask the instructor if she minds. And you could not play during the lessons and Daphne must be allowed to practice whenever she likes. She will be debuting two years earlier than you, after all.”
"I understand. Thank you, Mama, thank you!" Francesca hugged Violet's legs before rushing past her and running over to the pianoforte. Violet had never seen her so excited. She shook her head, thinking of what Edmund would say when she told him that Francesca would be joining her sister's lessons. Her husband would tease her endlessly for her inability to say no to their children, but could she truly be blamed? How could she refuse when Francesca looked so enchanted, like the music was bringing out another side of her entirely?
Edmund would understand. He always did.
*
Violet leaned against the nearest wall and closed her eyes. She felt as though she had been walking for years instead of a few minutes. Every movement exhausted her now, even months after giving birth and after Edmund's ...
She took a shaky breath and blinked her eyes until she was sure she would not cry. She had vowed to stop crying where her children could see.
As she stood there in the hallway, trying to regain enough energy to make it back to her room, she heard something on the other side of the wall. Music and laughter. She had not heard sounds like that in a long time.
She managed a few steps down the hall, towards the nearest doorway. There was light spilling from it, and she heard Francesca say, “Again!”
“Fran, I have played it three times for you. Do you think I might give my fingers a rest?”
“Please, Benny, again.”
A bright melody begun to play and with it, happy little giggles.
Treading as lightly and quietly as she could, Violet rounded the corner and leaned on the doorjamb. Benedict was playing while Francesca sat next to him, her legs now long enough her feet could just barely touching the floor, and watched until he finished. Then she demanded, “Again, please!”
He reached over and pinched her nose between her fingers; she shriek-laughed and pushed him away. “How many times must I do this, your ladyship?”
“Just one more. I promise, this time, only one more.”
He sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes, but he played the short cheerful piece again. When he finished, she clapped and he bowed in his seat.
Then Francesca reached across him and played the little melody herself, almost as skillfully as Benedict.
“Thank you for teaching me,” she said when she’d finished, beaming up at him.
He smiled back, clearly bemused. “I did not realize that was what I was doing, but you are welcome.”
“That was wonderful,” Violet said, and both of her children startled, looking over at her with wide eyes. “Apologies, I did not mean to intrude, I just heard the music and -“
“No, no, you are not intruding at all, Mama,” Benedict insisted. “Francesca has made such progress in her music, has she not?”
“Indeed,” Violet said, smiling at Francesca. When Francesca looked surprised before smiling back, hesitant and hopeful, Violet realized she had not smiled at her daughter once since Edmund had died. Her heart ached for her little girl.
She walked over to the settee and sat down. “I would like to hear more. Do you have another piece ready to play?”
“Yes, of course,” Francesca said, scrambling up and running over to where they kept the sheet music.
Benedict joined Violet on the settee and she reached for his hand. “I remember that song. You learned it to entertain Colin and Daphne, and to cheer them up.”
“Yes, well, Anthony has all the real responsibilities, I can at least be the fun brother,” Benedict said, dismissive and self-deprecating as always.
“You are a good brother, Benedict,” she said firmly. “And I have been an absent mother.”
“No, you have not, we all understand -“
“And I thank you for it. I could not do more than the bare minimum, not for a long time. But now I think …” She took a steadying breath. “I think I would like to come to family dinners again. I miss my children.”
Francesca came hurrying back, sheet music in hand. She was positively glowing as she put it on the pianoforte, sat on the very edge of the stool so she could manage the pedals, and began to play.
As Francesca worked her way through the piece, a serene expression crossed her face. The song was not a difficult one but the way Francesca played was skillful and she gave the music so much emotion that Violet found herself tearing up.
"Mama," Benedict whispered, his eyebrows drawn together in concern.
"I am alright," she said, squeezing his hand. "These are good tears. I think ... I think I am happy. I thought I had forgotten how."
He squeezed her hand in return. "I am glad you have remembered."
*
“What a wonderful performance!”
“The singing! The sets!”
“The costumes were gorgeous, were they not?” Daphne asked as the older Bridgertons made their way to the drawing room. They were all enraptured by the opera they had just returned from, particularly Violet’s two eldest daughters.
“Is that all that interested you?” Eloise asked, wrinkling her nose. “Costumes?”
“I suppose you liked the part where the prince was stabbed?” Anthony asked with raised eyebrows.
“I certainly did not dislike it. He was insipid.”
Daphne made an outraged little scoff. “He was not! He was romantic!”
Violet shook her head, amused and glad she had allowed them to attend. She would not typically have permitted her girls to go to the opera, not before they were presented, but this one in particular was created with young people in mind and many a mother in the Ton had made an exception and brought their elder children to the performance. So tonight, she had let Daphne, Eloise, and Francesca go with her and their three older brothers, and Daphne and Eloise had not stopped talking about it since they got in their carriage to return home.
Francesca, however, had remained silent, worrying her lip with a far away look in her eye. Violet tapped her gently on the shoulder. “Did you like the opera, darling?”
“I enjoyed the music,” Francesca said with a soft smile. “I would like to learn how to play the second aria the soprano sang.”
“And what about that particular aria interests you so?”
Francesca’s face lit up and she launched into an explanation of the complications of the piece, talking just as rapidly as her sisters now that someone was willing to listen. Violet did not understand half the things she said, Francesca's musical education so far beyond her own, but she enjoyed every second of the conversation regardless.
She hoped, in the back of her mind, that when Francesca did enter into society officially, she found a husband that could be just as engaged by her love of music, if not more so. Because when she spoke of music, Francesca did not hold back her feelings or opinions, did not worry about being proper. Violet wanted Francesca to find someone that made her open up like that as much as possible.
*
“Lord Kilmartin, he had the music we heard earlier this week rearranged exactly as I imagined it.”
Violet started to speak but stopped, unable to bring herself to wipe the smile off of her daughter’s face. And perhaps she was right to hold her tongue. Lord Kilmartin had done something for Francesca that so few had done - seen her passion and engaged with it in a way that showed how well he understood Francesca. And was that not exactly what she wanted for her children? Someone to love and treasure them, to understand them intimately?
And yet, she remembered the way Francesca beamed as she played for Violet, the way she adored performing for the ones she loved, and how animated she was discussing that aria just a few years ago. John Stirling seemed a fine man, truly, but Violet had always hoped that whoever Francesca married would bring out that spark in her, the passion that Violet saw lurking under the surface, always so carefully contained. Instead, he seemed to be, completely unintentionally, closing her off even more.
Because Lord Kilmartin had given Francesca an absolutely lovely gift, but she was enjoying alone, in the dark. It concerned Violet in a way she could not describe.
*
Violet wished she’d thought to have a second wake for Edmund like the one Michaela had thrown for John. At the time, she probably could not have imagined trying to find joy in having known him when she was feeling his sudden loss so acutely, but now she thought that it might have helped. To remember that it was worth the pain to have spent so long with someone who made her so very happy.
Francesca certainly seemed to be in better spirits. It made Violet’s heart warm to see her daughter smiling again as she moved from partner to partner to the sound of the lively jig.
After, as the guests all stood around talking to one another, the instrumentalists playing a softer but still playful Scottish tune in the background, she found Michaela. “Thank you,” she said, hoping the other woman could see how much she meant it. "I have been at a loss for how to help her, but what you have done tonight ... it was perfect."
"It was what John would have wanted," Michaela said. "And I am glad to have helped Francesca, too. She is my friend."
"And you have been a very good friend to her."
"I am trying to be," Michaela said, her eyes finding Francesca's across the room. Francesca smiled at her, not seeming to notice Violet at all, and Michaela smiled back, her eyes soft. "Although she may not like me quite so much if I keep to my current plan and make her do another jig."
Violet laughed. "Perhaps you can wait a little longer? I have not quite recovered from the first one."
"I make no promises," Michaela said with a wink, and Violet laughed again. She had not had the chance to get to know John's cousin particularly well before; she found that she liked her.
Maybe half an hour later, Michaela pulled Francesca to the front of the room again and begun the second jig. Francesca giggled and blushed as they twirled around, and it occurred to Violet that she had never seen Francesca look quite as happy and free when she danced with John.
*
The Bridgerton house was blessedly empty for the first time all season. Violet adored having her children back in one place, truly, but between their spouses and children personal valets and lady’s maids, their home had never been so crowded. She had decided to skip the excursion to the fair today so that she might enjoy a bit of peace and quiet. Aside from a few servants up in their own quarters, she had the entire house to herself.
Or so she thought.
She was wandering about upstairs, vaguely thinking she might go to the library and pick out one of Eloise’s novels to read, when she heard the sound of the pianoforte. Curious, she followed it, lingering outside of the drawing room.
There was a discordant note, then another, followed by laughter. “I thought you said you knew how to play pianoforte!”
“And I do! I never said I knew how to play it well. Sorry to scandalize you, my love, but not all of us were as enamored with this instrument as you. But I am open to instruction.”
Violet knew she should not eavesdrop, but she had so rarely had a chance to see Michaela and Francesca interact since their nuptials. When they told Violet of their secret love for one another, everything had happened so quickly, the scheming and the near-scandal and Queen Charlotte's proclamation and their marriage before they left for Scotland to avoid prying eyes. She knew them a little as friends, but not as wives.
She edged forward until she could peer through the doorway. She could see the two of them sharing the piano stool, Francesca smiling wide and unreserved. “You want me to teach you?”
“Absolutely. Here, how is my form?” Michaela put her hands on the keys and raised her eyebrows, waiting.
“Your wrists are supposed to be much higher, here -“
Francesca put her hands around Michaela’s wrists and lifted them until they were gracefully arched. Michaela leaned into her side and said, “Very helpful, my love.”
“And hold your fingers up, too.” Francesca slid her fingers over Michaela’s and pulled at them until they hunched slightly.
Michaela leaned close to Francesca and said something about being talented with her fingers, and Violet was very glad she had not heard exactly what she said when Francesca’s cheeks turned pink and she bit her lip, looking at Michaela with hooded eyes. She leaned in and kissed her wife, soft and slow.
Violet started to back away, deciding this moment was far too private for her to witness, when Francesca pulled back and said, “Are you sure you do not mind that we did not go to the fair today?”
“You know I do not enjoy crowds or the heat. Besides, there is no one I have more fun with than you, you know that.”
“It is the same for me.” Francesca kissed her again, loud and smacking, making Michaela shout out a laugh. “Now pay attention, I am going to show you how best to play a chromatic scale. You will understand why you have to have your wrist held so high when you need to move your thumb underneath the rest of your hand to complete the octave.”
“I am at your mercy, instructor.”
Violet left then, the sound of a slow moving scale following her out.
Later that night, the family all went to a ball and Francesca was asked to play pianoforte. When she twisted her hands nervously, Michaela reached out and took them, and she led Francesca up to the pianoforte and sat on the bench next to her. Francesca began to play, and everyone who was nearby stopped their conversations and turned, mesmerized by the music.
And when it ended and everyone clapped, Francesca beamed as bright as the sun, slipping her hand into Michaela's once more.
Violet clapped loudest of all, tears in her eyes.