and close the path to misery
Anthony Bridgerton and Kate Sharma (Sheffield)
i.
Anthony, Viscount Bridgerton found a surprising solemnity to this gathering with his brothers.
Benedict was, he regarded as likely, still a little distant-after all, Anthony had coaxed him back from his meanderings in the countryside. Anthony had no illusions that though Benedict had acquiesced to attend him at his wedding, there loomed over them Anthony’s (perhaps misguided) attempt at sponsoring Benedict’s artistic aspirations.
But tonight, even Colin, he of the quick quips, was empty of such mischief.
The port and cigars after dinner were subdued, as Anthony expected. There were the ladies to join them yet afterwards, and any conversation would have to remain appropriate in respectable company-whether the ladies in question were family or not.
But it was now after-hours, and the three oldest Bridgertons were alone. There was a pervading pensiveness when Anthony anticipated ribald revelry.
“Brother,” Colin finally said, while refilling his brothers’ glasses. “May you see tomorrow’s rather hasty wedding through to its completion, unlike the last.” Ah, there it was: cheeky Colin.
Despite himself, Benedict chuckled. It tapered to a serene smile typical to the second-born Bridgerton. Then he raised his glass, “To your right wedding with the right woman, Brother.”
“Hear, hear,” Anthony replied. He drained his shot-and realised, when he saw the blurry shapes of Benedict and Colin do the same out of the corner of his eye, that his heart was full. And that certainly was why his eyes were leaking.
ii.
It came as a foregone conclusion to Anthony that the Duchess of Hastings, the former Daphne Bridgerton, was eager to be home for “darling Augie,” specially since her husband was away on estate business.
And so there were no surprises when Daphne bid a premature farewell, almost right after the dessert was served.
Her “Would you send me off, Brother?” to Anthony, though, was somewhat out of the ordinary.
The viscount took this in stride, and nodded, escorting his eldest sister through to the front door. Side by side, they waited for her carriage to be brought ‘round, standing quietly under a clear starlit sky of a brisk spring night.
“My felicitations, Anthony,” Daphne whispered, squeezing his elbow. She turned to face him. “You, of anyone I know, deserve to be happy. And I am happy you finally choose to be truly happy.”
The Hastings carriage arrived at that moment, and all Anthony wanted to reply was expressed in an affectionate kiss to Daphne’s cheeks.
iii.
Anthony had stayed for more late nights at Bridgerton House than he did not. Tonight was one such rare night.
Perhaps in deference to this evening being the eve of his wedding-and a gentle, unspoken admonishment from his family for him to rest, Anthony found himself without company at an hour considered yet early for everyone else.
Eloise had, typically, excused herself from the drawing room after dinner; and after just two songs on the pianoforte, Francesca had bid the company good night.
Anthony found himself reverting to an old habit-that of checking upon each brother and sister in bed, before registering that it had become, at that moment, a beloved ritual, rather than just another burdensome task that came with being head of the family.
“Oh. Anthony, it’s you,” Francesca mildly exclaimed when their eyes met through the sliver of the door. She was sitting up in bed.
“Pardon, I thought you were asleep.” Anthony pushed the door wider at Francesca’s gesture to come in.
Only to find Eloise sitting at the foot of the bed.
“Eloise.”
The three of them passed looks among them before Eloise cleared her throat.
“Brother,” she called, patting a spot beside her on the bed, which Anthony took to mean that he must sit-and he did.
“You must know my opinion of marriage is never on the affirmative side,” Eloise said. Anthony very nearly rolled his eyes, Yes, I do know, but he managed to hold himself and looked at his sister with what he hoped was a neutral expression. “But with the right person…as it appears to be with you, I suppose…”
Eloise dropped her gaze to her clasped hands on her lap.
“...I suppose, if you must…”
Anthony was determined to be patient and let Eloise see this through.
“It’s not such a bad state, after all,” Francesca finished.
“Frannie!” Eloise turned accusingly to her sister, mouth agape.
The younger Bridgerton sister simply shrugged.
“Good night, Sisters,” Anthony laughed. He picked himself up from where he was sat and made to leave. “I’ll leave you to your gossip.”
As he closed the door behind him, he heard Eloise exclaim, “It’s an exchange of ideas, Anthony.”
iv.
“Gregory.” Anthony met his younger brother on his way to Gregory’s own bedroom. The thought filled him with sudden mirth, and a smile came unbidden on his face. Smiling came easier to Anthony now.
“Brother,” Gregory, in his nightclothes, looked halfway between an overgrown child and a stunted mature man. He was carrying a glass of milk.
Anthony felt a twinge of nostalgia for the youth he himself had been, before the universe shifted and everything was thrown into disarray. Along with it came a sharp sadness that Gregory only had him, Anthony, to walk him through these awkward stages.
“I was just to see you safe in bed,” Anthony said, slinging an arm around his brother’s shoulders. “But I see I shall get to bid you a good night instead.”
“I know everyone says Miss Edwina is the diamond of the season, Brother,” Gregory said, once they were in his room. “But I think Miss Sharma is the true beauty.”
“You may call Miss Sharma ‘Kate,’ Gregory,” Anthony smiled. “She is to be your sister, after all.”
Gregory flashed him a dimpled grin, one Anthony returned.
“And I wholeheartedly concur about Miss Sharma’s beauty.” Anthony winked. “It seems we are more alike than we think we are, Brother.”
v.
There existed a special place in Anthony’s heart for Hyacinth. She was the sister he might have lost, or the sister he might have lost his mother to. That thought was always a tangle of feelings that ranged from guilt to torment.
But Hyacinth herself? Every feeling for Hyacinth was suffused with the sublime.
Anthony found an evenly breathing Hyacinth-shaped lump, on her side, with her back to him, when he eased the door to her room open. He was beset with the urge to come closer and smooth the hair on her forehead-an urge he fought against so as not to disturb her sleep.
Until he heard-was that a sigh? And then-a sniffle.
Anthony abandoned all subtlety and nudged himself on Hyacinth’s bed, sitting on the side facing her.
“Hyacinth?” He clasped her shoulder. “What is the matter? Are you having a bad dream?”
“No, Brother,” she sat up and swiped a hand on her cheek to brush a tear away. “I was thinking about you and Miss Sharma, and how you will be married tomorrow.”
A stab of panic crosses Anthony’s heart. “Is that a problem? My marrying Miss Sharma?”
“No!” Hyacinth exclaimed. “I am so happy. I don’t know why I am crying. But I am so happy! I am so happy because I know you are so happy, Anthony!”
Before Anthony could properly form a thought, all he could feel was Hyacinth, young and soft and warm and-happy, snuggled against him, wrapping him in unquestioned devotion and utter affection.
v. + 1.
“Anthony?”
“Mother?”
Anthony had just closed the door to his study after assuring himself that everything is in order, and was on his way to call for his carriage to return to his bachelor’s lodgings. Violet Bridgerton had intercepted the viscount like this on more than one occasion-but all those occasions had never been the eve of his wedding, which made Anthony wonder if this was a particular portent.
“Might you offer me a drink? In your study?”
“I’m sorry you’re not getting the wedding you wanted,” Violet sighed into her drink.
It was statements like this, seemingly innocent and devoid of criticism on its surface, that raised Anthony’s hackles. He tamped down the rising resentment he was hearing, but it rankled, and he could not help it.
“I’m sorry you’re not getting the wedding you wanted,” Anthony seethed. He swallowed a gulp of his drink before he said any more and ended his wedding eve with words he would later regret.
Violet took a deep breath and slowly let it out. Eventually, she said, “I only mean…that is…” She sipped her drink. “I remember you told the Queen that you wanted a small, family affair in the country, at Aubrey Hall.”
Anthony took a deep breath himself and met his mother’s eyes.
“Mother.” He breathed again. “I am getting the wedding that I want. It is not at Aubrey Hall, but it is yet a small, family affair, here at Bridgerton House. And yes, it is by special licence, which might make it seem less respectable. But I am marrying Kate, who I want to marry.” He made an attempt at a slight smile. “Besides, a small, private ceremony by special licence is best under the circumstances.”
At Violet’s rounded eyes, Anthony hastened to say, “Kate is still a maiden, I assure you.”
When Anthony realised what he blurted out, his face dropped to his palms of its own volition. But he could not bear that his mother, of all people, would think less of Kate-and no matter what intimacies he and Kate shared, what he said held true anyway.
“Oh.” Violet pressed a hand to her bosom. “Well, then, you will have a care for her, won’t you?”
“Mother.” He planted his face back on his palms.
“Right.” Violet hastily finished the remnants of her glass, as did Anthony. She held it out for him, and he poured them both two fingers worth.
“Anthony,” Violet collected herself with a sip of her second glass. “I came to give you this.”
She pulled a small blue velvet box from the reticule she carried. She waited for Anthony to open his hand before she placed it onto his palm. At her slight nod, he opened it to reveal a simple gold band, with a solitaire round-cut diamond.
“I know you’ve given Kate my betrothal ring, because that was what you asked for. But I also want Kate to have that, too.” She smiled benevolently at him. “ You might consider it a Bridgerton heirloom, I suppose. Your father gave it to me on the occasion of your birth.”
At that, Anthony raised surprised eyes to the Dowager Viscountess Bridgerton.
“It has always reminded me of you, the joy of you making us a family, and embarking on our destiny.” Her eyes were watery now, with a lifetime of memories swimming in their depths. “It is yours, Anthony, and Kate’s, because she is yours, and you are hers.”
Violet reached out to hold Anthony’s hand, clasping the ring, still in its box, between their palms.
“You are the head of the family and you don’t need my blessing, but I will give it just the same.” Violet Bridgerton smiled, both wistful and hopeful-a smile Anthony had never seen before, and entirely just for him, in this moment. “I am sure, in my heart of hearts, that your father would have given you his blessing, too.”
His mother rose to her feet and he did the same. She reached up to touch his cheek, “Live long and happy with Kate, and the family you will make, Anthony.”
Thank you, for this steady stream of sustenance.
Thank you, for a clearing, and a glimpse of sunlight.
i.
Anthony, Viscount Bridgerton found a surprising solemnity to this gathering with his brothers.
Benedict was, he regarded as likely, still a little distant-after all, Anthony had coaxed him back from his meanderings in the countryside. Anthony had no illusions that though Benedict had acquiesced to attend him at his wedding, there loomed over them Anthony’s (perhaps misguided) attempt at sponsoring Benedict’s artistic aspirations.
But tonight, even Colin, he of the quick quips, was empty of such mischief.
The port and cigars after dinner were subdued, as Anthony expected. There were the ladies to join them yet afterwards, and any conversation would have to remain appropriate in respectable company-whether the ladies in question were family or not.
But it was now after-hours, and the three oldest Bridgertons were alone. There was a pervading pensiveness when Anthony anticipated ribald revelry.
“Brother,” Colin finally said, while refilling his brothers’ glasses. “May you see tomorrow’s rather hasty wedding through to its completion, unlike the last.” Ah, there it was: cheeky Colin.
Despite himself, Benedict chuckled. It tapered to a serene smile typical to the second-born Bridgerton. Then he raised his glass, “To your right wedding with the right woman, Brother.”
“Hear, hear,” Anthony replied. He drained his shot-and realised, when he saw the blurry shapes of Benedict and Colin do the same out of the corner of his eye, that his heart was full. And that certainly was why his eyes were leaking.
ii.
It came as a foregone conclusion to Anthony that the Duchess of Hastings, the former Daphne Bridgerton, was eager to be home for “darling Augie,” specially since her husband was away on estate business.
And so there were no surprises when Daphne bid a premature farewell, almost right after the dessert was served.
Her “Would you send me off, Brother?” to Anthony, though, was somewhat out of the ordinary.
The viscount took this in stride, and nodded, escorting his eldest sister through to the front door. Side by side, they waited for her carriage to be brought ‘round, standing quietly under a clear starlit sky of a brisk spring night.
“My felicitations, Anthony,” Daphne whispered, squeezing his elbow. She turned to face him. “You, of anyone I know, deserve to be happy. And I am happy you finally choose to be truly happy.”
The Hastings carriage arrived at that moment, and all Anthony wanted to reply was expressed in an affectionate kiss to Daphne’s cheeks.
iii.
Anthony had stayed for more late nights at Bridgerton House than he did not. Tonight was one such rare night.
Perhaps in deference to this evening being the eve of his wedding-and a gentle, unspoken admonishment from his family for him to rest, Anthony found himself without company at an hour considered yet early for everyone else.
Eloise had, typically, excused herself from the drawing room after dinner; and after just two songs on the pianoforte, Francesca had bid the company good night.
Anthony found himself reverting to an old habit-that of checking upon each brother and sister in bed, before registering that it had become, at that moment, a beloved ritual, rather than just another burdensome task that came with being head of the family.
“Oh. Anthony, it’s you,” Francesca mildly exclaimed when their eyes met through the sliver of the door. She was sitting up in bed.
“Pardon, I thought you were asleep.” Anthony pushed the door wider at Francesca’s gesture to come in.
Only to find Eloise sitting at the foot of the bed.
“Eloise.”
The three of them passed looks among them before Eloise cleared her throat.
“Brother,” she called, patting a spot beside her on the bed, which Anthony took to mean that he must sit-and he did.
“You must know my opinion of marriage is never on the affirmative side,” Eloise said. Anthony very nearly rolled his eyes, Yes, I do know, but he managed to hold himself and looked at his sister with what he hoped was a neutral expression. “But with the right person…as it appears to be with you, I suppose…”
Eloise dropped her gaze to her clasped hands on her lap.
“...I suppose, if you must…”
Anthony was determined to be patient and let Eloise see this through.
“It’s not such a bad state, after all,” Francesca finished.
“Frannie!” Eloise turned accusingly to her sister, mouth agape.
The younger Bridgerton sister simply shrugged.
“Good night, Sisters,” Anthony laughed. He picked himself up from where he was sat and made to leave. “I’ll leave you to your gossip.”
As he closed the door behind him, he heard Eloise exclaim, “It’s an exchange of ideas, Anthony.”
iv.
“Gregory.” Anthony met his younger brother on his way to Gregory’s own bedroom. The thought filled him with sudden mirth, and a smile came unbidden on his face. Smiling came easier to Anthony now.
“Brother,” Gregory, in his nightclothes, looked halfway between an overgrown child and a stunted mature man. He was carrying a glass of milk.
Anthony felt a twinge of nostalgia for the youth he himself had been, before the universe shifted and everything was thrown into disarray. Along with it came a sharp sadness that Gregory only had him, Anthony, to walk him through these awkward stages.
“I was just to see you safe in bed,” Anthony said, slinging an arm around his brother’s shoulders. “But I see I shall get to bid you a good night instead.”
“I know everyone says Miss Edwina is the diamond of the season, Brother,” Gregory said, once they were in his room. “But I think Miss Sharma is the true beauty.”
“You may call Miss Sharma ‘Kate,’ Gregory,” Anthony smiled. “She is to be your sister, after all.”
Gregory flashed him a dimpled grin, one Anthony returned.
“And I wholeheartedly concur about Miss Sharma’s beauty.” Anthony winked. “It seems we are more alike than we think we are, Brother.”
v.
There existed a special place in Anthony’s heart for Hyacinth. She was the sister he might have lost, or the sister he might have lost his mother to. That thought was always a tangle of feelings that ranged from guilt to torment.
But Hyacinth herself? Every feeling for Hyacinth was suffused with the sublime.
Anthony found an evenly breathing Hyacinth-shaped lump, on her side, with her back to him, when he eased the door to her room open. He was beset with the urge to come closer and smooth the hair on her forehead-an urge he fought against so as not to disturb her sleep.
Until he heard-was that a sigh? And then-a sniffle.
Anthony abandoned all subtlety and nudged himself on Hyacinth’s bed, sitting on the side facing her.
“Hyacinth?” He clasped her shoulder. “What is the matter? Are you having a bad dream?”
“No, Brother,” she sat up and swiped a hand on her cheek to brush a tear away. “I was thinking about you and Miss Sharma, and how you will be married tomorrow.”
A stab of panic crosses Anthony’s heart. “Is that a problem? My marrying Miss Sharma?”
“No!” Hyacinth exclaimed. “I am so happy. I don’t know why I am crying. But I am so happy! I am so happy because I know you are so happy, Anthony!”
Before Anthony could properly form a thought, all he could feel was Hyacinth, young and soft and warm and-happy, snuggled against him, wrapping him in unquestioned devotion and utter affection.
v. + 1.
“Anthony?”
“Mother?”
Anthony had just closed the door to his study after assuring himself that everything is in order, and was on his way to call for his carriage to return to his bachelor’s lodgings. Violet Bridgerton had intercepted the viscount like this on more than one occasion-but all those occasions had never been the eve of his wedding, which made Anthony wonder if this was a particular portent.
“Might you offer me a drink? In your study?”
“I’m sorry you’re not getting the wedding you wanted,” Violet sighed into her drink.
It was statements like this, seemingly innocent and devoid of criticism on its surface, that raised Anthony’s hackles. He tamped down the rising resentment he was hearing, but it rankled, and he could not help it.
“I’m sorry you’re not getting the wedding you wanted,” Anthony seethed. He swallowed a gulp of his drink before he said any more and ended his wedding eve with words he would later regret.
Violet took a deep breath and slowly let it out. Eventually, she said, “I only mean…that is…” She sipped her drink. “I remember you told the Queen that you wanted a small, family affair in the country, at Aubrey Hall.”
Anthony took a deep breath himself and met his mother’s eyes.
“Mother.” He breathed again. “I am getting the wedding that I want. It is not at Aubrey Hall, but it is yet a small, family affair, here at Bridgerton House. And yes, it is by special licence, which might make it seem less respectable. But I am marrying Kate, who I want to marry.” He made an attempt at a slight smile. “Besides, a small, private ceremony by special licence is best under the circumstances.”
At Violet’s rounded eyes, Anthony hastened to say, “Kate is still a maiden, I assure you.”
When Anthony realised what he blurted out, his face dropped to his palms of its own volition. But he could not bear that his mother, of all people, would think less of Kate-and no matter what intimacies he and Kate shared, what he said held true anyway.
“Oh.” Violet pressed a hand to her bosom. “Well, then, you will have a care for her, won’t you?”
“Mother.” He planted his face back on his palms.
“Right.” Violet hastily finished the remnants of her glass, as did Anthony. She held it out for him, and he poured them both two fingers worth.
“Anthony,” Violet collected herself with a sip of her second glass. “I came to give you this.”
She pulled a small blue velvet box from the reticule she carried. She waited for Anthony to open his hand before she placed it onto his palm. At her slight nod, he opened it to reveal a simple gold band, with a solitaire round-cut diamond.
“I know you’ve given Kate my betrothal ring, because that was what you asked for. But I also want Kate to have that, too.” She smiled benevolently at him. “ You might consider it a Bridgerton heirloom, I suppose. Your father gave it to me on the occasion of your birth.”
At that, Anthony raised surprised eyes to the Dowager Viscountess Bridgerton.
“It has always reminded me of you, the joy of you making us a family, and embarking on our destiny.” Her eyes were watery now, with a lifetime of memories swimming in their depths. “It is yours, Anthony, and Kate’s, because she is yours, and you are hers.”
Violet reached out to hold Anthony’s hand, clasping the ring, still in its box, between their palms.
“You are the head of the family and you don’t need my blessing, but I will give it just the same.” Violet Bridgerton smiled, both wistful and hopeful-a smile Anthony had never seen before, and entirely just for him, in this moment. “I am sure, in my heart of hearts, that your father would have given you his blessing, too.”
His mother rose to her feet and he did the same. She reached up to touch his cheek, “Live long and happy with Kate, and the family you will make, Anthony.”
Thank you, for this steady stream of sustenance.
Thank you, for a clearing, and a glimpse of sunlight.