Chapter Text
It was not as if Anthony was particularly dreadful at sharing, but surely he did not prefer it. He was content with the occasional visit from cousins that would swarm around his lively Mama and Papa, like bees to honey. Cousins that would sit by his mother's feet and listen to her stories, or rough house with his father in the garden.
Though after one too many charitable rides on his father's sturdy shoulders, the little Anthony would push with his small, chubby hands on his cousins' shoulders, and proclaim that it was indeed his parents, that he was not willing to share anymore.
"My Papa!" The little Lord would proclaim, to which Papa would laugh and remind him that a proper little gentleman shares.
Therefore, it could not be said that the little Anthony was thrilled when his parents shared the news of what was hidden in Mama's bulging belly. And although Mama and Papa spoke of what a great joy having a little brother or sister would be, Anthony was not convinced.
It did sound lovely to have someone to play with when the summer drew to an end, and the family returned to Grosvenor Square, away from Aubrey Hall, and the many playmates that settled there. Anthony loved his family home, but running away from his nursemaid and hiding in the home's many nooks and crevices grew terribly boring after a short while. Perhaps a mischievous little brother, or a darling baby sister would be of some amusement during the long autumn and winter, until he could return to roaming the gardens of Aubrey Hall again.
Whenever his Papa was home, he would perch Anthony on his lap, and tell daunting stories of large animals with leather-grey skin and great, big tusks, he would sit Anthony on his shoulders when they were promenading through the park and whistle tunes he learned while travelling. And one day, when Anthony was older, he would accompany his father on his hunts, and learn how to shoot the biggest stag the ‘ton has ever seen.
Anthony was not rather sure that he would enjoy sharing those moments with a sibling. Neither would he like to share his Mama's warm embrace and jovial kisses on the nose. The late night dancing, when Anthony would stand on his Mama’s feet, as they waltzed around to Papa’s energetic tunes on the piano, was something that Anthony did not wish to indulge anyone else in.
No, Anthony decided, he did not want a sibling, and he was to be quite furious when the baby did arrive.
❈ ❈ ❈
It was a cold evening, and the winter’s first snowfall was sticking to the ground, painting the dark outdoors white. Though he had only just turned 3 that very same year, Anthony vividly remembers the birth of his first sibling, the first of many. He remembers hearing mother's screams, despite his nursemaid's honest attempts to distract him from the painful event. He remembers hating his unborn sibling for hurting HIS Mama, and he remembers the fear of hearing his mother cry, for the very first time.
"Why does the baby hurt Mama so?" Anthony asked the young nursemaid, interrupting her story about a girl that could spin straw to gold.
"Does it despise her? Is it cruel?" The nursemaid was but 22-years-old, and not a mother yet herself, but a sister of many and not unfamiliar with the sound of childbirth. She looked at the little boy, his hair wet and parted, freshly washed and combed. The tips of the hair leaving the collar of his nightwear slightly damp.
"Mother's scream when a baby is born, because the love is so great that she simply cannot contain it." The nursemaid explained, having decided that the little Lord was much too young to know, let alone understand, the working of a birthing lady's body.
"Did mother scream when I was born?" Anthony asked, dark little brows furrowed in doubt, but his eyes showed the anxiousness of her answer. Did he already hold envy of the sibling that had not yet been born? "They could hear her in Newcastle, I have been told!" Anthony seemed content with the answer, and the worry that had previously settled in his heart was briefly lifted.
Only moments later, the door to his nursery, soon to be his shared nursery, burst open.
"A boy! He is a boy! A brother Anthony, you have a baby brother!" His father looked as if he had been taken by madness. His usually kept hair was in a state of chaos, his cravat untied and his unbuttoned waistcoat revealed a wrinkled and untucked shirt. He lifted Anthony from his bed, and spun him around the room, stopping only to throw him in the air and catch him again, before proceeding to swing his, now first-born son, around a second time.
“I believe congratulations are in order, Lord Bridgerton. Will Anthony be allowed to see his new brother before he must rest?” The nursemaid asked.
“Thank you Miss Martha! He can absolutely see him, I would expect nothing less. Would you like to meet your brother, Anthony?” His father looked at him, his wide eyes glistening. Anthony did not respond, still perplexed from his father’s sudden appearance and tomfoolery. Nonetheless, his father approached the shared bedroom belonging to his beloved wife and himself, Anthony on his arm, and the nosey Miss Martha trailing behind.
His mother was in bed, despite it still being much too early for Mamas to rest. Perhaps she was simply tired out from pretending to fence with Anthony earlier. She had needed to sit down in the middle of the battle, claiming that the baby was heavy and she needed to rest her back. Lately, mama had needed quite a bit of rest and often took her tea in her room, whereas they previously always took their tea together, all 3 of them.
Mama looked exhausted and pale. She was breathing heavily and her cheeks were red and swollen from crying. Perhaps she ate too many sweets and fell ill, Anthony had been warned that such things could happen, and just recently Papa brought home wrapped chocolates from his travels. Anthony pondered.
Caught up in his thoughts, he had not noticed that father had brought him to the bed and sat him next to his mother, atop of the cream-coloured silk sheets. In her arms she held a bundle of blankets that Anthony had never seen before, but they looked soft and were a delightful pale, green colour.
A cough was heard in the back of the bedchamber, and it was only now that Anthony realised that it was not just Papa, Mama and himself in the room. Several people, few of which Anthony recognised, were hovering around the family.
One of the people, however, Anthony did know. He noticed a sweating Dr. Kirkpatrick, who had previously treated Anthony when a poorly played game of blind man’s bluff had resulted in a broken wrist, leaning on the chair by the roaring fireplace, looking tired. If the doctor was there, Mama had indeed been ill, Anthony concluded.
A cooing noise, not unlike a kitten, drew his eyes from the many people to the bundle of blankets in his mother’s arms. The blanket, however, had a small, red face and soft tufts of dark-brown locks. The baby’s blue eyes stared into his brown ones. Anthony, who had completely forgotten about the baby, looked at the little face in awe.
“Come meet your baby brother, Anthony. This is Benedict. He made quite a ruckus about coming out, but he is very happy to meet his big brother, are you not Benny?” Mama spoke in a quiet and gentle voice, that made Anthony feel both safe and secure, but also big and important, knowing that the words were meant for only him.
“He is rather little, is he not, my lady?” Miss Martha, asked from the doorframe. Anthony thought the question rather strange. Was his nursemaid not aware that babies were small?
“He is much smaller than expected. But in good health nonetheless, doctor’s words.” His mother said with a tired smile, which the nursemaid returned. Perhaps his brother was quite a bit smaller than Anthony could recall any of his younger cousins being. Although in earnest, Anthony had not found his younger cousins to be of interest, so he was not very sure how big or small they were. But undoubtedly, Benedict was a little brother in every way of the word. In fact, he was so small that Anthony himself did not doubt that he was strong enough to hold him.
“May I have him Mama? Please, I’ll be careful!” Anthony recalled how gently he had held the kitten that an older cousin had found in the gardens of Aubrey Hall. He had begged her to let him hold the kitten, but she had deemed him too young and careless, being twice his age and some spare herself. In the end, Anthony was granted his wish to hold the kitten, be that he was extremely gentle with the small creature.
In many ways, Anthony thought, Benedict did resemble that kitten. And they both gave him the same feeling of rage, blooming in his chest. Though the rage was not aimed towards the small being in his arm, but rather towards the things that might hurt the innocent, little human.
The small bundle was placed in his arms. The blue eyes stood out on the slightly red face. It did not seem as if the baby was looking at anything in particular. The infant yawned in his brother’s arms and reached a small, wrinkled hand up in the air. Anthony turned to his mother, his face serious yet overjoyed.
“I believe I love him, Mama.” His Mama and Papa let out hearty laughs at the little boy’s earnestness.
“Do you believe so, my dear boy? Well I believe that is very good.” Mother said.
“And you know what, Anthony?” His father said, as he sat down next to Anthony and Benedict, his hand reaching over his sons to gently caress the arm of his exhausted wife.
“I believe he loves you as well!” In that very moment, the baby let out a loud, cooing sound, not unlike the soft whimpers from a kitten. Perhaps the infant boy was calling out for his mother, perhaps he was just unintentionally finding his own voice.
If you ask Anthony, however, he would swear with certainty that the baby, his baby brother, clearly said; “I love you.”