Chapter Text
Thin white mist flared out of the horse’s nostrils as the large black stallion grunted in frustration, straining against the tightly held reins. The only thing that could be heard this early September morning was the sound of hooves beating down hard on the wet ground as Anthony Bridgerton rode fast over the meadows behind Aubrey Hall. Ire and guilt surged through him, burning hot and heavy in his veins. Everything was coming back to him. Every wound that had ever been inflicted on him was wide open and bleeding. The years of grief he so carefully had bottled up, wreaked havoc on his system. He was angry at the world for ripping his father away from him too early. He was angry at his mother for abandoning him at nine and ten to deal with the estate and ledgers, bestowed with a title he had been born to bear but that he was not ready for. He was angry with himself because he had failed his family and hurt Edwina Sharma. He was strung so taut that he could not contain the pain any longer, and when Kathani ’Kate’ Sharma left him standing alone at the altar the string snapped.
At the start of the season his plan had been simple: find a woman who could become his wife — his viscountess — and who met his preferred criteria of a genteel manner, a pleasing face, childbearing hips and at least half a brain. And Miss Edwina fulfilled everything he sought but it was her older sister Kate who crashed into his life with a fire so rare that everything went astray and his world tilted off its axis. She was beautiful with her ebony colored hair, golden brown skin and eyes so enchanting that they could see into his soul. But Anthony had not wanted love, much to his mother’s chagrin. He knew he was destined to die young like his father, and he tried to stay away, tried to push down the feelings he felt for Kate. He had seen first hand how losing the one you love affected everyone he cared for, and he would do anything to avoid putting someone through that kind of heartache.
For the first few years after his father’s passing, Aubrey Hall and Bridgerton House were cast in a thick layer of darkness. Anthony’s mother, Violet, rarely left her chamber and every night he could hear her cries as he wandered the halls alone. He had tried to talk to her, tried to make her come out and be with the rest of the family, but she constantly refused. She was deep into her melancholy, wishing the traumatic birth of his youngest sister Hyacinth would have reunited her with her husband.
Anthony worked hard to be there for each of his siblings and all of them handled the loss differently. Benedict, the brother he was closest to, took on tasks far greater than he was ever meant to, and he even delayed his studies at Cambridge to help out with the family, tending to scraped knees and breaking up fights. Benedict and Anthony were there for one another, supporting and sharing the load. And Anthony knew that he would not have survived if it was not for Benedict. Colin, their younger brother, looked up to them and also wanted to help. And he did in his own way, by trying to put a smile on everyone’s faces, but Anthony would sometimes find him alone in the library with tears running down his cheeks. Anthony would then sit with him, letting him cry into his shoulder.
Daphne, the eldest sister who grew up dreaming of becoming a mother, often tried to tend to the younger siblings although both Anthony and Benedict intervened as they wanted to shield her from too many responsibilities at only ten. Eloise was the opposite of Daphne, and she did not want anyone near her. She was angry and acted out so much that Anthony had to hire a new governess every other month. The only one who could calm her was her dear friend Penelope Featherington, who lived across the square from Bridgerton House in Mayfair. He would forever be grateful for the young redheaded girl as she brought back some joy into their home. She not only handled Eloise flawlessly but Francesca, who closed herself off from the world, found solace and comfort as Penelope together with Daphne taught her to play the pianoforte. And the youngest brother Gregory also loved her presence in their home as she could sit on the floor and read to him for hours. It was during those moments everything felt normal again, like nothing had happened.
“Jump Ares!” Anthony roared, his chestnut brown hair catching in the wind, as they neared a small creek at the outskirts of the estate and the horse did as he commanded without hesitation. Ares was Anthony's only true friend, the one he could count on — the one he truly could be himself with. They had been inseparable for well over a decade and the friesian horse had been the last gift Anthony received from his father. With him he was not the 9th Viscount Bridgerton, head of the family. Instead he was Anthony, the man who brought apples and carrots, and cried into the curly black mane when the pressure became too much. With Ares, Anthony did not need to hide the raw and painful parts that he did not want to show the world.
Anthony inhaled sharply, letting the cold and damp air fill his lungs in an attempt to ground himself but nothing could calm his racing heart. Everything that could go wrong had done so and he knew that he was to blame for most of it. He promised Kate the world but he could not give it to her — they were doomed from the start. When they announced their betrothal after the Featherington ball everyone was excited for them. But even if he found himself in love with her, deep down he knew he liked the idea of her more than herself. The notion became clearer when the initial heated flame between them dwindled, and the cracks began to form quickly. He realized he knew essentially nothing about the woman he was marrying, and the more he found pulled him away from her as they were both too alike and too different from one another. They shared competitiveness, academic excellence, and love for their respective families, but Kate was tired of having to saddle all the familial responsibilities and she instead wanted to spend her time reading and traveling. Initially, Anthony had pushed aside the doubt because he wanted to go through with the wedding for his family, to see them thrive and to make his father proud. But in the end it was the stubbornness that broke them.
Anthony should be thankful for Kate pointing out the things he did not see, but at the same time he could not bow to her will. He could not give her what she had asked for the night before the wedding. But that did not ease the humiliation of her public rejection. She undressed him in a way no one had ever done. Anthony was a proud man, a man that people looked up to. A man his father would have wanted him to be, though he often felt like it was all a lie. Especially when his mother had told him so for years that he was nothing like his father and he would never measure up to the great Edmund Bridgerton. He should have known that it would be just a matter of time for Kate to see through him.
“Come on,” he yelled and kicked his soles into the sides of the horse. “Faster, Ares!”
They jumped over branches and fallen trees, rode through groves as the mist started to dissipate by the first rays of dawn. He needed to get away…Far away, where no one could bear witness to his misery. It was bad to have been left at the altar once, but twice was atrocious. He would never recover, not socially nor emotionally. The cut went too deep into his chest and his heart ached. But he had not cried, not once. When Kate turned around in the middle of the church aisle the day before, he simply returned home, walked into his study, closed the door and spent the day bent over correspondence with his tenants. Ever the stoic and dutiful viscount.
His mother had of course knocked on the door but he had promptly sent her away, even Benedict and Daphne had been denied entrance. He needed to be alone, to stew, but hundreds of guests had been invited. And as he had mounted Ares this morning he knew some were still lingering at Aubrey Hall but he could not face any of them. The only thing he wanted was to leave everything behind and never come back. Never talk to any of them again but he could not. He had to see to it that his ruin did not affect his siblings. He had to make everything right for them, like he always had done. But before he could go back he needed to get the anger under control.
……
Everything changed the day his father died. Anthony was immediately thrown into the lion’s den without so much as a condolence. Fear had gripped him as his father’s steward, Mr Johnsson, kept asking questions he had no answers for, while his beloved father still laid on the grass outside with Anthony’s mother screaming at his side. He felt lost…lost in a world that was too big for him. He was no longer a boy, he was a man and he instantly felt the weight of being the eldest bear down on him. Everyone around him depended on him, for his guidance in a situation none of them wanted to be in.
“My Lord, we need to call for a doctor. Lady Bridgerton is still hysterical and it cannot be good for the baby,” Mrs Wilson said, staring at him with pleading eyes. His attention was brought back to Mr Johansson as he kept talking about mandatory correspondence, funeral arrangements and caskets.
“My Lord, the letters?
“My Lord, the doctor?”
“My Lord…?”
Anthony could barely hear any of them clearly. He tried to focus but he could not, everything was a blur and he could feel his heart beating fast in his chest. In his periphery he saw how Benedict hurried up the grand staircase with Fransasca crying in his arms. He wanted to go after, to tend to his younger siblings like the older brother he was and to mourn together.
“Lord Bridgerton, do you already have the key to your father’s study?” Mr Johnsson’s voice rang louder in the foyer, echoing against the stone walls and granite floors.
Lord Bridgerton…that was his father. Not him, not the boy who used to catch frogs in the lake or chase his younger sisters through the vast corridors. Everything felt wrong. He had plans. He was going on a tour this following autumn, to their acquaintances in Italy and Pommern. He was not meant to be a viscount, not now.
What was he supposed to do?
Who was he supposed to contact?
How was he supposed to manage everything?
Did he have the key to the study?
If he failed what would happen to his family?
Anthony took a deep breath, something settling within him as he straightened his back and squared his shoulders. He reached into his pocket of his jacket and felt the cold metal object against his fingertips.
“I…I have the key,” he answered, shakily. He swallowed the lump in his throat as he continued — locking his grief away. “Call for a doctor, regarding my mother, Mrs Wilson. I will be in the study tending to the necessary arrangements and the letters to the family and all tenants.”
Anthony started to walk away, hands clasped behind his back. Desperate whimpers could be heard throughout Aubrey Hall but there was no time for Anthony to think, to sit with any of it — to reflect. He had to be strong for the family so that they all would survive. And as the door to the study closed behind him, so did the door to his childhood, to his former self, to the young carefree boy who loved horses and games. In the study stood instead a resolute man who had to be brave far beyond his years.
……
Penelope woke up long before the sun could seep in through the large windows. Her sleep had been fitful — tossing and turning in her bed as thoughts of the day before plagued her. She could not fathom what possessed Kate to leave a man like Anthony at the altar, especially since the love between them seemed to be genuine and built on a deep connection. She had seen it all throughout the season; the glances, the longing and the secret touches whenever no one was looking. But she saw…She always did. Since Penelope’s debut into society two years ago she had felt like an outsider, a wallflower hidden in the shadows. She loved attending balls and soirées but she was well aware that she was different from the other debutantes — there were no suitors lining up to fill her dance cards.
Her mother, Lady Portia Featherington, warned her of getting her hopes up about finding a match as Penelope was two stone too heavy, too short, well mannered but too shy, and lacked all of the other necessary skills men sought in a future wife. All in all, she was far from what men wanted, at least any respectable men. Penelope had asked to delay her debut by a year but was met with silence. She understood better than anyone the reason behind her mother pushing all three of her daughters into society at once. It was an expensive affair and by having them debut together cost less. It saved the Featherington’s a lot of money, money they did not have either way as her father was a drunkard and a gambler until he died about a year ago. And it did not get any better after her cousin Jack became the new Lord Featherington either as he managed to swindle large amounts from half the Ton, and then left the country in a haste at the end of the season.
Penelope was resourceful though, and found her own way to cope with the lack of funds and being the disappointment of the family. With the help of her father’s solicitor she created Lady Whistledown — the most popular and notorious society paper in London. Penelope was proud of her nom de plume, it gave her purpose and an outlet for her to voice her opinions in a world that did not care for women like her — or women in general. For two years she managed to keep it a secret, until a couple of months ago when Eloise, her best friend of over a decade, found out. The fallout between them was catastrophic, and therefore it was a great surprise when she got invited to Anthony and Kate’s wedding. Penelope knew that Eloise was fiercely protective over her family and was clear about not wanting to see or talk to her again. But as the door of the church closed with finality, Kate leaving a heartbroken Anthony and a stunned congregation behind, Eloise almost immediately dragged Penelope into a secluded corner, pinning her with a hard stare.
“I do not wish for my brother to be the talk of the Ton, please write something…Anything.”
Eloise’ words echoed in her mind as Penelope slowly rose from the bed, the cold floor creaking under her bare feet as she padded towards the basin to wash her face. She would write about the failed wedding, it would raise suspicion otherwise. Whether Penelope wrote about it or not, people would gossip as that was the nature of high society and the main reason why she profited from it. People craved it because talking about embroidery, flower arrangements, suitors, or politics for that matter were not enough.
She took a deep breath and dried herself off with a soft cloth as she sat down in front of the beautifully carved vanity. The woman in the mirror looked as exhausted as she felt, eyes puffy and hair unruly. And she quickly grabbed the brush to tame her wild mane, letting it fall in waves down her back and over her shoulders. Her mother would faint if she saw her as she always insisted upon Penelope wearing her hair in tight curls, something she hated as it made her look like a poodle. But as her mother had not been invited Penelope decided to do as she pleased for once.
She glanced at the ticking clock in the corner of the room, it was still far too early to call for her Lady’s maid and to get ready for the day. Penelope instead pulled on her morning robe over her dustblue nightgown. Her mother would have scolded her for that choice as well. Portia preferred to dress her in yellow and ill fitted monstrosities, but while at Aubrey Hall Penelope wore gowns more suited for her body, in colors that complemented her complexions.
The door to her room squeaked as she carefully opened it and tiptoed out into the dark hallway. The guest wing was mostly deserted but she did not want to be seen by any lingering guests. Penelope loved Aubrey Hall. It was nothing like the Featherington country estate which was run down by years of neglect, even if her mother of course tried to uphold a certain standard. But Portia mainly focused on the exterior and the parts any visitor would see. They never hosted overnight guests as the rooms were all drafty and damp, while the drawing room and grand foyer were both spotless. Penelope always ended up with a cold after being there for too long and therefore enjoyed her visits to the Bridgertons, particularly during the months leading up to the opening of parliament in November. She hoped that she would be able to stay here for a while longer even if it was not an ideal time, but maybe it would give her and Eloise a chance to heal their friendship.
Eloise had every right to be angry with her. Penelope had not only withheld her secret identity but also written about her involvement with radical groups and underground meetings earlier during the season. In Penelope’s defense she tried to protect Eloise after the Queen accused her of being Lady Whistledown and threatened to charge her with treason and strip Lord Bridgerton of his title. As much as it pained her to write what she did, she would never forgive herself if something had happened to her best friend or any of the Bridgertons. It was for the same reason she had written about Colin and her cousin Marina Thompson the year before. Penelope had tried to warn Colin about Marina but he would not listen. And when she refused to tell Colin about her carrying another man’s child, Penelope did not see any other way than to expose Marina’s deceit publicly. The fact that Penelope had been in love with Colin for years did not matter when she made her decision. If Marina had simply told Colin the truth, Penelope would not have intervened. But after what Colin said at the end of her mother’s ball this season Penelope regretted not letting Colin elope with Marina as that might have saved Penelope from being ridiculed in front of half the Ton’s eligible bachelors.
“Are you mad? I would never dream of courting Penelope Featherington. Not in your wildest fantasies, Fife.”
Colin’s words cut deep, but they were not unsurprising. She knew a man like Colin Bridgerton would never fall for a woman like her but she thought they were friends and that is what hurt the most. He had tried talking to her for the past couple of days but she had ignored him. She was done. If he so carelessly could declare her unmarriageable she would not let him near her.
“Hurry, Mrs Wilson,” a man boomed, at the end of the corridor. Penelope could faintly hear the rest of the staff starting to move around, preparing everything that had to be done for the day.
Penelope descended the grand staircase swiftly and entered the library. The room was exactly as she remembered it, tall oak shelves filled with all the books you could imagine, plush armchairs and large windows with maroon curtains. She sighed as she let her fingers stroke over the spines before sitting down by one of the windows. It was one of her favorite spots as it gave her a perfect view over the grounds.
She did not know how long she sat there, letting the draining thoughts settle within her, and she simply looked out at the fields as the morning mist started to dissipate with the rising sun. But suddenly something shifted in the horizon and her eye caught a figure approaching the estate fast. She tilted her head trying to see who or what it was but it was not until it got closer she realized it was a black horse, and she instantly recognized him as Anthony’s beloved Ares. But the horse was alone and Penelope stood up at once, heart pounding. Anthony was not riding him. She knew Anthony often took a morning ride, he had done so every time she visited and she would not be surprised he wanted to escape any pitying looks, regardless if it was from his own family or any guests still in attendance.
So she was certain something was wrong if the horse was without its rider. Penelope ran out the front entrance, and drew her robe tightly around herself as the cool air hit her. She should turn back, she should find a footman and ask them to call for Benedict and Colin, but she did not. Instead she acted before any other thought came to mind. And as she reached the front lawn Ares was rearing and stumping furiously at the ground, neighing and grunting.
“Where is his lordship?” Penelope asked as if Ares could answer her, trying to take hold of his reins and calm the agitated horse. She inhaled sharply, as Ares strained and fought, but Penelope held on out of sheer desperation. The stallion was known for being unpredictable with anyone other than Anthony but Ares let her pull herself up into the saddle. Penelope had rode horses before but not like this, not astride and not on her own. She did not know what to expect or what had happened, she only knew that she had to find Anthony. For none of the Bridgertons would survive without him. She had been there when Edmund passed away and they would not be able to handle another loss. And before anyone could stop her, she leaned forward, stroked Ares' snout and commanded. “Ares, take me to him. Take me to Anthony, now!”