Chapter Text
Anthony used to enjoy the London season. Not that he ever seriously considered any of the overly-bred and overly-practiced debutantes with their overly-present mamas. The very prospect bored him to tears. Still, there was a certain energy that sparked in the air during the season that even he found enjoyable. But, that was before he had the misfortune of presenting one of his sisters for her first season. As the eldest male, it was his duty to ensure that his sisters were well-matched for their futures. Last season, to his dismay, his sister, Daphne, had gotten caught up with his friend, Simon Bassett. It had been a mess, culminating in a thwarted duel and, admittedly, a very happy marriage. But, still. The journey to that marriage had been less than easy.
And yet, that seemed like a cakewalk compared to this season.
“Come on, Eloise,” Daphne said. “Let us have a look at you.”
Daphne stood outside of Eloise’s bedroom with their youngest sister, Hyacinth, and their mother, Violet. Anthony stood behind them, impatiently tapping the foot of his boot on the ground. He took another look at his pocket watch.
“We’re going to be late,” Anthony said.
Daphne looked back at him. “Give her a moment. A woman’s debut is very stressful. You wouldn’t understand.”
“It didn’t take you this long to come out of your room.”
“Let’s just say I had less complicated feelings.”
“Complicated?” Anthony shook his head and charged forward, knocking on the door. “Eloise. We cannot wait out here all day.”
“You cannot laugh,” Eloise said, her voice very close to the door.
“I promise to not laugh.”
The door opened and his rather unenthused sister stood in the doorway, dressed in a swarth of periwinkle blue with the most ridiculous hat he had ever seen. The edges of his mouth quirked, and she said in an accusing tone, “You promised!”
“Oh, my dear, you look beautiful,” Violet said, hands clutched at her chest.
Eloise didn’t answer, striding past them all and down the stairs. As she reached the bottom, the younger Bridgerton, Gregory, exclaimed, “What’s that on your head?”
“That’s it!” Eloise said. “I’m not going!”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m not being ridiculous,” she held. “Do you know what’s ridiculous? Having me paraded around a room of men so they can gawk at me like some prized hog. All the while, with a cake on my head!”
Anthony looked over at his mother. “Can we do something about the hat?”
“Oh, for the love of – “ Violet reached up and carefully removed the hat so as to not ruin the complex configuration of twists and curls below. “There. Is that better now?”
Eloise let out a heavy breath. “Yes.”
“You look beautiful, Eloise,” Daphne enthused. “The ton isn’t going to know what hit them.”
“Anthony’s fist if any come too close,” Benedict said, joining them in the drawing room. “Isn’t that right, brother?”
Looking at his sister, Anthony had a feeling he was going to have a more difficult time wrangling his sister than any of the men.
That evening, Anthony kept to his place on the edges of the dance floor, surveying the room for anyone who he thought might be suitable for Eloise. She was currently dancing with Nigel Pembrooke, a man of sizable sums and, admittedly, little brains.
“Tonight seems to be going well,” Violet said. Lowing her voice, she added, “But, Nigel Pembrooke? Really, Anthony?”
“It’s a slow start,” Anthony admitted.
“I just want her to be happy. Like I was with Edmund, and Daphne is with Simon.”
Anthony’s jaw tightened at that last part, part of him still smarting from losing that battle, and she said, “You know, being wrong is not the worst thing in the world when it means your sister’s happiness.”
“Yes, mother,” he drawled.
“Well, we should head home soon. Maybe fetch your sister after this dance? We need to be fresh for our guests tomorrow.”
Anthony nodded, having nearly completely forgotten. Violet told him earlier in the month that one of her oldest friends, Mary Sharma, was coming up to London to spend the season with them with her two daughters. They were supposed to have arrived earlier in the day to attend the first ball with them that evening, but weather had delayed them.
“I do hope you aren’t planning anything,” Anthony said.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s not lost on me that you are bringing two women of marrying age into our home after your rather spirited lecture about me taking a wife.”
A few weeks back, Violet had sat her son down and expressed worry about his seemingly perennial bachelorhood.
“Not everything I do is by design, Anthony. Mary Sharma is one of my dearest friends and when I heard that it would be her youngest, Edwina’s, first season, I thought what a better opportunity than this?”
“Opportunity?” He asked with an arched eyebrow.
“To see an old friend,” Violet corrected him.
“I am not marrying either of the Sharma sisters,” he held.
Violet smirked. “I don’t recall asking you to, Anthony.”
The carriage pulled to a halt in front of the Bridgerton home and Kate pushed open the door before a footman could reach them, hopping out to stretch her legs. After sitting for so long, it felt nice to be on her feet.
“Miss,” a footman said with alarm, rushing over to help Edwina and her mother out, lest they eject themselves with equal gusto.
Kate took stock of the large home in front of her, gazing up and up until her head tipped back. It seemed too large to be a home. Too grand and stately. Nothing like their modest home back in India. She wondered what it must be like to live there, and then thought, over the next few months, she would learn exactly that. The front doors burst open, and a bevy of chestnut-haired Bridgertons came streaming out.
“Mary, I am so glad to see you.” Violet said. “My, your girls have grown so much! I believe the last time I saw them, they barely came up to my hip.”
“It has been a long while,” Mary agreed. “Too long.”
Kate had few memories of the Bridgertons, Edwina even less, but on their journey to London, Mary told them about the summers they had spent at Aubrey Hall before their father died. Kate had only been six when he died, so she remembered just bits and pieces. A walnut tree. Lemonade. Catching fireflies in her hands.
Her eyes scanned the Bridgerton siblings and then she saw him. At twenty-nine, he looked much the same as he did at age nine. Even then, he had an air of arrogance. Except now, he had grown into his countenance. He felt her gaze and looked over at her.
“Let me introduce you again to my family,” Violet said. “I don’t believe you’ve met some of them.” She went through all of her children, each acknowledging them in their own way. “And, finally, my eldest, Anthony.”
He tipped his head. “Welcome to our home.”