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Wind pounded the walls of the little townhome in Bloomsbury where Penelope Bridgerton paced in front of the drawing room window, cuddling her toddler daughter and murmuring over and over, “Papa will be home soon.” The storm raged, regardless of her and her child’s worry for their husband and father’s safety. He was meant to be traveling home on horseback that day, from his brother’s cottage in Wiltshire, and Penelope knew him well enough to know he wouldn’t let a thing as small as a typhoon, let alone a thunderstorm, get in the way of returning home to her. He hated spending nights away, and had gotten more stubborn about his desire to spend the evening at home, in his own bed, since Agatha’s birth.
So Penelope paced, and prayed, that her bull-headed, wonderful husband, and his poor horse, were riding through the storm and not—
The front door banged against the wall as it swung open and a lightning bolt on the horizon illuminated the figure in the door. “Colin!” Penelope cried, just as Aggie squirmed in her arms and yelled with all the power in her little lungs, “Papa!”
He had them both wrapped up in a rain-soaked hug before either realized they’d just heard little Agatha’s first word.
****
Thomas Bridgerton babbled long before he actually spoke recognizable words, and he was the most excitable when it came to food. Mealtimes, snacks, stolen biscuits: like father, like son. The entire family watched his face light up at the sight of a plate full of fruit or a bowl of soup, and his delighted noises filled their parties with mirth. So of course, a wager on his first word began.
Anthony had two pounds on “biscuit,” while Kate choose the more all-encompassing, “tea.”
“It’s also easier to say,” the Viscountess explained to Simon as he made a note of her bet.
Violet put money on “cake,” as it was clearly the child’s favorite treat, and, she confided in Portia (who saw herself as above such games), it had been Colin’s first word, too.
Daphne went against the majority, guessing Thomas would imitate the word he heard the most: “No.” As he was a rather rambunctious toddler, who never met trouble he did not want to be intimately acquainted with, his loving parents could not contradict her rationale.
Penelope, though, was convinced that, like his big sister, Thomas’s first word would be, “Papa.” Colin was the absolute best father and, she had no doubt, their favorite parent. Both children absolutely lit up with glee anytime he entered a room, and Thomas had lately taken to mimicking Colin’s mannerisms.
It surprised everyone, but no one more than Penelope, when one winter morning, she entered his nursery and scooped him up for a long hug and he gently murmured, “Mama,” while snuggled against his neck. Just once, then he immediately fell back to sleep. If Colin had not been just behind his wife with Agatha in his arms, she didn’t think anyone would have believed her.
Of course, doubts were still raised, for when they informed the family at dinner that evening, Simon called into question Colin’s reliability.
“He had ‘Mama’ in the pool!”
“What?” Penelope looked to her husband, who shrugged and picked up his glass of wine.
“He always wants you, Pen. A complete mama’s boy.”
It took more questions and similar answers for the family to finally be convinced of the veracity of the claim, and for Simon to grudgingly fetch the winnings to bestow upon Colin.
Money in hand, he grinned to his wife and in a low voice confided, “I wanted him to say ‘Mama’ first so we each had one. I’ve been coaching him for weeks.”
****
When Jane Bridgerton was just three months old, her family took a holiday to the country to visit with the Cranes. As babies are wont to do, Jane cooed and giggled in the arms of her Aunt Eloise, giving her parents time to kiss and hug the nieces and nephew they had not seen since Christmas.
Penelope had just finished straightening the bow in her namesake niece’s plait when Eloise stood and rushed over to her, holding the baby up like she was a porcelain saucer meant to be on display. “Jane is a genius, Pen! She said her first word!”
Penelope pulled Penny into her lap and stared up at her friend. “Jane is three months old, El.”
“I know! A genius.”
Penny giggled, causing Eloise to smile down at her. “You’re a genius too, my love, but you didn’t speak at three months old. Your brilliance lies in your creativity and big heart.”
“What did my genius child say?” Penelope decided the best way to move on from the conversation was to humor her sister-in-law. Otherwise, she would never let it go.
“Which of our genius children are you speaking of?” Colin appeared at Eloise’s side, little Georgiana on his shoulders.
“Jane, apparently.”
“She is!” Eloise insisted. “She said…” Eloise paused, giving both Colin and Penelope a very serious look to ensure she held their full attention, “…my name!”
Colin barked out laughter. “Our three-month-old daughter, who has barely mastered holding her head up on her own, said, ‘Eloise?’”
“Not ‘Eloise,’” his sister said with an overexaggerated roll of her eyes, as if Colin were the one saying something ridiculous, “El. She said ‘El!’”
“Oh!” Penelope chuckled. She didn’t mean to make fun of her friend, but Eloise had two babies, she knew sounds made this early were not actual words. “She made a noise that sounded like, ‘El.’ For a moment, I thought you were serious and thought she actually said your name.”
“She did! She looked right at me and said, ‘El.’ She knows her favorite aunt.”
“Of course she does, my dearest sister,” Colin said, lifting Georgiana up and off his shoulders and plopping down on the sofa beside his wife. He exchanged children with Eloise so he could snuggle his daughter. “Janie is definitely smart like her Mama, and I’m sure whatever noise she made that sounded like ‘El,’ to you was her expressing her deep and abiding love for her favorite aunt.”
Eloise huffed, motioned for Penny to hop off Penelope’s lap, grabbed her hand, and sauntered off, presumably to find the only other adult in the house who might believe her (i.e. her husband). Though, as Philip was a man of science and logic, Pen worried Eloise was going to find herself at a loss in that corner as well.
Ten months later, Eloise received two letters on the same day, both addressed from the country estate Colin had recently moved his family to. She read them aloud to Philip and the twins during the younger girls’ nap:
My dearest sister,
I regret to inform you that little Janie has finally said her actual first word. I am now two for three of my children choosing to use their first foray into the wonderful world of language to proclaim me as their favorite parent. Three for three, really, for even though Thomas said “Mama,” first, I was the one who encouraged and taught him to do so.
But now, it is undisputed, for Janie cried out “Papa” today when Thomas stole one of her biscuits. Never worry, though, sweet sister, for Janie’s Papa did indeed come to the rescue with a fresh biscuit for her (and one for himself). You may desist in telling your fanciful story of her first word, now that we know what it actually was.
Hugs to the twins and the girls. A kiss right on the mouth for Philip.
Your most loving and favorite brother,
Colin
Darling Eloise,
My soulmate. Love of my life. I was wrong to doubt and tease you all those months ago. Of course Jane’s first word would be your name. I will be sure to corroborate your story with the rest of the family, posthaste!
I am almost finished with the embroidered handkerchiefs for Amanda, and will have Oliver’s for him by their birthday. Give all the children an extra story at bedtime from me and I’ve enclosed some pressed flowers for Philip.
Your favorite sister and friend,
Penelope
****
Little Georgie Bridgerton, apple of his parents’ eyes, was the uncharacteristically quiet babe of the Bridgerton family. He did not cry as much as any of his cousins or siblings, and his babbling was minimal. But, he was sweet, and soft, and cuddly, and coming three years after Jane’s birth, the true baby of the family. Everyone doted on him.
As his first birthday approached, Colin and Penelope began teasing each other on who the favorite parent would be. Would Georgie say “Mama,” or “Papa,” first? They encouraged him to say their names as much as possible, but he would just grin up at the them, holding his arms out to be lifted into an embrace. In no hurry whatsoever to speak.
“I hope he’ll say, ‘Mama,’ but it would be foolish to expect. You’re everyone’s favorite,” Penelope said to Colin one sunny afternoon as they picnic’d by the small lake on their estate. Agatha sat a few feet away, teaching Jane how to make a floral wreath for her hair, and Thomas had Georgie in his lap, telling him a story.
“I’m your favorite,” Colin taunted, kissing her on the cheek, “but not the children’s. Not really. They love me because I play with them and make up silly games and feed them cake and biscuits, and just in general make their lives better and…”
Penelope smacked him lightly on the arm. “Yes, you are wonderful. God’s gift to our family.”
“To the world, surely.”
“Yes, darling, to the world.”
“But you,” Colin continued, with another tender kiss to her other cheek, “are the true favorite. They adore you – how could they not?”
Before Penelope could do anything but smile her brightest smile at her angel of a husband, their “argument” was interrupted by Agatha.
“What are you talking about, Papa?”
“Oh, your Mama and I were discussing which of us is your favorite parent,” he answered with his customary Colin charm, scooting over to where she and Jane sat and taking up one of their flower crowns to place upon his own head.
“Favorite?” Agatha scrunched up her nose, the way she always did when learning something new. Her eyes widened after a few seconds – she never realized one could have favorite people like they have favorite colors or animals. “Do – do you have a favorite…” her eyes darted to each of her siblings, her hand coming up to her chest.
“No, poppet,” Colin soothed.
“We love all of you just the same,” Penelope added. “Even as we love all the very different things that make each of you, you.”
“Like what?”
Colin removed the flower crown from his head and placed it on Aggie’s. “Like how you make the best daisy headdress in the whole county.”
“And that you so kindly offered to teach your sister,” Penelope said. “I love that you are so bold and excited about trying new things.”
Agatha preened at the compliments, but did not dwell on them long, turning quickly to her father and asking, “What about Thomas?”
The boys turned their heads at the mention of Thomas’s name, and Colin ruffled his sons’ hair. “Oh, our Tommy is adventurous and kind.”
“We love all of his fantastical stories,” Penelope said, smiling at her sons. Georgie’s head bobbed up and down in agreement, while Thomas’s cheeks colored. He grabbed a biscuit from the plate in the center of the blanket and shoved it fully in his mouth instead of responding.
“And Janie,” Penelope continued, “we love her bright smile—”
Colin interrupted, “Because it is the brightest around the ones she loves and feels comfortable with.”
“And her determination to do even the littlest tasks well,” Pen finished.
Colin hoisted Jane into the air, blowing a raspberry on her tummy while she squealed in delight, then he picked up the thread again. “And as for Georgie, we love him because he is curious.” He held a hand out to his youngest, and Georgie immediately grasped it, flipping it over to see if there was anything in the palm.
“We love how observant he is, and how sweet and snuggly he is.”
By this time, Agatha and Jane had climbed into Penelope’s lap, and each leaned their cheeks against her arms.
“We don’t have favorites, either!” Agatha proclaimed. “We love you the same, but different. Mama because she gives the best hugs and chooses the best books to read to us, and Papa because he’s silly and likes to chase us around the house.”
“Or around the garden,” Colin said, nonchalantly getting to his feet and moving casually in the direction of the lake, only to suddenly turn and crouch, his hands shaped like claws as he moved in to tickle his eldest. She shrieked and jumped up, and soon Colin was running after her and Jane, with Thomas chasing after all three. Georgie, meanwhile, crawled over to his mother and snuggled into her lap for a much-needed nap.
****
They stopped teasing each other over what Georgie’s first word would be at around eighteen months. The other three had all spoken by fifteen, but, they reasoned, youngest children had less incentive than older to speak. Any one of his siblings could get him what he needed.
At two years, they began to worry privately, though each told the other it wasn’t that unusual, and they knew how smart he was, and he would talk in his own time.
At almost three, however, they could not hide their concern from each other anymore. They no longer cared what his first word would be – did not really care if he spoke at all – but desperately prayed that if there was something truly wrong, they would be able to help him.
And so, they agreed to speak with Simon.
“Penelope worries it is her fault,” Colin said, quietly, after explaining everything to his brother-in-law. “She wanted him to say ‘Mama,’ so badly, she would try and coax him to say it whenever they were alone. She thinks she put too much pressure on him.” He shook his head and downed the tumbler of brandy Simon poured him. “Georgie adores her. I don’t think he has ever felt anything from her but love, but it’s hard to get her to believe that.”
Simon clapped a hand to Colin’s shoulder. “She’s a good mother, and you are a good father, and you are doing everything exactly right. You’re loving him and giving him opportunities to learn. Keep doing that. Keep loving him.”
They shared another drink before Colin thanked him and took his leave. When he opened the door to depart Simon’s study, a glimpse of light brown hair whipping around the corner caught his attention, and he strode after it, quickly catching up to his daughter and sweeping her into his arms.
“Were you eavesdropping, Aggie?” he asked, a smile on his lips and a glint in his eyes.
“Maybe a little.”
Another thing he loved about his Agatha – she was honest to a fault. “You know you should not do that. Uncle Simon and I were having a grown-up conversation.”
“I know,” she sighed. “But Papa?”
“Yes, poppet?”
“I wanted to say, it’s alright if you need to love Georgie a little more if that means he’ll learn to talk.”
“Oh, darling girl…” He hugged her tightly and moved through the hallway into the family room. It was unusually quiet for this time of day, but Penelope had taken the younger three to get fitted for new clothes, and he supposed Agatha had been left behind with her cousins to do schoolwork. “Not more, remember? Different, maybe. We might have to show George our love a little differently, but he gets the same as you, and Thomas, and Janie.”
****
For the next several months, the whole family loved George, just as he was, for who he was, as they had done since he was born. They played with him and fed him, gave him hugs and kisses and cuddles. They sat with him in their laps, a book open, reading aloud to him and encouraging him to follow along with his finger. They watched as he observed, his eyes moving, catching every little thing happening around him, and they learned to interpret his signs and hand gestures.
One afternoon, about two months before his fourth birthday, while playing with Jane in the drawing room, Georgie burst into tears. He had never been a big crier, not when a baby, and not as he’d gotten older, but something in him that afternoon needed to be let out. Both Colin and Penelope sprang from their seats, but Colin insisted he would handle it. Pen had been ill the past week with a cold, and had been keeping her distance when possible from the children, hoping they would not catch it.
“What’s wrong, Georgie?” Colin asked, squatting down to his son’s level. The child lifted his arms, and while he was getting a little big for it, Colin had never refused any of his children who wanted to be held. When he moved to pick the boy up, though, Georgie flung himself back and waved his arms in front of his chest.
“You don’t want to be held?”
Georgie shook his head and looked across the room, where Penelope had sunk back onto the couch, a handkerchief held to her nose. George looked back to Colin and motioned for “up,” again. But, again, when Colin tried to pick him up, George squirmed away, shaking his head vigorously.
“I’m sorry, Georgie, I don’t know what you want. Do you want to be held?”
Georgie nodded and lifted his arms. Colin sighed and tried once more to embrace his son. Again, Georgie pushed him away. Frustrated, tears in his eyes, Georgie raised his arms.
“Papa is trying, Georgie Boy, but you won’t let me pick you up.”
The child balled his hands into little fists, his face screwed up in concentration. He glanced to Penelope again, then turned back to Colin and opened his little mouth. “Not Papa.” He raised a chubby fist and pointed across the room. “Mama.”
Tears filled Colin’s eyes, and even Jane’s went wide. He thought he might never hear his son’s voice, but there it was. The absolute sweetest noise in the entire world. He cleared his throat. “Um, Pen?”
The sound of a nose blowing filled the room. When it stilled, Pen’s scratchy voice replied, “Is he better now? It sounds like he stopped crying.”
Colin smiled down at Georgie, who finally smiled back at him. “He asked for you, Pen. I think he misses your cuddles.”
A moment later, too fast really, for how sick she was, his wife crouched down and lifted Georgie into her arms. “Oh, big boy,” she comforted, patting him on the back. “I’ve missed your cuddles, too, sweetling.”
Colin watched for a moment, basking in the sight of his beautiful wife and their beautiful child. Then he rose to his full height, wrapped an arm around Penelope’s shoulder, and ran his finger along George’s cheek. “He asked for you, Pen. He said, ‘Mama.’”
Penelope’s head turned to his, her gaze searching for the teasing glint in his eyes. But it wasn’t there. She looked down at George, then back at Colin, then down to Jane on the floor. Jane grinned.
“He did, Mama. He spoke.”
“He said, ‘Mama?’” Penelope asked Colin, whose whole face glowed brighter from the hope and joy on his wife’s face. He leaned in and rubbed George’s back.
“Who’s got you, Georgie Boy?”
George shifted slightly, his head rolling back on Pen’s shoulder so he could look up at her. He put his hand on her cheek and for the first time in his short life, repeated himself. “Mama.”
Colin and Jane decided together that although George’s first words had been three strung together, and he had technically said both “Not,” and “Papa,” before saying “Mama,” that when they told the story to the rest of the family, only the plea for “Mama,” would be mentioned.