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“Are we going to church so you can marry Mama?”
One’s sense of deja vu tickled like being two weeks late for a haircut and always conscious of some strand down one’s neck. Lord Featheringtons had quite astonished him three times with the same question about the same lady. He had answered incorrectly out of his own ignorance the first two times. It was pure silliness, but at least he had one more chance.
Colin Bridgerton had lived to know three different Lord Featheringtons and he was only a young man himself. Considering the third of them was his own boy, he was likely to be around to meet Elliot’s own son and heir, thus the incumbent Baron after Elliot. A grandson would be a wonder, though that future boy would only have the title when Colin’s boy was gone from the world. He didn’t want to see that transition as it meant grieving his own firstborn.
He was a father three times over, and Penelope made beautiful children with rather rare aplomb. She naturally did suffer the aches of expecting and the pain of labour, but her exhaustion was always defeated by her love. She was always more capable and able to give more of herself. And her patience for a husband who could not live without her was indefatigable.
He was fifteen when Penelope’s father had asked him in jest which of the house’s daughters would be the lady of his suit. Colin had blushed. He was promised a small glass of wine and a hand of cards with the men while ladies had tea, though he was not playing well enough he could bet anything. In the spirit of mentoring, they had waived betting for his few hands. Archibald Featherington had been arrogant in his winning, but also reckless. His guest, a Mr. Finnigan, did not seem like he was part of the ton. He was also loitering about Featherington house one afternoon in the season, with no mention of his business there.
“Colin, you are at school now, but you will graduate and want a bride,” Lord Featherington said.
He had nodded. “Yes, sir. Not immediately. I have a great interest in a grand tour, and I would feel bad to leave a new wife to do so. And a honeymoon is not quite the same thing. My brothers have explained to me that some of the places I would like to see are not for a gently bred lady to stay. The Viscount says I may go, but I must show I have planned carefully and made a sensible budget. So that is not my year to think of a wedding as well.”
The man had been smoking a cigar, and he stared at Colin for a moment. “You are thoughtful of the lady you marry. It is admirable. I would be happy to have you look at my girls. Which one do you like best? My Penelope is closest in years, and she has a good mind. Will you be asking for her hand?”
After marrying Pen, he could think back with clarity on the teasing. It was not manipulative. He had never felt the warmth of a father from the man, but he was a different type of husband and father than Edmund Bridgerton. Not loving one’s wife made for a different dynamic with any children from the union. It was the empty camaraderie of a man who did not believe in friendships because he had soured all of his.
“I would not presume,” Colin had said. “And she is a girl yet. It would be unfair to scheme with her father without giving her time to grow up. I would only ever claim a happy wife who came to me in love.”
“Good answer, and no reason to make promises prematurely. A man needs his freedom. Love is a fine notion to settle once you live a little.”
He was mocked for the very consideration that had just been to his credit, and he had remembered the moment as a measure of what Penelope’s life was when no guests were there to see it. He had been kind before, but he understood he might have to protect her in spite of her parents. She was not unloved, but there was a coldness to it that felt oily next to the rumours that gambling had diminished the estate.
Lord Jack Featherington had been more agreeable in the speculation, though there had still been a drink offered. He was not overtly a card man. He did seem to be a gambler of some sort. He might be a relative, but he was a stranger to the ladies Featherington. Not every man was raised with a role model who would care for women’s future security as they would poise a son or nephew for success. He had no history with them to make him love them.
He was too smooth, and his talk of business had the tune of a sales pitch that was so light a touch the customer was meant to insist on buying. Ruby mines were an exotic thing that surely existed, but America was large and different parts were variable. It was not the sort of property that was put on maps to buy. It was mentioned enough to bait, then waved off like the topic would bore him.
Colin felt uneasy about him, and he knew he was keeping some distaste for the man’s late uncle. It was hard not to hold it against Pen’s father to have died in the midst of a second scandal in her first year out. Her reputation was damaged almost before she had managed a full conversation with anyone. She was shy and would not presume to approach anyone herself. Lady Featherington’s help had seemed allotted for her eldest first, mostly because she was the thinnest and coldest of the girls. She had been most sharply carved into her mother’s replica. Philippa had wandered into a suitor who adored her, and Penelope stood back with her eyes roaming the party.
“You would like to have permission to spend some time with our avid reader? I did wonder about this,” Lord Featherington had said, having offered a whiskey. “Miss Penelope is very fond of your sister, Miss Eloise. I know it is a tradition for such friendships to also spur a courtship or two. I confess I have not had much formal intercourse with ladies. Introductions are not always policed so heavily. It is not the same in America. Titles are not as well received there, though money spends well enough. You will have to excuse my ignorance if there was something of a courtship last season. I know the mourning period interrupted Miss Philippa’s wedding plans.”
He had been watching for signs of nervousness or concealment, and the assumption Colin was trying to call on Pen was not unfounded. He would be glad to see her, though he had made sure his family did not see him cross the street. A visit to Penelope was often accompanied by Eloise taking her chance to join. And Portia Featherington had excuses ready for why they were just too busy to have him stay long.
“Oh, I am not in any courtships, Lord Featherington,” he said. “I was sadly disappointed by a lady last season and have decided I must season my sensibilities before I can think about another foray. I meant to ask after your ruby venture. Miss Penelope is the seed of my visit, but out of friendship. She has told me just enough to intrigue about your mines. I would be doubly invested if I knew what was not my profit would go to her financial welfare. The women of this house have been brave in it, but they have suffered.”
Jack Featherington tutted over his uncle’s indulgences like anyone must, but there was no ire in it. The estate was just dirt and bricks that happened to contain all the safety and agency of four women who had been terribly let down. He was not morally offended they had been unprotected for a time.
“Gemstones are lucrative but the mine is not a sure thing,” he said. “I must give the kindness of warning. I expect profits, but I cannot guarantee them at the present time. It is simply such a new industry and the country is young. It is wild and unpredictable. It is worth visiting, to be sure, but I cannot take the inheritance of a young man who might not have the means to live if that expense is not repaid with good luck. I do not mean anything against you, but I have been told you are a third son and your brother, the Viscount, means to marry. I could never take a penny from a friend of the family if it did him harm.”
To put it so baldly and couch it as a favour was Jack’s error. He had no reason to care about Colin, who had just said his monetary success would not be a fall for Penelope as his wife. Jack should take any investors who were green enough they needed to be told sometimes the payoff was not equal to the forecast of a prospect. He was not a nice man, though he was charming.
“My share of the funds does not make a killing blow if I should lose it,” Colin assured him. “And I know you might want to seek out more experienced partners, but how can a man have experience without a first attempt in investing? I could have had my brother move my money around for me, but I have a good feeling about your rubies. Miss Penelope’s necklace was beautiful, and men will always need to buy gifts for their wives.”
Pen had appeared soon after, and Colin had left with the certainty that rubies were going to symbolize blood and strife instead of prosperity. He didn’t want them around her neck, and he didn’t like her Cousin Jack. The man didn’t truly have to look after anyone from the estate prior to his inheritance. They were left nothing. They were fortunate not to owe, but only because they could not legally have been given anything but personal items like their clothing and belongings costing too little to be assets.
At a spare twenty-one years, Colin had never been prouder to be of service to a lady than his ultimatum to that Lord Featherington. The most recent baron was a more formidable sort of fellow. He knew the power of a well-placed word that had a push behind it. Elliot went to bed for his Mama with no fuss, because she simply loved him so much his little heart could not escape the bed. Her songs were just right, and her touch utter comfort imbued into her children’s marrow.
When Colin was chosen to read the story and tuck him in, Elliot was just as likely to be awake and reading to himself an hour later, while his Papa had drowsed in the chair next to his bed. He ran on stories like his mother, and could stay awake forever if there was a new book that was satisfying and suspenseful.
Still, the question about the church ceremony was nothing to scoff about. Their son knew they were married. Colin had started announcing Penelope as his wife about the same time they were engaged, with the same boy who was so inquisitive freshly conceived very briefly before the wedding.
“We are not getting married,” he told his son. “That is only done once. But we are having a family blessing together, because Jane and Agatha were not there. And we did not meet you until later. So you missed a fine day and your Mama looking so beautiful. I want a day where we can all be very finely dressed and stand in front of our community to show we will support each other. And we included Mama’s own mother, for she must not be left out. The wedding was about Mama and me, but now the family is bigger. We are a branch of a new tree. I would marry your mother once a day, if it was up to me. But she is a busy woman.”
Elliot puzzled over that, then asked. “Is it funny to feel nice that Mama loves me but also for it to make me cry? It is a big knot that ties and ties around my insides, and it squeezes out my feelings.”
Colin laid his head down on the boy’s chest, where a heart that must be exactly like his own beat strongly.
“Your Mama will call me silly to believe this, but she truly does love like the sun shining. She used to wear only yellow, and I did not know what to do with myself around her, but I couldn’t stay away,” he said. “It brings tears to my eyes as well. She loves so much it feels like being given the whole world when she should keep it for herself. But she is too generous for that, so we must try hard to let her know they are happy tears. I felt just the same when you first called me ‘Papa’ and when little Jane put her hand in mine. Agatha’s kicks from inside Mama’s belly sent me to bed in weeps. Love is one of those things that can grow bigger than your body. Mama started loving me earlier than I knew I loved her, so hers is bigger.”
He lifted his head up and saw Elliot was tearing up. “How do we love her enough, then? She had a head start and that is not fair,” he said, pouting.
Comparison was a petty habit, and it was still tempting to think more could be done to balance. A father did not have to be pregnant, and he was not so tied to the children when they were small. Penelope was choosing motherhood and it took time away from her writing. But she did not keep ledgers for it, and Colin would disgrace her to count the difference.
“It is not a race, because we will not finish loving each other. Mama takes my love and hers and has made our babies,” Colin told him, patting his nervous fingers picking at his pajama buttons. “She loves very much, but we love her all together. So my love and yours and Aggie’s and Jane’s is a lot, too. Plus all the other people like her Mama and sisters, and all the Bridgertons across the street and in Scotland and in the country. She is not counting it, and feeling bad. The one thing I know I did for Mama when I married her was to show she should also love herself.”
His poor son was flooding with tears, and he sat up in his bed. Colin brought in another pillow and found a handkerchief for him.
“Mama used to be sad before us,” Elliot said. “She told me she liked being at Bridgerton house a lot and wished she could live there.”
“Not sad all the time, but yes, she had a few very hard years. She was lonely. Sometimes that happens even if there are people around,” Colin replied. “There are very immense thoughts one can have that are hard to hold but also hard to think about. One must try to find a way to say it, or the ideas repeat to become instructions - rules you have made up about how you should be. I used to think it was bad to understand how people were feeling, but I needed that to be a good person to marry Mama. Learning about feelings is as important as art and music. It is not like math where someone can tell you have a right feeling or a wrong one.”
Wiping at tears that continued was not doing much, and Elliot kicked off the blanket that was not helping with his red cheeks and the hot breathlessness of feeling too intensely. Colin rubbed his back and finally picked him up.
“Oh, my lad, your Mama feels so happy now. Getting married was a very good start to it, but you came along soon and then we were a family,” he said. “I think we need to share around all your big surge of love. Let’s go knock on bedroom doors and see if Granny F is awake to have a hug. Then we will stop at the nursery to say goodnight to your sisters, but that might have to be whispered. Mama will be there. Sometimes I have to come to your room while you are sleeping and put your foot back under the covers and make sure you are well before I can sleep. It is good to have empathy - to have a good feel for when someone near might need support. It is a tool I use to try to be a good Papa.”
“You are my best Papa!”
His boy cracked him wide open, and Colin nearly stumbled getting them down the hallway to be hugged by anyone still awake to answer a knock at the door. He was a distilled sunbeam, blinding in goodness. Penelope had not created him alone, but she seemed to have some mystery to her that gave light to their babies without dimming her at all.
The Colin who had denied her had no idea his years of cheating himself would come to three blessings and their benediction of a mother. The truth would have killed him from shock. He could barely understand years into a marriage that made the world a better place in a literal way. He took his soggy regard and his ‘wedding night’ baby to be fixed up by their lynchpin.
“You are a good boy to say so,” he said. “Mama is going to call us silly, but that is because she doesn’t understand how it is to be away from her.”
“Mama is always in the same room as herself, and she is silly. It makes my heart hurt,” Elliot said. “She has an unfair advantage. She is the only one who can give Mama hugs.”
“A most unjust lady is your Mama,” Colin laughed, his smart son going right to a fine grudge about it. “Not nearly long enough arms on her to hug everyone at once. She should have been born an octopus.”