Chapter Text
Growing up under the care of my aunt and uncle's household, they used to shower me with an abundance of gifts: literature being the most common theme. Stories about princesses in ivory towers, knights in shining armors, men so devoted to their women they would wage war for her, made up an unnaturally large portion of my adolescence.
There could be no debate amongst monsters and men that my aunt and uncle had made it one of their life's ambition to distract me from a depressing reality. An impossible feat they were surprisingly dedicated to.
I was an orphan with an idiot for an older brother once. Now I am twenty and four, estranged from the man and woman who had raised me, and eloped to my idiot brother's best friend. There was no gift on God's green earth that could distract from the pain of being Anthony Bridgerton's wife.
Though I had quickly resolved to the fact my relationship with him would never be like the books I grew up reading, I had at least expected him to have the decency of being honest to the vows he promised me under the watchful eye of God. I was the person he chose to marry. The woman whom he wanted to carry his child. Is carrying his child.
I deserved every bit of respect from him as his lawful wife. But he made me out like I was nothing more than the Leah to his Rachel.
If he did what he had done before we consummated our marriage then perhaps I wouldn't be as distraught as I was. To leave him now would be a hideous scandal; I would be shunned from society; my fortune would drown and no one in their right mind would lend a helping hand.
It would have been so easy to go back to my uncle's house too and beg for his full forgiveness. Knowing my uncle he would have welcomed me back with open arms, wrapped me in his arms, kissed my forehead, and treated me like his child once more. Now I'm not so sure.
A year was an awfully long time to be torn from another person. And all because of Anthony -- the devil in disguise. Nausea swam up my throat as the bitter truth settled.
The water placed in front of me was inviting. With a slight tremor I took a sip. Nobody minded my presence. My companions were all so engaged in their conversations that I was an invisible entity. A ghost would have felt more welcomed than me.
I put the cup down, a little bit of the water spilling over. Looking over my shoulder, my fingers drew the nearest servant over.
"Is it possible to let in a little breeze in here," I asked. "Please."
Hunched over to hear me better, he visibly faltered at the request, his eyes looking over to my husband in hesitation. "Please," I begged again.
My face had become incredibly hot and I began to fan myself. Across the other head of this ridiculously enormous dining table, Anthony finally seemed to have been pulled out of his intriguing conversation with the eldest Miss Kate Sharma, who was situated to his left for dinner. Not a word slips past their lips as they stare, but their sudden silence prompted the rest of the dinner group into curiosity, their attention now all directed towards me.
"Lady Bridgerton," gasped Edwina Sharma, concern laced in her sweet voice. "You've gone red. Are you sick?"
"Edwina," warned her older sister Kate.
"What?" She looked genuinely confused. "It's true, didi."
"It is impolite."
"The viscountess has been acting odd as of late. I'm just concerned."
"It is none of our busi-"
"I'm all right," I smiled, failing hard to ease the tension. "It's just very hot in here. Let's get that window open, hmm?"
The servant straightened his back, addressing the head of the household, and asked if he could be permitted to open a gap. My husband had no response, his eyes strictly honed in on me, as if trying to search for something. A strange habit he had all but become accustomed to since our time at Aubrey Hall; but this was not the time nor place for such odd behaviors.
The entire room was suddenly alive; an ominous haze hung over me; the smoke from the fire stuck in my throat, choking me. My hands clung to the underside of my seat as my face grew hotter. I was going to snap.
Breathing no longer came easy.
"Anthony Bridgerton," snapped my mother-in-law.
Her voice seemed to have brought him out of his own head, the leg of his chair scratched against the marble floors, and he crossed the distance to be by my side. He shook his head at the servant, "No. One of you go and fetch the doctor. If what Miss Edwina says is true, then we should get my wife checked."
I gently pushed away his hand, trying not to be obvious about my disgust for him in the faces of so many witnesses. "No need. A little air is all I require, dear husband."
"Let us get you to your room," he said. "You will fare much better in there than in here. Come."
He offered his hand to me. I shook my head.
"Y/N, you should listen to Anthony," said my older brother, John.
Edwina, who was seated next to him, nodded encouragingly.
"No!" I winced at my unbecoming reaction. "I'll be just fine."
Everything was riding downhill. Why was this happening to me? In front of my husband and his whore of all people! What did I do to deserve to this? Marry a man whose deceitful nature promised to be with me? If everybody could just divert their attention to something else, before I plucked their beady little eyes out of their heads, then perhaps I could survive this demonic gag -- of which I was the sore end of a brutal joke.
The heat in the room turned malicious. The fire roared, wind changed to scorch, my ears rang out in protest to my barbaric torture. I wanted to jump out of my seat and run, but the world was heavy -- had it always been this heavy? My body was melting into the wooden chair and when Anthony went to check on me again, desperate to get him away from me, my hands accidentally swiped the goblets on the table; they tumbled onto the rug; water and wine mixing into the green fabric.
"Y/N," said Anthony. He had caught my hand, but just as quickly let it go with a harsh jump. "Agh! Dammit!" he gasped. "You're burning up." At his last sentence, his voice seemed to be laced with something other than casual indifference.
The malicious temperature reached a note so high, that for a second I thought I might never be able to feel anything beautiful ever again. I wanted to claw my eyes out. Scream my throat raw in hopes of drowning out the brutal cacophony.
"Y/N?" Anthony's voice was distant, overpowered by the dramatic chaos torturing me. "Y/N? Somebody call for the doctor! This instant!"
There in the distance lied a comforting darkness; so sickly sweet I feared the worse. Desperate, I let it pull me into a dangerous sleep.
----
The moon was at her brightest when I came to. The drapes were drawn back and shadows danced in corners where the moonlight's pearlescent touch could not reach. My bedroom was every bit horror novel come to life. No fire in the hearth. No candles lit. Not one attendant or family to watch over me as I slept.
There wasn't even the tiniest indicator of flickering lights; the ones that would pass underneath the gap of a door; a fair warning to the soul that enjoyed their solitude that they were never truly alone; there would always lie the risk of having to entertain unwanted guests.
My head no longer felt hot as coal. I was tucked into bed -- stripped down to my socks and chemise -- the blanket wrapped around me was thin. It helped with the cool air circulating this dead of night. My duvets were usually heavier. Under this fabric I could just make out the protruding bump of my swollen stomach.
I laid my hands on top of it. This new extension of life always managed to elicit happier thoughts; ones that never failed to ease my nerves.
There were no words in the world that could do justice to how Anthony had reacted when I finally told him we were having our first child. Two weeks till Christmas, and like a miracle straight out of my fiction novels, he no longer burrowed himself in his work and became attentive to me. I had become his most interesting friend. He was the polar end of the indifferent man I had resolved myself to endure the hardships of life with. Unfortunately the final pages of my happy ending came to an abrupt ending.
Though his attention for me dissipated as quickly as it came, at least his anxiousness for our child did not leave him. He would spend a grievous amount of time researching nursery trends, magazines on how to raise well-behaved children, or on names than the average man should have. His excitement was so endearing and infectious, that Hyacinth herself pointed out that the baby would have no need for a nurse with Anthony around.
But the soft smile on my lips grew heavy. An avalanche of unwanted thoughts fell from the sky, burying me alive in these sheets.
If spring had frozen over instead of thawing the ice in my brother's heart then perhaps I would have never found myself in this situation. The diamond of the season had enamored him so much, that for the first time in a long time, John was desperate to ask me for help; especially since said diamond came with an older sister not so easily swayed by words of affection or endearment.
Perhaps the fault lied within me.
I was the one who recommended John use Aubrey Hall to spend more time with Edwina; there would be no other suitors to distract her; it was closer to London than our ancestral home in Scotland; and he could see her for almost all hours of the day without too much interruption. It seemed so perfect at the time.
Feeling desperate to help John settle down and move away, I entertained his brilliant ideas about us distracting Kate and becoming her closest friends. But since I was six months pregnant and could not keep up with her preferred hobbies, Anthony ended up taking one for the entire team. So now here we all were: three weeks into the countryside; one happy engagement between the most oblivious couple in the world; and two serpents making out in the garden while a pregnant woman lied alone in the dark.
If Anthony had really once been ecstatic about our child, it seemed the novelty has long worn off. No man who had the capacity to love his children would behave as he had.
They just couldn't...
I bolted out of bed; my feet dashed against the mahogany floors; my hands toppled over the items on my vanity as I -- with trembling hands; only guided by the pearlescent light -- reached out for the white chamber pot hiding underneath.
Vomit cascaded like a spring from within me.
When my father died I couldn't handle the sight of his rotting corpse and my puke ended up in his casket. I had to run to the lake for my mother’s funeral because I was afraid the same thing would happen. When uncle Perkins told me he no longer wanted anything to do with me after my marriage to Anthony, I was back at the lake, a flock of geese had to watch me pollute their home. I had a violent reflex when dealing with unbearable subjects.
Tonight I finally understood the gravity of my situation with Anthony: my child and I were good as dead.
I heard the door's lock turn and a weak yellow glow was casted upon the room. I glanced over my shoulder, thankful for the familiar face that walked in.
"Missus Andrews," I croaked. "Where is-"
At the idea of saying Anthony's name so soon, I threw up again. Missus Andrews was suddenly on her knees right next to me. She placed the candelabra on the floor. The candle was so terrifyingly close that I could now see the vile substance staring back at me. My knuckles turned white as I gripped the rim of the ceramic tighter. I let my head rest against her chest when I had no more to let out. Her calloused hands gently swiped my hair away from my less than gracious face.
"Calm now," she said. "I need you to be presentable, ma'am. The doctor’ll be here any second now."
She looked behind us nervously, her arm slid beneath my shoulders, taking half my weight and pulling me up to a stand. "Quickly now" she said. My head lolled to the side as we moved.
"How many times do I have to say it, you do not have to address me as such." Hearing 'ma'am' or 'lady' from other people was alright, but to hear it come out of the nurse who held me as a babe made me doubly ill.
"It'll do you good to remember how Lord Bridgerton feels about that."
Why should I care, I thought. I finally see him for what he is.
With that I laid in bed, the thin blanket draped over my legs, and my head upright against the cushioned headboard. With her apron she hastily wiped at my chin, the remnants of my illness on the front of her dress. I groaned in agony, burying half of my face on the cool side of my pillow, while Missus Andrews busied herself with hiding any evidence of my less than gracious reaction to unbearable revelations. She hid the now lidded ceramic in an oak wardrobe; fixed the rug and precious objects I had knocked over; placed the candelabra from the floor on my nightstand; and lit the fireplace; her eyes constantly glanced over to the door with palpable anxiety.
There was a noise coming out from the opposite end of the door just as the fire fully roared to life. Missus Andrews looked over at me as she walked to go outside and greet the suspected guests -- her thumb and finger pulling on her left ear.
It had been a long while since I last saw that: the secretive code only we were both acquainted with. Like a trained dog I listened to her command: my back straightened, I faced forward, and set aside my sets of discomfort.
She went ahead and fetched the entourage of unwanted faces: John and Anthony, followed after them was a finely dressed gentlemen, all dressed in black, and a medical bag clutched in his hand. A stranger; the doctor.
My nails tore into the soft skin of my palms. It took a great deal of strength to pretend my body was not at the mercy of cruel enigmas who thought my suffering some joke.
Missus Andrews silently stepped aside, with her hands neatly folded in front of her, she stood there by the oak wardrobe. Her eyes would not be on me, but on the men in the room deciding my fate. If they suspected anything remotely close to the truth then I would be cast out. That was the way of the world.
"Good evening," I said to the ensemble that came in.
The doctor nodded to me, made himself somewhat comfortable on the edge of the mattress, and unclasped his medical bag. My stomach dropped at the sight of the silver equipment; barely discernible in the candlelight but enough for me to see a glint. But with rolled-up sleeves, he assessed me with his bare hands first. They were uncomfortably warm as they roamed my head and belly.
"How far along is she?" asked the doctor
Anthony -- who stood watching with my brother at the foot of the bed -- answered, "Six months."
"Is this the first time she has displayed such symptoms?"
"Yes," answered Anthony after some deliberation. He bit his thumb, his left sole tapped an erratic rhythm against the floor, and his eyes darted nervously to the doctor. Why was he the one nervous? I was the one being inspected like some prized pig. The rational voice in my head begged me to look outside at the peeping moon, forget about his existence for a moment, but my eyes were drawn by the devil at the foot of my bed.
Was this his godly design? To act his part to perfection until he no longer could. Anthony should drop the act of a nervous husband before I turned myself into hysterics. If I was Eve and Anthony the serpent, then heaven knows we would all still be in Eden.
"Is the baby going to be well?" he suddenly asked.
I quickly disguised my laugh of derision with heavy fits of coughing.
"Let us see," said the doctor.
The freezing touch of a silver tool barely registered to me as I searched Anthony's face for a sign of anything remotely real. But every crease or anxiety in his perfect face was manufactured.
"What did your physician in London say about the pregnancy?"
The question had been directed at me, but it was Anthony who answered, "Fine."
"Then there is no worry here. The baby will come out just fine."
Anthony let out a sigh of relief, his hands dropped down to his side, and I felt disgusted. In the corner of my eye, Missus Andrew slowly released the anxiety that had been plaguing her.
"As for your wife Lord Bridgerton," He brought out a small bottle from his bag and instructed me to sniff it. I pushed his arm away, too shocked by the powerful kick of the scent. "I suggest smelling salts or oils to calm her nerves. Either than that, this is just a simple cold. No doubt heightened because of the pregnancy." He gave me a pointed look. "It’s really not that serious, viscountess. No need to overreact; that is what children are for."
He began to pack up and Missus Andrews hurried over to my side to tend to me. Anthony thanked the doctor and escorted him out, but not before giving me a half-hearted, "Rest well."
"Good night." The smile on my face was burdensome.
"I hope it really is nothing too serious," my brother joked once Anthony was truly out the door. "It's bad luck to have a wedding and a funeral so close to one another."
"And where did you hear such a ridiculous thing?" I asked.
"Me," he responded with a smug smile. "My word is law, sis."
No longer burdened by Anthony's presence in the room, all I could think about was my brother's poor attempt at a joke, and I rolled my eyes at him. His idiocracy was a burden but it came with certain perks; the need to pull my leg or make jokes when I was down one of them; I was grateful for it, albeit a little annoyed.
"Well, don't worry," I assured him. "I'll make sure to do it after your wedding."
"I don't know, you have a habit of upstaging your one and only one brother. You're the special one, remember?."
Our humor seemed to have passed over Missus Andrews' head. The older woman tucked me into bed tighter than what was necessary, and with a reprimanding tone interrupted, "Your sister is all right. The doctor says 'a simple cold', then by God's will it is a simple cold."