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I - Winter 2003 (Past)
Young Anthony Bridgerton could hear the crackling of the fire before he’d even pushed open the door to the library at Aubrey Hall.
At thirteen years old, Anthony had very little interest in spending time in a stuffy old library. In fact, at this very moment, he was absolutely longing to go outside. He’d been cooped up all day, after all, solving equations and revising for a history exam until his eyes had begun to cross and the pages began to blur. He was aching to stretch his legs, thinking maybe he could entice Benedict to go sledding on the big hill by the lake… if their mum said it was okay, of course.
But he’d gotten distracted as he’d made his way downstairs.
Because this wasn’t just any stuffy old library. This was his father’s library.
It was unusually quiet in this part of the house. All of his siblings must have been playing somewhere else, like the nursery or the drawing room. There were no voices coming from behind the library door. Which meant his father was working in there, alone.
Anthony adored his father, saw him as something of a hero, someone larger-than-life. And while he understood that Edmund Bridgerton was a very busy and important man, he couldn’t help the hopeful way he nudged open the library door.
After all, he hadn’t seen his father all day.
He’d be more than happy to spend more of his afternoon indoors if it meant a little one-on-one time with Edmund. Uninterrupted time with his father was becoming rarer and rarer these days. He hadn’t minded much when he’d had to share his parents with Ben and Colin, but then Daphne had come along and had an awful lot of needs for a baby, at least in Anthony’s opinion. Eloise had only been part of their family for a couple of years now, and it already seemed like his parents had gone a step too far.
(Who on earth needed so many children?)
The library was warm when Anthony popped his head in, the fire crackling on the hearth a nice contrast to the falling snow outside painting the trees and grounds in white. Edmund sat at his desk, head and neck bent over some ledger or other, brow furrowed in concentration.
As Anthony drew nearer, he breathed in the scent of brandy and leather, blending itself uniquely with the scent of whatever cologne he was wearing. It was a comforting aroma. Familiar. A scent that he would always associate with his father as long as he lived.
Edmund looked up when he saw him.
“Anthony,” he said, his voice hoarse from disuse even as he smiled brightly. “What are you doing in here, son?”
Anthony shrugged. He hadn’t really thought up an excuse before he’d nosed his way in here, and now he couldn’t bring himself to admit he’d interrupted his father for no reason at all.
He gestured vaguely at the bookshelves.
“Ah,” Edmund said. There was a knowing glint in his eye, and Anthony knew he didn’t believe this flimsy excuse for a moment. “Looking for a book, are you?”
Anthony just shrugged again, trying to ignore the fact that it looked like his father was holding back laughter.
For a moment, father and son merely existed in companionable silence, while Anthony’s eyes scanned the bookshelves without really taking in any of the titles. There were so many books in here, the idea of reading them all was absurd. Knowing his father had read them all at one point or another in his life made him downright dizzy. And the system made no sense to him. Here was some fiction, but then he’d bump into a medical dictionary beside a book about Napoleon. His father must have understood the system, though…
Ant had just thumbed past a copy of Robinson Crusoe when Edmund’s voice broke the silence.
“So what have you been up to today, son?”
“Revising,” came Ant’s automatic reply. “I’ve got a history exam when I go back to school. Maths, too.”
“You’re welcome to borrow a book if it’ll help.”
Anthony smiled a crooked half-smile. “I’m good.”
Edmund laughed. “Fair enough. For what it’s worth, Ant, I’m very proud of you. You’re a good worker.”
Anthony felt his ears going red and changed the subject hastily.
“What about you? What have you been doing today?”
“Working. Same as you. Maths,” he added, wrinkling his nose in distaste. Anthony laughed, and then Edmund went on. “I’m balancing some accounts for the family.”
“Can I help you?”
“I’m sure you could,” said Edmund, but for some reason Anthony didn’t understand, he sighed. “And one day, you will. But not for a long time. At least not if I can help it,” he added under his breath.
“Why?”
Edmund seemed to really think about his reply. “Because… because you’re young. And you deserve to have time to just be young.”
“I’ll be head of the family one day,” Anthony said unnecessarily.
“And you’ll make a very good one, I think,” his father smiled. “One day I’ll teach you all about running the estate, and everything that goes into it, but it can wait until you’re a bit older, alright?”
“Alright.”
“For now, just worry about your schoolwork. Unfortunately, you’re going to need all that math and history one day.”
Anthony laughed a bit at that, and his father joined him.
“So, that’s what you can do to help for now. Well, that and enjoy yourself. You’re a kid. You should have fun, too.”
“Do you still get to have fun once you’re head of a family?”
Anthony felt a sense of foreboding he didn’t really understand, but that Edmund seemed to recognise.
“Of course I do,” he said loudly and firmly. “There’s a lot of work to do, but what’s the point of doing anything if you can’t have fun, too?”
But Anthony noticed how tired his father’s eyes looked. After a moment, he asked another question.
“Will you be up late tonight working on these ledgers?”
Edmund considered his answer before he spoke. “Maybe,” he said honestly, looking at the papers on his desk.
“Would you rather I leave you alone so you can get it done now?”
“I’d much rather spend some time with my son, actually.”
There was no hesitation in his voice, no pause for thought, when he spoke, and Anthony felt a rush of joy and pride in knowing that his father would always have time for him.
“Really?”
“Really.” The warmth in Edmund’s voice left no room for doubt. “That’s my fun, you know. You asked if I have fun between all the work I have to do. Well, spending time with my children is how I have fun.”
And just that quickly, Anthony felt himself relax fully. There was something so comforting about knowing that someone just enjoys your company, and Anthony revelled in the reassurance.
Emboldened, he pulled a book off the shelf. It was an old book, with a worn cover of faded red. Gold, embossed letters spelled out the title — The Language of Flowers.
“Is this a novel?” Anthony asked.
Edmund seemed to relax more fully, too. He leaned back in his chair and stretched, turning to face Anthony.
“That one? No, that’s genuinely just a book about flowers.”
Anthony’s face must have looked as disdainfully disappointed as he felt, because his father laughed out loud.
“Did you not know that flowers have a secret language?” Edmund asked, standing up and stretching his arms. “Each bloom carries a meaning with it, and we can use them to communicate our feelings to people without words.”
“Why would you do that?” Anthony asked baldly.
“Sometimes the right words can be hard to find,” was all Edmund said in reply. “You’ll understand one day.”
Anthony rolled his eyes. He hated when people said things like that.
“Here,” Edmund went on, taking the book from Anthony and thumbing through the pages. “Lilacs, for example. They represent first love. Did you know we have a lilac tree on the property?”
Anthony shrugged. He hadn’t really noticed.
“Well, we do,” Edmund checked him playfully with his shoulder. “And I love bringing lilacs into the house when it flowers to remind your mother that she’s still my first and best love.” He leaned closer and whispered conspiratorially to Anthony. “Lilacs are my favourites, you know. What about you? Got a favourite flower?”
Anthony was befuddled. He’d never given flowers one moment of thought in his life.
When he told his father so, Edmund threw a jolly arm around his shoulders. “That’s natural, I suppose,” he said. “Don’t worry. Your favourite flower will find you one day.”
Anthony had no earthly idea what his father was talking about. Were they still talking about flowers? He changed the subject entirely in an attempt to regain his footing.
“Is Mum’s favourite flower violets?”
“Good guess,” winked Edmund. “But you’re off the mark. Our Violet loves hyacinths, actually.”
Anthony’s brow furrowed in thought. “Which ones are hyacinths?”
“You’ve seen them growing in our gardens,” said Edmund as he perched on the edge of his desk. “They bloom in the spring, around Eastertime. They’re small plants, and the blooms grow in little clusters on the stalks.”
“And what do they say when you give them to someone?”
“That’s a good question,” Edmund replied, his eyes twinkling. With a nod, he gestured toward the book. “Why don’t you find out?”
Had Anthony been older, he might have guessed that his father already knew the answer. He might have put together the fact that Edmund probably already knew the symbolism of his wife’s favourite flower. That maybe this was simply an excuse for father and son to bond over a shared activity.
But Anthony was only thirteen, and he didn’t question anything his father told him. He sat down in the chair by his father’s desk and scanned the text in front of him until he found the proper entry.
“In the language of flowers,” he read. “A hyacinth bouquet conveys a sense of playfulness. Hyacinths are often associated with rebirth and deep love. The colour of the hyacinth also adds to its meaning. Blue hyacinths symbolise constancy, pink represents play, and white for loveliness.”
“That sounds about right,” came his father’s voice.
After a moment’s pause, Anthony went on. “In the spring, maybe you and I can pick hyacinths as a surprise for Mum. Make her a bouquet.”
“I think that’s an excellent idea.”
Pleased with the pride in his father’s voice, Anthony settled back into his chair. His eyes returned once again to the window, to the snow falling thicker from the sky in fat, wet flakes. He looked longingly out at the snow-covered fields, torn between the desire to stay longer at his father’s side and the need to get out of this house, to stretch his legs, to run until his sides hurt. To play.
Edmund looked out the window, too, then back at Anthony. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking, son?” he asked, mischief in his eyes.
Anthony felt his entire body perk up.
“Sledding?”
Edmund’s grin only widened, and he shut the cover of his ledger with a resounding slam.
“I think we’ve both worked enough for one day, don’t you?”
Anthony felt a grin creep across his own face.
“Race you outside?” He was already halfway out of his seat.
“Well,” Edmund laughed again. “Maybe we can start the race after we’re all bundled up, hey? Your mother will kill me if I let you run around in the snow without so much as a hat and gloves.”
And together, father and son ran outside to play.
II - Winter 2026 (Present…ish)
When their son Neddy was born, Kate had told Anthony that there was no greater pain in the world than childbirth.
But this morning, Anthony wondered if perhaps he’d found something worse.
And he’d found it courtesy of Kate’s ridiculous dog.
Newton, still a young dog (though certainly no puppy), woke Anthony this morning by bouncing atop him, pounding little paws into his chest over and over again, letting Anthony know in no uncertain terms that he demanded sausage for breakfast.
Those paws of his might have been little, Anthony grumbled as he dragged himself from the warmth of his bed and pulled on a dressing gown, but they were mighty. Somehow, it felt like they packed the force of a thousand fists into a tiny concentrated area. It was like he had amassed strength and power beyond the average dog.
Supermutt.
And what did the little menace get for causing so much trouble? He was rewarded with scritches in bed. Having barked the house down and all but destroyed Anthony’s chest with blunt force trauma, Newton was now curled up like a sweet little angel in Kate’s arms, where he was receiving a puppy head massage for being “such a good boy.”
Anthony rolled his eyes, but Kate just laughed when she saw.
“That’s what you get for promising him sausage for breakfast,” she said glibly as she settled back against the pillows. “Newton never forgets anything. He’s far too smart for that.”
Kate was spending more of her mornings in bed resting these days — at Anthony’s request, of course. She’d fought him on it at first, but he’d insisted. She’d just had a baby, after all.
During her pregnancy, they had decided together to split the responsibilities of new parenthood as evenly as they could, taking turns when it came to feedings and changing nappies throughout the day, and dividing overnight cries into two groups: late night (those were Anthony’s responsibility — he was always up late anyway) and early morning (those were Kate’s — she was naturally an early riser anyway).
They were both rather proud of the system they’d devised. Anthony had been adamant that he would be an equal participant in parenting, determined that it would not all fall on Kate’s shoulders, so beyond ecstatic to finally be a father that he didn’t want to miss a moment if he could help it.
At the door, Anthony turned to look back at Kate one more time. Newton was nuzzling his snout into Kate’s side, and Ant couldn’t help the smile that quirked up the corners of his mouth despite his rude awakening a few moments ago.
The pup had been fiercely protective of Kate in the past few months, ever since the beginning of Kate’s pregnancy, and Anthony had to admit he found it incredibly endearing. As though Newton understood the huge change that had taken place in their household, and was trying to support Kate in any way he could.
As though Newton’s love for Kate was growing just as Anthony’s did, a little more every day.
Relenting, unable to help himself, Anthony walked the few paces back toward the bed, bending down to take Kate’s face in his hands and kiss her gently, slowly. Her eyes were closed when he finally drew away.
“I love you,” he whispered. “Just thought I should let you know.”
Kate huffed a breath, still looking a bit dazed. “I always suspected you did,” she joked, but she was beaming at him. Then she added, “why don’t I get up and help you—”
“Absolutely not,” said Anthony, his voice still gentle. “You’ll stay right here and get some more sleep. I can handle a bit of breakfast on my own, you know.”
“I know,” Kate rolled her eyes. “But I like helping you in the kitchen. Besides, I’m not an invalid.”
“You were up at midnight to feed Neddy,” Ant countered. “You deserve a bit of a lie-in. Besides,” he added with a wink. “We’re on holiday, aren’t we?”
Kate laughed heartily at that.
As of yesterday, they were back at Aubrey Hall. Though Kate and Anthony generally tried to come out to the family estate for major holidays, they hadn’t travelled to the countryside this Christmas, as Kate had been so heavily pregnant and not really up to the long drive. Instead, they’d celebrated a quiet holiday in their London home, and then welcomed their son near the end of January.
But now, they were happily snuggled into Anthony’s favourite house in the world, the place where he’d shared so many happy memories with his parents and siblings — not to mention with Kate.
The place he was now going to share with his son.
“You stay in bed,” he affirmed, kissing Kate on her forehead. “And I’ll be right back with a peace offering for the mutt.”
Anthony narrowed his eyes at the corgi as he spoke, while Newton looked back at him, a smug grin on his furry face.
***
Perhaps he should have gone straight to the kitchen, but Anthony couldn’t resist checking on little Neddy first. The nursery was a room that adjoined theirs, so it was no trouble at all, really.
As he approached the crib in the darkened room, Anthony caught sight of his son’s tiny forehead, and he felt a fluttering in his chest. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to the sweeping sensation of unadulterated love his son inspired in him… but he didn’t think he wanted to, either.
This was a new phenomenon for him. Every single time he saw Neddy, Anthony felt like his heart swelled just a little bit more, making room for an even deeper well of affection.
How was it even possible for a heart to hold this much love?
Neddy was still happily swaddled underneath the beautiful blanket that his grandma Mary had crocheted especially for him, and his curious eyes found Anthony’s the moment he bent close. As Anthony spoke to him in soft, dulcet tones, the baby began to coo, and Ant simply couldn’t help himself. He reached into the crib, touching his son’s face and telling him what a beautiful morning it was, and how much his papa loved him.
“I’m going downstairs to make sausage for Newton,” he told Neddy. “And I’m going to surprise Amma with breakfast in bed. How does that sound?”
Neddy blew a raspberry, which Anthony took as a show of support.
Gently drawing the baby out of the crib, Anthony kept talking as he held his son close to his heart, enjoying the warmth and closeness of him.
“Do you want to help me, my love? That way you won’t wake Amma if she falls back to sleep?”
Neddy squealed happily.
“I knew you’d agree,” said Ant happily, pressing a trail of kisses to the baby’s head.
***
Downstairs, Ant talked to Neddy in a constant stream of conversation, showing him the house, explaining in soft, gentle tones why Newton was a menace and they were only making him sausage to make Amma happy, but that it was really all Newton’s fault. The baby didn’t respond, but Anthony felt confident that Neddy would be taking his side if only he could speak.
They took the scenic route, Neddy strapped to the front of Anthony’s body in the baby carrier that Simon and Daphne had gifted them months ago.
“Trust me, you’ll need it,” Daphne had said to Kate. Then, Simon had leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially to Anthony not to let Kate hog it — that his back would thank him when the baby got bigger. Anthony had laughed at the time, but he had to admit it was incredibly convenient. Not to mention the fact that Kate seemed to think he was extra sexy whenever he wore it. (He thought he’d been captivated by Kate as he’d watched her carry their child, but it turned out Kate was just as enamoured of Anthony whenever she caught him doing anything especially domestic. She’d once called him a DILF, and he’d felt very self-satisfied indeed.)
Anthony traipsed the layout of Aubrey Hall, showing his son all the different rooms in which he and his siblings had caused a ruckus or two… the same rooms he hoped Neddy and his siblings would one day run and explore and play.
He made a special stop at the library, where he took great care to show Neddy the portrait of Edmund that still hung over the fireplace.
“That’s my papa,” Anthony said gently, stroking his son’s head. “You were named after him. And me, I suppose. Edmund Anthony Bridgerton. That’s you,” he punctuated the thought with a tiny boop to Neddy’s nose. “My father was a great man, Neddy. I wish you could have known him.”
And there it was — the sharp stinging in his eyes, the familiar ache in his chest, the physical tug on his heart.
It was hard, Anthony thought. It was hard for him, and so very sad, to think that his father and his son would never meet. The thought hit him more powerfully now, here at Aubrey Hall, with the tiny child in his arms.
He wanted so desperately to have Edmund here now, to give him advice, to guide him, to reassure him that everything would be alright.
Anthony looked up once more at the portrait of his father on the mantle. The artist had done well, he thought. He’d captured Edmund’s innate kindness. The warmth in his eyes. The way he always seemed to be holding back a smile.
Dad, this is your grandson, he said to himself, the thought like a prayer.
He missed him so much. It was a sliver of emptiness inside of him that never truly went away, no matter how much easier the years had made it to bear.
And yet…
And yet he wasn’t empty inside. His heart was full to bursting with love. For his Kate, for baby Neddy, for this family he’d somehow managed to stumble into and for which he’d be grateful with every single breath he took.
Glancing up at his father with one more wistful smile, Anthony turned his gaze away from the portrait, walking Neddy over to the window. He had too much to be grateful for to dwell on the sorrows of the past. Besides, his father was still with him, in a way. He was in every corner of this house. In every memory from Anthony’s childhood. In the love that would be passed on to the next generation of Bridgertons.
It was time for Anthony to focus on the present.
“Out there,” he pointed as though the child was following every word of this guided tour. “That’s the lawn where your parents and aunties and uncles play Pall Mall every year. And that is the lake where your dad absolutely destroyed Auntie Daphne in the legendary tournament of Summer 2019, no matter what she says to the contrary. Remember that, will you?”
He didn’t say anything, but Neddy seemed to approve.
“One day, you and I will be out there playing in the snow, Neddy my boy.”
Anthony was about to move away from the window when he noticed something decidedly out of the ordinary.
It was a patch of wildflowers growing just outside the library window. Small, white blooms clustered together on the snowy landscape, each flower like a tiny bell.
Snowdrops.
He knew a thing or two about them — though admittedly not much. He knew they were wildflowers. He knew they bloomed in the winter, in defiance of the cold. He also knew they were considered to be the official flower associated with January, Neddy’s birth month. (He knew this because Violet had embroidered Neddy a handkerchief with delicate snowdrops on either side of his name.)
Still, he didn’t know exactly what they meant.
His father would have known, he realised with sudden clarity. One more thing he wished he could have asked Edmund. That they could pore together over the big book of flowers he kept in the library, the quest like a scavenger hunt…
And then a new thought occurred to him.
“Hey, Neddy,” Anthony asked his son in a gentle whisper. “Did you know that flowers have a language?”
He smiled as the words conjured up a vision of his father, telling him the same thing in this very room.
“It’s a secret language that we can use to speak to each other when we can’t find the words. For instance, tulips mean perfect and passionate love. So when I bring your Amma tulips, she knows it means I love her with my whole heart.”
He looked out the window again. “I wonder what snow drops say,” he mused aloud, talking mostly to himself.
Anthony knew he could easily just look it up on his mobile, but there was some part of him that loved the idea of digging into the old books, just like he’d done with his father, all those years ago.
“Those snowdrops are your birth flower,” he added for Neddy’s benefit as he walked them over toward the bookshelves. “You were born in January. Yes you were,” he cooed. “And snowdrops are the official flower of January. What do you say to a little father-and-son research project? Shall we find out what your birth flower means?”
Neddy gurgled.
“Glad you agree,” said Anthony.
He knew the exact spot on the shelves where the catalogue of flowers lay waiting. It was in the same spot as it had been decades ago, back when Edmund had been alive and Anthony had plucked it from obscurity in an effort to spend time with his father.
The moment he saw the familiar, red spine of the book, he felt an absurd rush of affection for the dusty old thing. Silly, he thought, getting tender-hearted over an old book.
“Snowdrops,” Ant read out loud, finding the page at last. “They bloom in darkest days of winter, despite the cold and frost. A sign of new life to come. They represent hope, renewal, new beginnings, and love.”
He looked down at his son, his own love and new beginning, and Neddy’s eyes met his at the very same moment.
Anthony couldn’t think of any bloom more fitting to represent his firstborn son, the child that changed his life forever. He and Kate had known an abundance of love in their time together, but Neddy had changed the game entirely. Now they had more love than they knew what to do with. Neddy’s arrival had ushered in a new phase in his and Kate’s journey together. This was only the beginning of their life as parents.
It was the perfect beginning of a new and extraordinary era for their family.
Suddenly, Anthony was seized with a brilliant idea.
Opening the window, he made quick work of gathering a handful of the white blossoms, bringing them inside. He and Neddy then made their way to the kitchen to make breakfast for Kate (and sausages for Newton, of course).
Twenty minutes later, Anthony ascended the stairs with little Neddy strapped securely against his heart, a breakfast tray perfectly balanced in his hands. Upon the tray was a tiny Wedgwood vase, proudly displaying the bouquet of freshly-picked snowdrops, a secret message for his beautiful wife.
III - Winter 2033 (Future)
Anthony sighed heavily as he turned yet another page in his ledger.
It had been snowing all day long, the flakes a beautiful white blanket over the grounds of Aubrey Hall, identical to the ones he’d seen out that window as far back as he could remember.
Against the soft white landscape, there was a bright pop of colour — a vase full of fragrant lilies in deep pink and blazing orange. Kate had set it there this morning, an unspoken message for him in the midst of his crisis.
He’d been trapped in this office for what felt like weeks, working away. It had been a difficult winter for him so far, filled with more paperwork than usual, and he’d felt absolutely chained to his desk lately.
And then Kate had brought in the lilies.
Lilies, the flower that had become his favourite when he’d begun associating its scent with his beloved Kate, always helped to soothe him. He bought them for Kate often enough — in the beginning of their relationship, he’d been bringing home fresh cuts of them nearly every week — but once in a while she seemed to know that he needed them even more than she did.
He sighed again.
He knew Kate hated to see him stuck alone in his office for long stretches of time. In the earlier days of their marriage, she’d have brought whatever she was working on into the room to sit quietly beside him, but that simply wasn’t feasible these days. Their three children were certainly keeping her busy enough. He’d smiled affectionately at her when she’d told him this, leaving the pot of lilies on the table by the window as a reminder of her presence and her love, even when they couldn’t spend the day together. Then she’d kissed his head and shut the door behind her, leaving him to his work.
It was now mid-afternoon, and Anthony could hear the sound of certain shenanigans coming from the nursery, mixed in with the occasional barking of Newton. He could feel the corners of his mouth quirking up in a smile, but he forced himself to stay focused on the charts in front of him.
Before too much longer, though, Anthony was startled out of his deep concentration by the slow opening of the library door.
“Papa?”
Anthony blinked a few times, his brain trying to calibrate anything that wasn’t a tiny box full of numbers.
“Neddy,” he said with a smile as the boy toddled towards him, climbing into Anthony’s lap with no hesitation. He held his son closer, kissing the top of his head, loving that the boy knew he could always run into his father’s arms.
“I want to play outside,” Neddy said, his voice muffled by Anthony’s shirt.
“What did your Amma say?”
Neddy just shrugged and sighed, and Anthony had to fight the urge to laugh.
“Will you play outside with me, Papa?”
Anthony hesitated. “I’d like that very much,” he said. “Perhaps later today?”
Then, a new voice broke in upon them.
“Sorry,” Kate huffed in a laugh. “He got away from me.”
Anthony grinned at her. “He’s always welcome. You both are.”
“I was asking Papa to play outside,” Neddy told his mother officiously.
Kate’s eyes met Anthony’s in a question, and she read the answer in his face without words.
“Why don’t you and Miles play outside with Newton now, and Papa will join you as soon as he can?” Kate offered.
Anthony’s heart swelled with love and gratitude for his wife, this woman he loved above and beyond any other human on earth.
“As soon as I can,” he echoed, kissing his son’s head again as Kate lifted him from Anthony’s lap.
“Go and tell Miles to put his boots on — and you get yours on, as well,” Kate said, patting Neddy on the back as he ran out of the room. “I’ll be right there.”
When Neddy was gone, Kate turned back to face Ant.
“How’s the work coming along?”
He sighed and shrugged his shoulders in reply.
“I wish I could help,” Kate said, stepping towards him and gently kneading his shoulders under her hands.
“Kate,” he exhaled a sigh of contentment. “You’ve been supervising our three children all by yourself for days so that I can get this sorted. I’d say you’re doing more than your fair share.”
“You could… join us outside?” Kate offered, lifting one eyebrow at him.
The sight of Kathani Bridgerton still took his breath away. She was every bit as beautiful as she had been the day he’d married her, or at least Anthony thought so.
Taking one of her hands in his own, he pressed a kiss to her palm. “Just as soon as I can,” he promised, looking blearily up at her. “I want nothing more, believe me.”
For a moment, her thumb stroked his cheek, and they just allowed themselves to revel in the simple little touch, this moment of closeness and quiet.
And then they heard a shriek.
“Ammaaaaa!” Miles’ tiny voice rang out. “I need help with my shoes!”
He and Kate looked at each other before they broke out into giggles, a catharsis Anthony desperately needed. He was still transformed by her, he marvelled. Still swept up in joy and awe whenever she stood close to him. She was still his favourite person to laugh with, still the best friend he’d ever known.
“I love you so much,” he said, pouring his earnest feeling into every syllable.
Kate took his face in both of hers and bent close to kiss his mouth. He revelled in the sensation.
“I love you, meri jaan,” she whispered. “But I’d better make sure those boys don’t tear the house down trying to put their shoes on.”
He was still laughing to himself even after she’d shut the door behind her.
They both knew how chaotic the simplest of things could get in their household.
Just last night, Kate had been attempting to give their boys a bath. Six-month-old Cici had been with him, the little contribution he could make while still getting his work done. At least Kate wouldn’t have to also contend with a fussy infant during bathtime. Suddenly, he had been startled by the notification on his mobile — from upstairs, Kate had sent him a video.
Apparently it had gone like this: Newton had heard the two boys in the bathtub having fun without him, which was obviously not allowed, and had come bounding into the room, barking and running in circles. Then, without warning, he had leaped up onto his back legs to peer into the tub. Anthony wasn’t sure if he overbalanced or heaved himself in on purpose, but the next thing he saw, there was a sopping wet corgi in the tub with their sons, who were both positively screaming with delight. “Wow,” Kate’s voice had deadpanned. “Didn’t expect that from my senior dog.” Anthony hadn’t been able to stop himself from laughing out loud.
He stopped what he was doing now, pulling out his mobile to watch the video again before he could think better of it, chuckling to see Newton throw himself into the tub with all the grace of a professional wrestler, his heart warming at the sound of his children laughing and shrieking with joy and abandon. It was his favourite sound in the world.
He paused the video, looking in the background at the three nearly-identical hand-crocheted baby blankets, side-by-side. Alike in every way except in colour, the blankets made for each child by Grandma Mary lay waiting to be called to action yet again. Neddy was beginning to grow out of his need for his blanket, and of course five-year-old Miles had to pretend the same, but both Anthony and Kate knew that he still liked to have it at the foot of his bed so he could snuggle it after Neddy fell asleep. And Neddy had no room to talk — anytime he was sick, his blanket was the first thing he asked for. Their newest baby girl, Cici, would be happily swaddled in hers all day long.
He sat there, lost in thought for… he didn’t know how long. Then, turning in his chair to stretch his limbs, a flash of movement from beyond the window caught his eye. Neddy and Miles were running through the snowy grounds, playing some sort of game while Newton chased behind them. Kate seemed to be supervising from the sidelines, Cici bundled and strapped against her chest. The laughter of his children was no longer contained to a video on his phone — it was happening out there, right now, as they tumbled all over each other. Anthony smiled.
This was exactly what he’d hoped for his children all those years ago, he thought as his eyes found the portrait of Edmund above the mantle.
Well, maybe not exactly this…
Ant could still remember the day his father had told him about the language of flowers for the first time. How he’d been hard at work, but had stopped what he was doing to help Anthony look up the meaning of hyacinths. How Anthony himself hadn’t really cared that much about hyacinths, but had been desperate to find any excuse to spend time with his father, his hero, the man he’d loved beyond anyone else in the world…
And suddenly, he saw the encounter from his father’s perspective.
Edmund had been hard at work, no less busy than Anthony himself was now. But he’d stopped right in the middle of whatever he was doing to spend time with his son, knowing that any other work could wait…
He remembered the joy he’d felt, knowing with certainty that his father always wanted him around. That even in the middle of important paperwork, Edmund could decide that nothing mattered more than to have a sled-race with his son on a cold winter day.
Spending time with my children is how I have fun, he’d said to him that day.
Once more, Anthony glanced back over his shoulder, to the window, to the grounds just beyond.
Then he resolutely got up from his desk and ran to put on his hat and gloves.
Neddy and Miles wouldn’t be seven and five forever, after all. This afternoon, nothing in the whole world was more important than going outside to play with his family.
Work could wait. It was time to have some fun.