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Chapter Text

Colin Bridgerton had had a rough five years, in that way that only the British could- the phrase meaning anything between mildly annoying and borderline Armageddon

To the majority it was the former of course, the pressure of raising a young family a long way from home and alongside a career that saw him spend as much time in airports as the nursery, a devotee of FaceTime and in a state of permanent apology, the kids barely knowing how to be around him when it wasn’t a special occasion or holiday

The truth was something different.  Something much darker and only known to a few- his mum of course, on the train to Somerset so much this past few years trying to help them find a way through and then picking up the pieces of the aftermath.

Anthony in the background quietly weaving a safety net of support and legalities, expansive and tied strong yet not enough, not once the decision had been made: no doubt sitting in his office in Mayfair now full of guilt that he couldn’t save them- failure such a rare thing for the Viscount, when it came to someone else’s life anyway- he’d ripped his own apart enough times before Kate had plastered the cracks closed forever.

Lastly Ben, sat alongside him now as he drove the a303 for what he hoped was the last time for a while - he’d pay his father in laws train tickets for visits if needed but he couldn’t go back there, not yet.  She’d wanted the twins to grow up around the farms and country lanes of the Mendips but for now at least he’d had to call it- well his family had really but they’d been right, simply made the choice he’d been too empty to make alone.

Now he was sat in traffic on the a39, a small box van with the last of their things, the kids gone ahead with his mum and Marcus two nights ago.  Ant and Kate had them all ready, had taken them to choose things for their new rooms at Bridgerton house whilst Colin had said goodbye- a night with Neil, Marina’s father, the man who had persuaded him to stay in the first place, a man just as bereaved as he, more really now adding the loss of his grandchildren and son in law from his immediate care as well, angry and heartbroken together.

The second night with Ben, sat at the top of the Tor with a can of cider overlooking the farm where she’d grown up, flat fields mist and sheep still foreign to his city heart. He’d wanted to say goodbye every day for years, taken all the steps needed- confided to his family, signed legal papers but how do you rip kids from their mother, even when you know their mother can’t be someone safe for them?

He’d lost himself in travel, his brother and the trust fund filling the gaps with staff around Neil’s presence, and then when that wasn’t enough returning and trying so hard, barely a shell until that hadn’t  done the trick either and he’d signed the fucking paperwork to send her away.  A year later and…

Yeah. Him and Ben sat drinking cider in fleeces on a hill on a Monday night.  What a life he’d built for himself

He’d stared out the window of their cottage for a few hours when he got home, before taking his sleeping meds with a can of coke left behind from the packing and crashing on the camp bed beside a watchful Ben, clearly terrified he wouldn’t bring his charge home, scrambling to lock his meds away before following him into fitful sleep.

Chapter Text

It could be argued that Penelope Featherington had made a strange choice of career.  Well, her mum argued it anyway- trying to press home the advantage when she took to her bed for two days each July to begin the recovery, a mix of hangover and pure exhaustion that she knew she shared with all her colleagues.  It wasn’t those days that pushed it though- everyone’s job got them down from time to time, she knew that: it was mornings like this, crawling out of her yellow Fiat 500 at 7am with a coffee and bag of snacks, the folder of plans and box of supplies already in their place, room decorated and organised all ready to go when all she wanted to do was sleep.

Nights like last Thursday, sat hungry at a table at 7pm, listening to an irate parent near yell at her for the family needing childcare, wondering what she did with her time after three and why the class couldn’t just stay with her- she’d tried to explain that she rarely left before six, worked on lessons and marking, attended meetings just like the ones they were having then or wrote support paperwork for kids who were struggling, tried to keep up with advances in the field and organise the little things that made this first year of school special- she’d been sworn at, one of the male teachers removing the parents and getting them immediately barred from the premises, not the first time and certainly not the last.

The thing that made this different for Penelope was that it was a choice- working was a choice.  The daughter of a Baron, disgraced, dead by forty they’d sold the estate in Sussex and moved to Mayfair, the house her mother had inherited from her own parents but rented out until that point.  The money had provided them all with an income that was more than sufficient and her mother had taken well to Mayfair life, quickly finding her feet amongst a certain type of upper class single woman, settling into a mix of shallow affairs, lunches and hair appointments that truly seemed to make her happy: for Portia Mayfair was Cougar Town and she was loving it.  God knows she deserved it as well, married at twenty to an addict: never had the phrase life begins at forty (fifty but she'd swear blind that it was forty) been truer than for Portia Featherington.

Her sisters were now long gone, married, Philippa with two daughters and a part time job in her husband’s delicatessen and micro cheese production business, Prudence newly delivered with her own first daughter.

She hadn’t been like them.

Penelope had been different- academic, quiet, not built for life as a socialite nor overly bothered about fashion.  She’d only had one boyfriend, a rather serious chap who dipped in and out of her life for five years before vanishing completely to live with his dream partner (a gay penguin called Flipperz who lived in a zoo in Australia: yes she’d seen the documentary he’d made about it, yes it had been adorable, no she hadn’t quite forgiven him for wasting a half decade of her life between 18 and 23, not yet anyway).

She’d been the first if her family to study at university, Cambridge in fact, English Literature before shocking everyone by refusing a place at her mother’s friend Agatha’s publishing house and applying for her PGCE instead; she’d been in the job for six years now and loved the kids even if she wasn’t that keen on the parents.

She’d chosen  the school carefully: neither posh and rarefied, an easy option for those who’d otherwise go the private route, nor in special measures-  she knew she lacked the life experience for that, at this point anyway.  Somewhere in between, that mix London excelled at- a melting pot of wealth and poverty, owned five bed townhouses with original features and social flats, her bag bulging with snacks for the kids whose mums needed to go and queue at the food bank and snacks for the kids whose hung over au pairs had forgotten to pack them one, again.

She pushed her way into her classroom and dumped her bags at the door, sipping at her coffee before sporting a note from the headmistress, Helen, asking her to pop over.  Sighing she obeyed, expecting another lecture about the cost of pencils or complaint about a display (last term it had been a project she worked on with the year six kids, someone objecting to her including Edward Jenner amongst the great scientists- it was getting harder to predict what would upset the parents the most).

“Happy Monday Penelope.  Good news or bad news?”

“Good?”

“They’ve cancelled that training day at the LEA, the one you were dreading.”

She’d be relieved if she didn’t have the bad news hanging over her.

“Bad?”

“Two new kids in your class I’m afraid, starting today”

“But-“. she took a few deep breaths, “we’re full- there were appeals.”

“Twins, bereaved, they have an EHCP in place for behaviour.  I can’t see them staying long-“ she passed the file to Penelope and pointed at the address - “uncle wants them to settle before he decides where they’d suit.  Has offered to build us a new play area for the ks1 kids though.  Someone you know?”

Penelope stared at the address: certainly she knew of the family, they lived across the square from her own, but she wasn’t overly friendly with them: had met the eldest daughter a few times and liked her but they moved in different circles, hadn’t really chatted beyond a brief comment on the daughter’s DM boots and something about mojitos if she recalled, it seemed unlikely a Bridgerton would be particularly invested in Penelope’s work after all.

“You know them?”

“Not really, remember I didn’t move into that world until I was finished with my A levels so we never shared a school. I know a little bit about them, my mum is a fan,” she rolled her eyes and Helen grinned, having met Portia a few times now.

“Think they’re good for the play area?”

“They’re good for an entire rebuild.  Why the uncle? I know you said they’re bereaved, both parents?”

Helen shook her head, “mum.  Dad travels a lot, Uncle confided he isn’t coping, they’ve taken them both in for a bit.  Social Services had stepped in where they grew up, the oldest brother-“

“The Viscount?”

“Is he? Says Anthony here.”

“Yeah, the Viscount.”

“He agreed to step in with his wife and mum, support dad, if social services stepped back.  You know the drill, they were more than happy to step back and save some funding.”

“My mum knows the Nan a little, Violet.  She had eight children that she raised without a nanny or help, was known for it in fact.  If she’s involved-“

“is doing much of the day to day stuff, you’ll see her at drop offs.  Dad is around but…”

“I’m assuming it’s Colin?  You’ve seen his instagram and YouTube stuff yeah?  Went dark a while ago, makes sense now actually.”  She flipped through her phone for a moment and pulled up a blog, handing it to the woman across from her, who watched for a few minutes giving a low whistle.

“Posh, and sexy.”

“So very sexy.  Sure we can’t get him to do the school runs?”

Helen handed her phone back with a sigh, “would brighten the mornings but no, he wasn’t getting the kids to school before they moved back- is part of the deal for the meantime.  Give it some time though, we can but hope: if we can get him to the nativity we could sell extra tickets to the cougar nans.”

“Hasn’t the poor bloke been through enough?”

“Yeah- on that note when you have some time read the background in the EHC plan.  I know it’ll be hard work but let’s see what we can do for them ok?”

“Of course.”

Penelope grabbed the stack of paper work and shuffled back to the classroom, barely getting herself sorted before the first kids turned up, helping to induct the new LSA worker assigned to the kids and readying herself to meet them at lunchtime, for their first visit.

Chapter Text

By the age of 19 Colin Bridgerton had reached the height of 6’ 1”.  He was well aware that to many of his peers it would seem a blessing, a significant one to the few who had never quite reached the average in fact- but to him it was just another thing that marked him out.

His older brothers had both topped out at 5’ 11”, exactly the same height as their late father, Edmund.  Colin’s father had passed when he was just 12 and he’d been immersed in that pre-teen stage of idolising the construct without having had a chance to get to know the flaws- it had made it harder somehow to move past comparing himself, never quite able to be good enough (who could ever meet the rather imaginary brilliance of an adored father taken in childhood?) and he’d always grasped at every little thing that made him feel like a Bridgerton male: the wavy chestnut hair, his atheleticism, the touch of charm that seemed to help him mask when he was struggling- the traits that marked him out as his own man in turn made him uncomfortable, a little sad.

He knew he shouldn’t feel that way- introspective by nature the awareness of that fact only pushed him further into that strange sense of loneliness despite the crowd surrounding him at home: all his siblings had their own distinct personalities, the often subtle twists on the Bridgerton core that made them who they were.  Benedict had his arty nature and floated through existence on a somewhat arbitrary blend of his dreamer nature and whatever narcotics he’d managed to procure that weekend;  Anthony had the Viscountcy, a sense of duty and a temper that frankly marked him out as a bit of dick on a fairly regular basis…

Colin just wanted to belong.

It wasn’t just the height of course- wasn’t that at all really, he knew that deep down.  He didn’t seem to be quite built like them in a lot of other more subtle ways as well- ones that mattered to a nineteen year old possessed of just enough charm and good looks to make others jealous, highlighting insecurities in a way that perhaps no other age demographic would quite understand. Ways that burrowed into his soul no matter how hard he fought against it.

His brothers might have somehow managed to get the results required to study at Cambridge and St Martin’s, but they’d seemingly shagged their way through sixth form, each milestone and story measured not by tales of academic prowess but how long it took to get someone’s bra off, how many dates until she (or in Ben’s case, they) put out, then later how many times they’d come or what they’d let them try- all things that felt alien to their sensitive younger sibling.

The awkwardness had peaked during the summer after A Levels, he and Violet away for a weekend settling him into his chosen university in Exeter, a very obviously planned meal out where she’d  delivered a pre-prepared speech about how it was OK if he didn’t like girls, if he was into men or both or nobody at all- he’d appreciated the message of course, he knew there were far worse mothers out there, but not the prying.

Truth was that he wasn’t completely inexperienced- there’d been a girl in lower sixth that he’d tended to snog whenever they found themselves at a gathering together, and he’d been rather smitten by Celine, the French exchange kid- he’d half broken his heart when she’d had to go back- but he’d never felt tempted to go much beyond kissing and even less inclined to share his experiences with anyone, especially his brothers who’d responded the one time he had told them about a girl (kissing Celine at a ‘welcome to the school’ reception) not with the pride and support he’d hoped for but instead a hundred pieces of advice on how to get her out of her dress.

He'd just nodded through that talk with his mum, pushing his fork through a plate of gnocchi, waiting for her to run out of steam before quietly responding with,

“I appreciate it but I’m not gay, or bi.”

“But if you are, if you ever…”

“I have kissed girls mum, I know who I’m attracted to- I guess i’m just not as obsessed as Ben and Ant, that’s all.”

“It’s normal for them to be like that at their age, your father before I met him…”

He’d tuned her out then, not needing to hear another tale that to his mum was just a lovely memory of the man she’d adored with all her heart but to him translated as ‘here are yet more ways you can’t match up to Mr Perfect Edmund’.

A year later and he was back from uni, no plans to return for a second year after spending the entire year learning just how many ways one could loathe data science, trying to avoid telling his mum and Anthony that until the very last minute possible, signed up to a course on teaching sailing with the Queen Mary Club and dreading the moment when he’d have to tell his family that he had no plans to return, and instead was heading to the Caribbean to work as an instructor for the year whilst he worked out what the hell he really wanted from his life.

That had never happened of course.  In fact that plan had lasted less than ten minutes after the initial course sign up.

Marina Thompson had been everything he had ever thought he might like in a woman.  Fairly tall (who likes a cricked neck, after all?), a gifted sailor, stunning warm brown skin, soft curly hair that his fingers itched to touch… the moment he’d seen her, sat at the back of the room with a flat white and flapjack like all his fantasies come to life at once, he’d been smitten.

Fortunately she’d felt much the same way- accepting his offer to take her to dinner that very evening, texting him all through the night after he dropped her off and stole a solitary kiss on the steps of her hotel building, meeting him for coffee and a walk around the reservoir before class the next day.

By Thursday night he’d pretty much moved into her hotel room, by Sunday he was in tears as he put her on the train back to her home in Somerset, and a week later he was on the train himself, bare basics stuffed into a backpack, a furious Anthony and rather amused Ben back home thinking he’d walked away from university and a future ‘at the first sniff of a willing pussy’: six weeks later he’d been in Vegas, knowing exactly what he was doing when he walked into that Little Wedding Chapel, heart eyed and so very much in love with the woman on his arm.

Or so he had thought. Reality was a cruel mistress.

Because it could never be that easy for him could it?  His mum and dad had married on a similar time frame, as indeed had his sister Daphne despite being a year younger than him- married at 18, pregnant not long after and every vocalised  concern batted away by his mum with a doting look and reminders that “I was the same age my dears, and I have never regretted it.”  In his family fast meant soul mates, devotion.

They’d been married two months when it happened, living in her childhood bedroom on her father’s farm, his days spent learning how to drive a tractor and nights curled up under a duvet, or in the hay shed, with his new wife; a world so detached from the one he’d grown up in that he had felt suspended, someone else entirely, completely free to reinvent himself into anyone he wanted to be- nobody in Somerset knew his links to the famous billionaire property developers, had a clue about his trust fund or his rather overwhelming family- they just knew him as that rather ridiculous posh kid Neil was trying to train to take over the farm; the one who was shite at fencing (the useful type; he was surprisingly handy with a foil, little value that it was), terrified of cows, and who liked to spend his weekends at Cheddar reservoir with his new wife and whatever dinghy or windsurfer he’d rented.

Well, perhaps he knew the last bit might have been a clue that he had money but there was a world of difference between the rural affluence not uncommon in the area and the Mayfair world he’d grown up in.

There was never any point in his life where he couldn’t recall every minute of that weekend.  He’d talked it through with therapists, itemised it in journals, constructed terrible poetry from the ghosts but he knew that it was too fundamental to who he became, too much a part of his story for him to move far past.

He’d woken early to drive into Bristol with Neil, he’d finally accepted that he had to introduce his new wife and her father to his own family and Neil had wanted his input on a new suit for the visit.  Marina had been pleased, professing herself rather enamoured by the growing closeness between the two men in her life, and had waved them off.  The morning had been fine- shopping for Neil and then choosing a necklace for Marina, lunch and a beer before the drive home: exactly what he had expected, novel, shiny in it’s newness but nothing extraordinary.

He'd returned to find Marina hunched over the toilet, green gilled and wet eyed, mascara smeared down her face, her phone calendar open and a positive pregnancy test lying on the bathroom counter.  His own internal voice, previously celebrating his transition into this strangely unfamiliar grown up life, now screaming that he wasn’t ready: pleading for him to make it go away when really it should have started practising the longest of goodbyes.

Chapter Text

“Come on bro, you know how it works- it’s never been any other way.”

Colin reclined in the chair and sighed, rubbing a hand across his eyes, Anthony watching him carefully from the i-pad screen, concerned but not wanting to push: knowing all too well how quickly his third brother could be pushed away, crawl back into that shell of his and clam up entirely.

“I just wanted to go out for a morning with my father in law, you know?  It’s not as if I was hanging around Bond Street or anything, I pretty much had to blackmail him with Victoria sponge just to get him through the door of M&S, he actually threatened an annulment when I wanted to pop into Harvey Nicks for a minute.”

“He’s going to love Daph and Kate…”

“trust me, I’m already dreading this brunch.”

Realising Colin was more than just a bit pissed off Anthony stepped back, pausing to watch his brother on screen for a moment.  He hadn’t seen him for a while- not since he’d left London, saying he needed some time away to make new plans then adapt to married life- and Anthony had understood, he really had; it might not have been an option for him, not with his siblings as wards when his mum was so ill after his dad passed, but he knew the feeling well.  He'd found his relief in alcohol and inadvisable dalliances back then, needing his rebellion contained, able to fit inside a box he could close up when needed: the motivation was still the same, the need to be someone else for a while.

“They’ll take their lead from mum, and if she can see you’re happy then that’s all that matters- you know that, look at Soph and Ben: big difference between a council estate and a rural farm and nobody here minds her background, why would we?”

“I know, I really do- it’s more than that.”

“Spill.”

As soon as he’d said that, opened himself up he regretted it.  They’d been so understanding yet it would only take a tiny crack and they’d be in there with their advice and emergency interventions.  Still, what was he to do?

“I just thought- the old Colin wasn’t working, not for me anyway.  If I could get away, far enough for it to feel different but near enough to be an easy train ride- yet I leave the village for one day and it’s on all the gossip sites, and suddenly everyone knows that I’m married and where I am, what I’m wearing and even what the fuck Neil is wearing for chrissakes, trousers from Edinburgh Woollen Mill and a tweed jacket- who the fuck cares?”

“We’ve all been there mate, surely you’re used to it?  You couldn’t cover up your wife for ever.  We’ve had four different news agencies on the phone today asking for quotes.”

“What did you say?”

“True love, whirlwind, happiest we’ve ever seen you.”

“Cheers bro.”

“And now we’d actually quite like to meet the woman.  You know, as we didn’t get to attend the wedding.”

This: the matter they'd never spoken about, just talked around on the phone or stuck to texts in case it all turned a bit angry.  He knew they’d all be hurt, but it had all been so quick, he’d felt such a need to step away from the family for a while before he lost himself completely.

“I’m bringing her down for a stay next weekend, you know that- her and Neil.”

“I’ll pick you up from the station.”

“No need, Ant…”

“It’ll be much easier to be on your side against everyone if I've actually met her.  'Course you could say the word and I’ll be down in two hours, as I keep offering…”

“Friday will be fine, cheers.  We’ll take the offer for a pick up.”

“That’s a start.  You sure you’re ok mate?”

Colin closed his eyes for a moment: was he, truly?  He didn’t have a clue.  It had all been such a chaotic few months, head over heels, settling into the farm (and he liked it, found meaning the constancy of farming, the lack of division between work and home- there was a strange solace in that lifestyle).  Then she’d started slipping away from him, leaving him feeling as if he spent more quality time with Neil than her- it had been mere months since they married, this was supposed to be forever.  Then there was the pregnancy test and those stupid gossip articles- he’d come here to escape feeling exposed and now felt more trapped than ever.

Anthony was, of course, having none of it; it would have been alright if he’d kept to the phone calls and texts but he’d accepted the damned facetime request without thinking and now he knew that Anthony knew and he was fairly sure mum and Ben would within and hour as well. 

“I’m just adjusting, it’s been a lot- a good lot but a lot.”

“I can see that.  Where will we see you next, snapped emerging from a farming supplies store?  A fudge shop on Wells high street?”

“Fuck off Ant.”

“You’ve got our PR team on hand, I’ve texted you their numbers, you need anything from me and you call me.  I’ll see you Friday, I can’t wait to meet her.”

“I love you Ant.” He did, he really did- so much so that it was overwhelming at times, the expectations that came with the knowledge someone had made such a sacrifice for him, Ant's constant anger no longer just simmering beneath the surface looking for an outlet, volcanic:  softened by his sister in law but always understandable and maybe that was made it so hard- baseless rage was easy to rebel against, knowing your brother gave up every hope and dream to look after you and your siblings? 

“Love you too.” 

Colin could hear Kate calling him in the background, something to do with Edmund needing to be collected from a playdate- he fixed on that, in a few years that would be him, chasing after a son or daughter- he loved kids, couldn’t imagine anything better (even if it was a bit unexpected -  both 20, using contraception, fuck he didn’t even know if she’d wanted kids)- He just needed to break it to his family before he could truly celebrate- and get past the first appointment with the midwifery team.

By Wednesday the plans had changed: Neil staying on the farm with a poorly mare, clearly concerned about missing it- cornering Colin as he sluiced down the yard, “you will watch out for her won’t you mate? She gets a bit-"

Barely looking up Colin continued with his chores, hanging the brushes and stowing the buckets,

“Course I will, you have no worries there.”

“I know, you’re a decent fellow- but she gets into her head, it can be hard to pull her out.”

Not at all concerned, Colin simply nodded and wandered off: everyone got a bit like that at times, surely? It was fine.  It had just been so much, she was sensitive, it would all work out when she had a chance to adapt.

Friday afternoon saw them on the train to London, hands held across the seat divide, Marina staring out of the window whilst Colin read a pregnancy guide; he could tell how stressed she was about the visit- she jumped out of the seat every time her phone buzzed, seemed really withdrawn- she hadn't really spoken to him all week if he stopped and thought about it but he knew- remembered from his mum and sister’s pregnancies, heck this book laid it out in type- pregnant women were susceptible to moods, needed support and understanding from their partners, not a bunch of questions and neediness.  He was fine, he could figure this out for himself- she needed him to do that; it was good to be needed, gave him a purpose.

Anthony was waiting for them at the barrier, grabbing them into hugs and offering introductions before taking their bags off them and leading the way to the cab he had on standby.  Colin had always liked to step aside and watch, awed, as the crowd seemed to move around him, leaving the Viscount a free path and it was no less true today- a mix of his bearing that screamed ‘important person coming through’ (not hurt by an eye wateringly expensive costly Saville Row hand made suit that had cost more than Colin’s uni fees for his wasted year) or the charming natural way he had with everyone that simply made them want to be good to him- whatever it was Colin and Marina trailed in his wake, letting him guide their way. 

When they got to the cab Anthony held the door open for Marina, letting her take the front seat, following Colin into the back with a cheery, “sorry sister, hope you don’t mind, we've all been craving a chance to grab this guy for an overdue congratulatory hug!” Marina barely responded: a lift at the corner of her mouth- maybe- if you stared hard enough, no eye contact, barely lifting her eyes from the screen in front of her, strapping herself in one handed and tapping away with the other hand.  Colin felt a wave of disappointment at her lack of effort, hadn't he worked to to build a relationship with Neil?  He shoved the emotion down, hard- it was all too soon, she just needed a bit more from him.  His family was a big ask.

He could see the flicker of concern on Ant’s face, a brief flash of confusion hidden almost as fast as it arose- the guy was a lawyer after all: it was his job to let it wash over him, hide it all- it had taken Colin a lifetime to learn the small tells and giveaways that meant something was bothering him. 

It was with relief that he watched her pocket the phone as they pulled up outside Bridgerton House, the obligatory welcoming committee already in place- El and Fran, Daph and Simon, Ben at the side of the house; Hy and Greg at college (Eton and Cheltenham Ladies, the paths well trodden) but due for the weekend back soon.   Grinning, he leaned down to his new wife, whispering “watch this, the pincer movement,” trying to hide his laugh as Anthony moved to one side of him and Ben the other, diverting him towards the study whilst his mum dragged her new daughter away with delight, promising a tour of the house followed by tea and cake

The study door was thrown closed behind him, and the tumbler of whisky in his hands before he could even start to speak and apologise for all that had happened with the wedding- the tumbler whisked away again as Ben lifted him off his feet and swirled him around, chanting some nonsense about his little brother being all grown up now.  When he finally managed to get them off him and take a seat it was with a grin.  After years of dreading each return he finally felt good to be back here, as if he’d achieved something, earned his place as a grown up.

It didn’t last.

It started fine of course- Benedict giving out a low whistle and claiming that he’d somehow married one of the most beautiful women he’d seen in a long time (he didn’t bat an eyelid, standard Ben stuff), Ant handing him a folder of paperwork- new will to witness, changes to his trust fund, some kind of post nup agreement that Colin immediately balled up and threw into the nearest waste paper bin- he managed to squeeze in a few questions as well, something about an art show for Ben, Kate’s latest promotion- it was good: exactly how he’d told Marina it would be.

After about fifteen minutes his mum joined them, demanding another round of hugs, taking his phone to scroll the pictures of their new home, making the right noises in all the right places.  After a few minutes he could feel a sharp change in atmosphere as she slid the phone back to him-

“Dearest…”

He sighed, expecting  a lecture on how he’d handled the wedding and he knew he deserved it but…

It wasn’t.

“Is she well?”

He was confused for a moment, answers all ready for the expected questions, discombobulated: after a moment he met her eyes.

“Marina?  Fine, why do you ask?”

“She just seems rather quiet, withdrawn.  You said she was friendly…”

“She is mum,”

“but she wouldn’t talk to any of us, just asked to be shown her room and shut herself in.”

“We’ve been travelling, she’s probably tired.”

“I realise that my love but I would hate it if she was scared of meeting us or thought we might be against her because of the unconventional way this came about.”

“I promise that I told her you valued a love story above all else.  She’s just a bit inside her head, she’ll be fine.”

“As long as you’re sure son.”

Colin nodded, quickly turning into a grimace as Benedict ruffled his hair, before picking up his duffel bag and throwing it at him:  “get back to your wife.”

It was one of those moments where everyone would forever wish they could redo it, the horror becoming clear even as his bag flew open and the book he’d been reading on the train fell out.  Everyone in the room stood and stared for what was probably ten seconds but felt like an age until Anthony raised his head, looked at Ben and his mum and uttered those dreaded words:

“Out, now.”

As soon as the door shut Anthony turned to his brother, all sign of celebration now gone, replaced with a look of utter horror:

“What the fuck have you done?”

He collapsed into the chair, his body sagging, hands in his hair.

“I swear Ant, we used a condom every time- she’s on the pill.”

“Every single time?”

“I promise.  I want kids but…”

“you’ve known her five months?”

“No!  Well OK, I guess but not because I doubt her- us- but because we have so much learning about each other to do, time together.  Fuck we’d never even mentioned children, you know? I’ve always wanted them but has she?”

“You haven’t asked her this?”

The tears had started to flow now; he cursed himself, he thought he’d moved past this, was well into the excitement phase- wouldn’t have come if he hadn’t felt certain.

“I can’t get her to talk, she’s closed off, just wants to sleep or text her friends.”

“You know there are options if you are both struggling with this…”

“No!  This is my child, Ant- that’s not something I want.  And she hasn't raised that at all either.  It’s just-“

“That you’re both twenty, hardly know each other and live on a farm miles from your family.”

“With her family, on a family owned farm: we’re hardly abandoned in a shed.”

“No, but if the shit hits the fan you know which team Neil is on.  You promise you haven’t fucked up contraception, not even once?”

Colin shook his head, “no chance.  I’m not an idiot.”

“I know brother, I know.”  Colin looked up in shock as the lecture abruptly turned into support, he’d expected it to go on for much longer- that brought more tears and by the time they’d faded Ant’s arms were around him as they would have been when he was a kid, letting him cry it out.

“I’m here for you at any point, you know that?”  Colin nodded; he did really, didn’t he? Perhaps he’d come home seeking this, looking for a safe chance to break down.  “But now mate you’re going to wipe your eyes, fix a grin and go out and take care of that wife of yours.  Whatever happens next, you’ve got us, they need you.”

“Yeah.”

The weekend didn’t get much better after that- not for want of the Bridgertons trying, he'd found himself pulled into enough rooms for hugs and back pats, Marina clearly suspecting they knew but not wanting to say anything because that might start the big scary conversation- instead she withdrew completely, barely leaving their room.

It had started with the kids: Marina joining him and his family for tea, Colin jumping up to grab Hy and Greg as they came home and ran at him- he’d missed them so much, hadn’t really realised how much all their lives revolved around their routines, school runs and football practices, grounding them and bringing them back together no matter how much anyone wandered.  Marina had watched them from the edge of the room, turning away as Hy made a move towards her, leaving.  Colin fixed a smile, making excuses, trying to ignore how many times he'd already done that since they arrived.  Greg looked flummoxed but Hyacinth rose to the occasion as she always did, nodding, muttering about how much she hated train travel and always needed a nap afterwards: he made a mental note to double her Christmas budget, maybe name the baby after her.

In fact Marina only emerged from her room once during the weekend, when Violet hosted them all at a meal in a Chelsea brasserie, and he’d had to argue for that- persuade her.  If he mentioned that the baby needed her to eat she turned away, until he'd given up on that tactic and turned to straightforward pleading instead- she’d given him three hours.

By the time the weekend was over Colin felt his whole world had turned- his family watching quietly but not saying anything, obviously scared to risk some unspoken fragile boundary; Marina, shrinking, slipping from his grasp, his own self elusive yet again- the only thing he felt familiar with. Which was fine really, just fine. 

Chapter Text

“In those years after, when I tried to find something to pin the blame on or identify a moment where I might have been able to make a difference- this was often the time I settled on. The months after the pregnancy was confirmed. I have spent many hours of my life wondering whether a simple word, gesture or change might have made all the difference- perhaps if I’d given up earlier and left, would that have triggered something?  Was there something so obvious that I, idiot that I am, missed?”

“There were moments in that period that I thought were joyous, but I will never know if that was my imagination or whether she truly managed to join me at those times, if I’m really honest I suspect that a whole lot of our relationship, after the initial high, was unreal- something she was acting to try and feel connected.  All that time when I was riding high, getting to ready welcome our children she was just clinging on to survival, and I had no real clue.”

“It was hard to believe that it wasn’t all my fault- with everything happening so fast, married and a family on the way and then moving into our own place and trying to build something- she’d walked into that sailing class looking so confident and it had ebbed away over the time we were together.  Then once I’d started to blame myself it became even harder to focus on the reality of what was happening, find something to cling to that would allow me to look at it all with enough detachment to see that she was sinking. “

"I know there was no intention to mislead or cover things up, god the man had no more idea we'd be wed on that holiday to America than the rest of my family- we hid it like children, thinking we were clever, knew better than everyone around us.  And of course Neil didn't know me- didn't want to be the one who broke his daughter's heart on a word that might not be needed. His loyalty was to her and why wouldn't it be?  He's a good man, a father, not so far off being a male version of my own mother really.  But knowing that maybe he had a clue this could happen- that's hard to forget, and when it's the two of you, sat alone in a living room miles from anyone else every day for months on end, that starts to bite- the what ifs.  What else was he hiding?  Well I still don't know that actually, how much more he did know- seems unlikely I'll ever ask now."

"It was making the decision to sign that form that broke me more than anything.  By then it was all such a bloody mess- inescapable, at least the way I'd built it in my head- but the actual act of finding a pen, adding my name as next of kin, watching it unfold: it felt as if I was betraying her, all of them. Then she returned and left again so quickly- and all of that hurts- but it was that, the forms, the intentionality of it all- that was what broke me."

Chapter Text

Penelope dropped her bags by the coat stand and pulled out a file, before heading to the kitchen and opening the fridge to find some wine.  She poured herself a glass and sat down, shuffling the paperwork until she found what she needed and taking out her highlighter to mark the paragraphs that mattered the most.

She knew that she’d be told off by her mum for being here- Mayfair ladies didn’t sit in kitchens, they retired to  drawing rooms or studies, elegant feminine spaces created for the illusion of domestic productivity. Penelope, however, had not been raised this way: growing up in Sussex she had run with the tenant famer’s children, studied in her bedroom or on top of hay bales, watching the farm cats until late at night, never really missed in a house where everyone just survived.

She recalled being a teenager, reading an Austen on the lawn at the front of the house, making notes in her journal- even then she’d been obsessed with love stories and the obstacles people encountered, the complexities that created hurdles until they met the right person.  The house was spacious and refined but faded, gentility long past, mother absent whenever she could find an excuse and father either drinking, drunk or at a bookies somewhere- at first the nearest town then as his losses grew and reputation collapsed further and further afield: she hadn't seen him for a week, had heard him say something about heading to Brighton for the sea air to his PA- they all knew, were tired of pretending otherwise really, that he meant he needed a new casino, a fresh bookie because he’d been barred from those in yet another town. At least Brighton was a city, she thought idly, twisting her biro in her mouth as she transcribed Wentworth’s letter into her own pages, surely he couldn’t ran out of places to spend their money too quickly?  As long as he was gone things were good- oh her mum struggled with the emotional isolation- she had spied her sneaking another man in a few times, and she knew their finances continued to plummet, but the house lacked the shouting, slammed doors and, worst of all, the prolonged silences that his presence always brought: “Penelope can you please tell your father that the electricity bill is overdue, again.”  “Penelope please tell your mother that if she had a job she could pay the bloody electricity bill,”  “Penelope can you please tell your father… Penelope!  Where are you going Penelope?”

“Out,”  Out: anywhere as long as it was out and away from the tension and passive aggression that sucked up the oxygen when he was at home.  Away from parents too exhausted by each other to even bother fighting, a dad that she had adored once now a shadow of who he was (but just enough presence that she couldn’t hate or mourn him either, forced to just sit and watch his slow inevitable demise).  Away from a mum who could have worked once but had been kept for show, much like a pretty ornament or bejewelled brooch, for so long that she had become irrelevant, apart from the world.  He had created that person and now he begrudged her for it, and Penelope knew it was unfair, but it wasn't unfair to be stuck in the midst of it as well?  What choices had she been given?.

They were better off when he was gone.  Her sisters would leave their bedrooms again, often wary, avoiding their parents at all costs.  Prudence, 19, not quite  bright enough for university but struggling to find a job she could get to with the rubbish bus system in their so called rural idyll- bored, lonely and terminally online; Philippa, 18, a few months off from finishing her beauty course and planning to hotfoot it to London as fast as she could get a job and room deposit together.  Felicity, 7 (“ I can’t call her a mistake because she’s a blessing but we were both drunk and the sex was a mistake even if the outcome wasn’t”- "cheers for the details, mum"), playing with her dolls somewhere, as yet too young to understand much beyond the fact that daddy was away again and everything seemed calm.

She tucked the notebook under the corner of the shed in the little bag she used to protect it from rain and headed indoors to find some lunch, making sure to prepare some for Fliss, likely to be forgotten by everyone else.  As she spooned the mayonnaise onto her sister’s sandwich she heard the doorbell ring and silence descend on the house- she placed the bottle down quietly and slunk away from the windows, dipping down onto the floor underneath so no debt collector could see her if they peered through.  She knew the others would be doing the same wherever they were- her sisters not leaving their room or using their devices, mum placing the TV on mute, even Fliss knew to go quietly indoors and lock the door behind her. 

She listened for the rattle of the letterbox: either a card being shoved through or someone shouting, vague threats aimed at her father, promises of court action on a good day or last time a broken leg- neither came.  Eventually, when all was quiet, she finished the sandwich and went to find her sister, stopping in horror as she saw the police car on the drive outside, an officer stood quietly leaning against the porch, waiting.  She blinked twice before ignoring them and making her way up the stairs anyway, handing her sister the sandwich, calmly letting her mum know they had company and then- only then- opening up to let them in.

“Is your mum in?”

Penelope nodded, “but she’s a bit busy now, can you come back?”

“I’m sorry, that isn’t possible.  I’m Maria, a family liaison officer.  Can I come in?”

Penelope stood aside and watched them walk through the door, running upstairs quickly then following them into the rarely used sitting room and taking a chair opposite.  She sat in silence, watching them.

“Does your mum know we are waiting?”

“Yes”.  Just one word: no emotion or elaboration, simply a sufficient answer.  Maria nodded, clearly trained to deal with all manner of responses.  She took out a file and placed it on the table, her colleague wandered out to the kitchen and turned the kettle on.  It took Portia another ten minutes to arrive, hair freshly brushed, lipstick applied- a mask, Penelope knew.  She sat down opposite the officers and met their eye with a smile.

“So, he’s finally gone, then?”

Penelope had expected horror or even accusations from the officers but there was nothing, just the suggestion that Penelope be asked to leave the room for a moment and when she had left, standing by the door to listen, quiet voices mumbling.  She heard certain sentences: loan sharks, a car accident, ambulance but all over quickly- nothing they hadn't expected for some time.  She climbed the stairs and helped Fliss to put her toys away before returning to find her mother showing the police out, gently but adamantly refusing the presence of a liaison officer for the first few hours, then returning to the kitchen with her laptop and phone.  The first call, to her solicitor, asking them to give their London tenants notice; the second, an estate agency, placing the estate up for sale- she'd had it placed in her name years ago, didn’t trust him not to gamble it away, their only form of security except for the Mayfair home she had inherited from her parents, rented out, the income feeding them, keeping the estate ticking over and covering a small proportion of his debts each month.

Penelope took the untouched tea away from her mum and replaced it with a glass of gin and tonic, sitting opposite her with her own can of Fanta.  Portia smiled and nodded in thanks before beginning to speak.

“We were very happy here you know, at first.”

Penelope did: she'd heard the story a hundred times, how they’d married young for nothing but love and how perfect it had all been at first.  Then he’d lost his job- the country office closing, nothing personal Mr Featherington- and he’d spiralled.  He hadn’t needed to find a job quickly with the family money and he’d grown bored, looking for the next dopamine hit- and eventually the next drink or bet.

An hour later they separated, Penelope to her room, sobbing under her duvet not because her father was gone but because she’d lost him years ago and couldn't grieve until now.  Portia to tell her other girls, hiding her red eyes and tear swollen cheeks, ashamed to mourn the man who had treated them all so poorly, left them to face the threats whilst he sauntered off to take whatever new risk would give him that increasingly hard to find high. 

A few weeks later they buried him, a tiny funeral attended only by close family, the family liaison officers and their immediate neighbours, a few unwanted visitors quietly spoken to by Maria and turned away, no doubt collectors wanting to confirm that he was actually deceased.  Afterwards they drank coffee and ate cake, shaking everyone’s hands then immediately taking off their dark clothes to begin the task of packing up a house that had been in a family for 300 years, everything by now catalogued by auctioneers.

A month after that they arrived in Mayfair, debts cleared, a very healthy lump sum in the accounts and the slate wiped clean.  Penelope and Fliss started new schools where nobody knew their stories, Pru and Pip found jobs and Portia found Bond Street on a Saturday afternoon, completely reinventing herself, walking onto the tube wearing jeans and flat boots, walking back through in leopard print and stilettos, health club membership paid for in advance, lunch booked with her old school friends and, very soon after, a date with the 25 year old gardener who mowed the square opposite their house.

There was no choice but to move on: there were no photos of Archie allowed, no anniversaries marked with flowers or quiet words, bereavement counsellors all refused and offers of support turned away.  A neighbour visited twice, a widow, with empathic words and an open heart: Portia tried to befriend her not because of their shared loss- Portia’s loss was in no way like Violet’s, even now raw and prone to breaking open- but because monthly tea at Bridgerton House was how you met the right people.  Penelope liked her well enough, appreciated the efforts even but she had closed that side of herself off entirely and refused to allow anyone to pry at the wound, lest it open and bleed.

Penelope passed her exams, A and A* grades all around, immediately starting to study for her next courses.  On sunny days she’d sit in the square outside the house and read, watching the people go past, nobody stopping to speak to her- she’d moved at such a strange age, when her peers were settled into their little groups fearing the break ups that eighteen would bring and not opening themselves to new faces- and sometimes she’d watch as Colin, Violet’s third son, visited - wavy hair, dark coat and blue eyes marking him out as beautiful; age, obvious money and status marking him out as unavailable.  At some point he had vanished, and a few weeks later she herself left for university, unfazed and rootless.

When she returned three years later (long summers deliberately cut short by the need to work, a need they all knew was fabricated to hide a wish to stay away) Portia had settled: content in her group of glamourous fifty somethings, days spent at charity events, lunches where they only ate salad and drank sparkling water or G&Ts, short term affairs with much younger men enthralled by her overt sexuality and obvious wealth.  Fliss never in the house, always out with her friends, Pip married and Pru engaged- it had been good to see them settled, creeping out from under the fog of their father’s legacy but she hadn’t know what to do with herself so she’d signed up for a PGCE and moved away again, returning with a job, a purpose and a life far away from the concerns of the tiny community that her mother and youngest sister had embraced so whole heartedly.

She’d settled in well at the school, arriving early and leaving late, dedicating everything to each year group in turn, embraced by an ever growing cohort of former students that called her name in the street or came to say a shy hello as their younger siblings took their own place in her class.  She felt as if she belonged here, expected this to be the shape of her life from hereon in- a rewarding, happy existence she had worked hard for.  She didn’t see herself married- she'd tried a relationship, once: it had started out passionate and distracting and ended up years later with TV dinners for one as he worked late again, neither having the energy to call it until he’d moved with his work.  The quick downturn had reminded her of her parent's marriage, so she had decided that she wasn't going to follow that path again. Now she had her class, teacher friends, mum and sisters and she was more content than she had ever been in her life before.

Even now when she recollected her father's death she hoped to feel something- an overwhelming grief, anger, anything.  She'd sat at his grave for hours waiting for the rush of emotion, forced herself to stare at his photo, read the inquest report- nothing.  Prudence and Pip crept away on his birthday to eat cake and remember him away from their mum, having had more of his better years; Fliss, never knowing much different, showed disinterest but Penelope found herself stuck- neither recalling enough of the warm dad to miss it nor too little of him being around to notice a real change: she just had that numb heaviness.

Chapter Text

They settled into a routine over the next few months.  Colin would work on the farm during the day and Marina would study or sleep,  still trying to keep up with the part time degree she’d switched to after finding out she was expecting.  In the evenings she would curl up with her husband and watch the TV or go for a walk, and those times were some of the happiest Colin had known- the simple joy of holding her hand, feeling as if his entire future was there beside him. 

He spent alternate weekends with his family in Mayfair, Marina refusing to join him, the weekends gradually getting more and more difficult as she called him at every meal time or planned outing, Colin holing up in his old childhood bedroom calming her down about some imagined slight or worry.  After a few visits they shrunk down to a single day and night, Colin explaining that he needed to be close to his pregnant fiancé, "everyone understands that, yeah?"

When she was 24 weeks Ant and Ben took him out for a chat about what to expect, sitting him down in the pub with a pint and chips, regaling him with stories of terrible cravings and unreasonable demands- Colin crying with laughter at the hormone fuelled antics of his beloved sisters in law;

“and then- she bit me!” Anthony clutched his fake pearls in horror, mimicking Daph’s favourite gesture.

“Oh come on Ant, she was in pain... 4cm dilated!”  Ben patted his shoulder in a patronising manner; Ant shook his head,

“If only- she said after that she'd got it into her head that I needed something to remember the day by, a story to tell and that biting me would be perfect… I'm assuming the gas and air were involved, either that or my wife is a vampire.”

Ben almost spat his beer out, laughing so hard; Colin moved his chips out of the way, a grin on his face.

“So Col, where’s the scan pics?”  Ant grabbed his wallet from the table top and started to rifle through. Colin shook his head,

“Not yet, she’s seen a midwife and she said there was no hurry, that waiting lists and the like… it’ll happen.”

His older brothers shared a concerned look and he put his fork down slowly,

“that’s right, yeah?  I know the books say earlier but we all know the NHS can be slow.”

“You haven’t been to a single appointment?”

Colin shook his head, “it’s just been two, a booking one and when she was being sick all the time, she said not to, to save Neil’s good will for time off when more happened.”

“Another drink, I think.”  Ben jostled Ant and they headed for the bar, voices low.  Concerned, Colin picked up his phone and texted Marina,

Remind me babe, when’s the scan?

Don’t have a date yet, been delayed again.  No hurry.

When his brothers returned he held out the phone as if it answered everything.  Ben took the phone and nodded,

“Col, can I bring Soph over for a chat?  You know she’s a nurse.”

Colin shrugged, “you already know the reason but sure, bring her in.”

Sophie was there as fast as she could get over, accepting the pre bought pint with a grin and tapping Colin’s glass with a "cheers" as she took a sip and leaned back, sighing, “I needed that.”

“We were just  wondering babe,”  Ben began, “about whether Col should be going private with the maternity care?”

“Why? None of us did.”

“It’s just- it’s been fab here in Mayfair but they’re a bit more rural and it seems there’s delays, they haven’t had a scan or anything much at 24 weeks.”

“Where did you get that from?  Everyone there gets 12 week and 20 week scans, how else would they check the health?  Col?”

He shook his head, “nope, Marina says they’re all held up, she’s been told not to worry.”

“The tests? Some have to be done by 14 weeks Col, it would too late. That picks up some really dangerous conditions.  I can check of course but I can’t possibly imagine…”

Slowly, reality dawning, Colin nodded:  “can I take you up on that offer?  Please check.”

It didn’t take Sophie long,  a text message and a quick call to someone she’d studied with, and she was back, switching the phone off and placing it on the table.

“Now to be clear, I can’t ask about Marina and I wouldn’t; confidentiality matters.  It’s entirely possible she is having care and just not telling you.  However…”

Ben moved to sit at his younger brother’s side, draping an arm across his shoulder.

“There are no delays or waiting lists.  Either she’s cut you out or she’s not known to services, either way she’s lying.”

 Historically Colin had always been one to retreat into himself and this was no different- nobody at the table was surprised when he simply nodded and nursed his drink silently, finishing it then announcing “I’ve got to go.”

“Come back to the house, get your stuff Col.”

“Nah, I need to get back.”

“Let me drive you.”  Anthony downed his orange juice and stood, determined.

“I can get a train.”

“Not until the morning, you know that.  I understand why you need to hurry back, let me do this for you.”

Marina wasn’t home when Colin arrived so he sent Ant in to make a cup of tea for himself and headed out to find Neil, attending to lambing.

“Marina about?”

“No pregnant women near the sheep Colin, you know that- not worth it.”

“She’s not home.”

“You know how she is about you going up to London,  I told her she has to let you see your family but we both know how she can be.”

Colin gave it a moment of thought- did he?  She never seemed to have the energy to argue or object, she was clingy sure but that was about it.  He rang her number and didn’t get an answer, sending a quick text to let her know he was home and returning to the little annexe they had just moved into.

Anthony was waiting with a drink when he arrived, “any news?”

“Nope, but I let her know I'm home.”

They sipped for a few minutes, Ant asking questions about the farm and lambing until the door opened.  He stood, hugged Colin and paused to greet his sister in law before heading back to London.

Colin didn’t have much of a temper really, wasn't his nature but he had to fight showing it now.  He turned and gave her a hard look.

“You lied to me.”

“About what?  Col…”

“There are no delays on scans or anything else.  Either you had the tests without me or you skipped them, which is it?”

“Col…”

“Fuck off calling me that right now Marina.  Which is it?”

And there, in front of him, his wife collapsed.  Sat on their bed sobbing, admitting she hadn't known what to do about the pregnancy, didn’t want a baby but couldn’t hurt him either.  He sighed as he ran his hand through his hair,

“it would have been your choice.”

“I’d have broken your heart.”

He couldn’t argue with that; he wouldn’t have said anything, pressured her but it would have been true.

“You missed so many tests Marina; scans- left it too late to make any decisions anyway.  We could have talked about this, worked it out- instead you put yourself and the baby at risk.”

“I know.”

“Tomorrow we go to the GP, get them to make an emergency referral or whatever it is- we will go to each and every appointment together.  You can work out what you want to do with this baby, we can raise it together and I really hope you choose that or I can take it and move out but we get the tests first.”

“I’m sorry.”

That night Colin lay on the sofa, staring at the ceiling as the lies and the events of the past few months ran through his mind, berating himself, trying to work out where he’d slipped up.  In the morning he rose for milking then the couple went to the GP, receiving a lecture about irresponsibility and an emergency referral to the obstetrician, with plans for the local midwife to visit Marina at home and a warning of a social services referral if they pulled any more stunts once their baby arrived.

Three days later Colin sat terrified as Marina had her first scan, dreading the news that there might be something wrong that had been left too late.  His terror only built as sonographer became obstetrician, staring at the screen, turning it to show two sets of limbs, two faces- twins.  He nodded along at the information, took the leaflets with murmurs of thanks, escorted his wife home and handed her to her father with explanations and then walked alone to the little country church, sitting with his back against the stone, trying to summon up the spirit of his father.

"What do I do, Dad?" he whispered as the tears came, "she couldn't face one, let alone two."  He strained to listen but nothing came to him, just eternal silence, broken only the distant noise of traffic, cows lowing in the distance.  Taking his phone out he sent a picture of the scan to Sophie, knowing he wouldn't have to explain;  then he picked himself up, walked home and splashed his face before sitting down and pretending all was well.

Three hours later they heard the noise of wheels on the gravel and a knock at the door.  Opening up he was met with his mum stood there, arms already extended: he stepped into them and sobbed, "did Soph send you?"

"No my baby boy, I just knew."

"I asked Dad for help. At the church."

"Well then, looks as if he sent me.  What's going on?"

He led her in and sat her down with a cup of tea, telling the story of the missing scans, news of the twins: Marina didn't look up once, staring at the door until half an hour later she simply stood up and left, neither even looking at each other.

"How did it get so bad, Colin?"  Violet watched him with concern, holding him as he sobbed, repeating "she doesn't want them, mum: she never wanted one, how will she manage two?"

"With your love, my help and her father's care- where has she gone?"

Colin shrugged, "I don't seem to know anything about her any more, she's either silent or disappearing, I don't know what happened- we were so happy,"  he sniffed and wiped his nose with his sleeve; she lifted her eyebrows then handed him a tissue, "other couples manage this, younger and with no jobs or home.  I don't understand."

"When are you seeing the midwife?"

"Day after tomorrow, home visit."

"I'll need to be back in London, take care of Edmund, can you make sure Neil is there?"

"I can try, I'm sorry you had to come all this way."

"I'm not.  You're sure she won't move in with us for a while?  Kate and Sophie's presence might do her some good."

"She's visited once mum and she hid, of course she won't."

"She's not the first to struggle with a pregnancy love, it'll get better."

Chapter Text

Penelope stood and paused for a moment to watch as the class TA handed out the snack pots, the children quietly sat with their water bottles, knowing that any time wasted now would shorten their play time in the school yard.  When she was sure they were settled she nodded and took her leave, walking to the little library at the end of the corridor where her headmistress was already waiting, a quick briefing before the twins joined them for an hour to play and see how they got on.

"So, anything come up in the paperwork?"  Helen looked at her over the pile of books she was shelving, never one to waste a moment; Penelope pulled out the admin the receptionist had handed her and set out two plastic cups of water, readying themselves to be welcoming.

"Nothing unexpected: they're traumatised, lost their mum, didn't know their dad that well- unpredictable, clingy to Grandad who they no longer live with.  Nan is their main carer whilst dad recovers, aunt and uncle involved as well."

"Dad recovers from what?"  Helen paused and turned to look at her, "is that in the file? The loss or was it more complicated?" Penelope could read Helen's expectations- an accident perhaps, both parents injured.  Instead she lowered her voice to convey the true horror of what she had read.

"We have the information, social work report.  Mum's death was a suicide, dad found her.  Wasn't exactly out of the blue."  Helen paused, placing the book in her hand down in acknowledgement of the sadness of the news.

"Oh.  That poor family.  There's no words, really."

Their conversation was interrupted by a rap at the door, opening to allow an elegant older woman access, two small twins in front of her, heads bowed and silent.  Violet turned to Helen first and shook her hand confidently, before turning to the younger woman in surprise.

"Penelope- I didn't expect to see you here."

"Miss Featherington is our Reception teacher, she'll be caring for the twins.  I know you are neighbours, I can reassure you that there won't be any confidentiality issues or breeches."

"No, no: that's not a problem.  If anyone wanted to find most of it they could, it's in coroner reports and the local press in Somerset after all.  It's just-"  she turned to Penelope- "I know this is a silly question dear, but does your mum know you work here?  She never mentioned it and you would think she'd be proud..."

Penelope didn't reply, just gave her a gentle smile as she flipped through the files to find the forms for Violet, one eye on the twins, observing all the while.  She handed over the sheaf and a biro, biting back a smirk as Violet quietly laid the pen on the table and rooted through her bag for her Montblanc fountain pen, the gold nib catching the light as she started filling in medical details and dietary requirements, adding a card for the social worker they'd been assigned, a faint look of embarrassment crossing her face as she did so, apologetic.  Penelope watched as Helen knelt down by the twins and asked them over to the book corner.  Penelope continued the induction, speaking gently, so that they could not hear.

"I am so sorry to hear about Colin's wife, Violet.  I don't think I ever properly met him but it must be so hard.  They will all thrive in your care, I have no doubt."

"Thank you.  It has been-" she turned to watch her grandchildren and sighed, "well yes, a difficult time, their poor mother never really seemed to have much of a grip on happiness.  I think they needed to move away from where it happened."

"I can see why you would think that.  And Colin, is he...?"

"As well as can be expected, they weren't exactly together but not really apart either- it was all rather a mess.  I'm sure you know that we have to do school runs at the moment but we will be trying to bring him along when we can, get him involved.  At his own pace."

"That is absolutely fine Violet, and let us know where we can help- obviously we have limited resources but we do pride ourselves on our pastoral care, and we will take our time to transition the children across. We were thinking an hour a day for a week, then mornings and after that I will do a home visit, see how things are going."  Penelope checked over the forms and shuffled them into order,  "would you mind stepping outside for a short time?  Alice on reception will make you a hot drink, we'll see how the children cope without you."

Violet agreed and stepped outside, allowing Penelope to take a seat quietly next to where Helen was sharing the book, trying not to crowd the group.  When Helen finished she introduced them to their teacher, Penelope started to speak but stopped when she saw that they did not react, moving to read to them again.  Still they did not move, so she handed the book to Helen; they turned to her and listened again. The back and forth was repeated for the next twenty minutes before Violet returned, looking hopeful.  Penelope joined her at the desk.

"They seem settled."

"They do, and their behaviour has been impeccable.  However they won't acknowledge me at all; would you be able to introduce us, perhaps that is the difficulty?"

She could see the drop in Violet's expression immediately, momentary though it was, her face immediately and professionally schooled to it's usual affable expression.  She remained sat, waiting.

"I will of course, but it is just that they are the same with their aunts, and indeed our household staff- indeed any women around their mother's age. From what I recall you are just two years or so younger."

Penelope could see that Helen was listening intently, despite still reading.  

"Their mother was very young."

"Yes."

"And if we separate them, just for a while?  How do they react then?"

"Not well I'm afraid, but it would be worth a try I suppose."

Penelope left Amanda with Helen, already settled and had Violet retrieve Oliver for a quick tour; the three walked together towards the play area, the teacher keeping a friendly monologue, showing the boy the rooms he'd use, letting him peek at his classmates through a window, settling him onto a swing and offering to help push.  He nodded when needed- progress she thought, gladly, almost ready to praise herself when her attention wandered and a hand grabbed for her hair and pulled, hard.  Violet flew into action and detached the child, apologising, before chasing after him as he bolted across the school field to the forest school area at the fence, climbing up into the tree house and sitting with his back towards them.  She looked around for Violet only to see her tapping something into her phone;  realising she was engaged she sat at the bottom of the steps and turned herself so that she could see him from the side but wasn't facing him.

"I see you've found our forest area, Oliver- very clever of you.  It's new this term, isn't it wonderful?"

She paused where she would normally expect an answer. leaving him space if he chose to join in: he did not.

"We use this area for lots of activities.  Reading sessions and play in any weather, you will have to make sure your nanny and uncle remember to bring your wellies.  Sometimes on nice days we come out here with our snacks for a little picnic, and on Fridays we join the year one children for a singing and music session.  Do you like music Oliver?"

Violet was back with them now, settled on a tree stump a few metres away, watching but not getting involved.

"I like to sing but really I am not very good, I do like playing the piano.  Perhaps we can try you on some instruments?  I believe your aunt plays very well, perhaps if your Nan agrees we could look at music lessons."  She watched Violet for agreement, the woman nodded enthusiastically- there'd been mention of music therapy in the file but nothing yet properly in place.

"I think maybe if it is hard for you to use your voice right now it might feel better if you can make noise in other ways, maybe drums or tambourines- it might be fun.  It's been a lot for you and your twin but we will find ways to get along together."

Oliver still hadn't even looked at her when she heard hurried feet from behind her, turning she saw an angry looking Viscount hurrying towards them, face slightly pink from exertion.

"Oliver Bridgerton, get down here right now!"  Reluctantly Oliver headed towards the ladder, taking each step two feet at a time, shuffling but descending.

"I am so very sorry, Miss..."  Anthony turned to face Penelope and screwed his eyes up, "I am sorry, have we met?  you look remarkably familiar."  

Violet stepped up next to them; "this is Portia's daughter, Anthony; the youngest."  Anthony sighed loudly,

"great, so he didn't just pull any teacher's hair, he managed it with the gossipy neighbour's kid: bloody fantastic.  How long before that hits the gossip pages?"

"I beg your pardon?" Penelope's voice rose somewhat, offended by his implication.

"Every part of these two's life has been documented in the gossip pages, we don't need any more of that."  He turned to his nephew, "apologise to your teacher."

Oliver remained silent, Anthony fiddled with his glasses, pushing them back up his nose.  

When he first headed their  way Penelope would have sworn she had an angry father figure to deal with but the more she watched the more she could only see concern- concern and heartbreak.  She spoke to Violet for a moment, turning to see Oliver curled up against Anthony's leg, fingers twisted in the fabric, Anthony's hand at his back.  Violet took his little hand and led him back to his twin, Penelope indicated a wooden table and fought to keep her voice steady,

"shall we sit?"

"Is it appropriate having them taught by a neighbour?"  he hadn't yet sat down and already he was managing the situation.  She settled herself before replying.

"You are in the legal business, I understand?"

"Yes, but how is that relevant?"

"You understand professional confidentiality, I assume?  Why do you think I do not?"  Her gaze was clear and steady; a smile but a challenge.  She did not like confrontation in most of her life, was avoidant really but this was her career, where she thrived- she would go down fighting, if need be.

Anthony shook his head, "I just want the best for those children."

"Then we are of one mind.  I know that you know my mother, she is a gossip certainly but I would never discuss my students with her.  There is a difference between a journalist selling gossip about who your brother is dating and the wellbeing of small vulnerable children who, frankly, have been through hell."

"Colin?"  he looked confused, "he isn't dating anyone..."

"Ben.  I haven't had the pleasure of meeting him but he's a soap opera nonetheless."

Anthony's lip twitched slightly and his defences slipped just a little: progress.  

"I assume today went poorly, is there a chance of recovery or do we need to find somewhere else?"

"That was never in question, Anthony.  It's how we approach this, not if.  I'm applying for funding for a TA, but that could take a while..."

"I'll pay."

"They're entitled, the paperwork will support it and it'll be a few weeks before we can integrate them anyway, at least.  If you want a way to help,"

"anything,"

"I was thinking about music therapy- get them making some noise, taking up space.  On the school premises ideally so they learn to feel comfortable.  I have some names I can pass on if it's something you might like..."

"as I said, anything."

"Well we have a plan.  Please don't panic: we will get there."

"He will speak to you, eventually: I can't guarantee it will be friendly, they've seen so many psychologists- it's not selective mutism or anything, it's just..."

"All new to them?"

"Yes."  he fiddled with his coat hem for a moment, Penelope thought it would be rather endearing if it wasn't for his reputation as a sharp lawyer and one of the last remnants of proper British aristocracy, "I need to say- my brother, Colin..."

"I know him by sight but not to speak to."

"He is not a bad person, everything that happened affected him deeply- destroyed his confidence in himself but also others.  He wasn't keeping them away from school because he didn't care, but because because he was terrified to lose them too- convinced himself that only he and his family could be trusted, thought the social workers would take them away-"

"We get that a lot, they're meant to help and often do, but families just think they'll lose the child.  It can put up barriers."

"Exactly!  And then he didn't engage so it became a very real risk and we had to attend a welfare conference and well- here we are."

"They are very lucky to have you all, I hope you know that.  Love, consistency, the help and support we will put in place- we will do all we can for them.  You just keep doing what you are, but you need to trust me.  This my speciality, as long as they're in my class they're my priority- well along with 30 others anyway."

"A big class, huh?"

"Yep!  Still if we have the TA, maybe there's something to be said about being lost in a crowd, a crowd of small children who know nothing about you anyway.  Often that's the best therapy, that level of acceptance."

Anthony didn't stay after that, just shook her hand and walked to collect the twins, Penelope wishing the family a good evening before watching them leave.  Turning to Helen she collapsed into the chair,

"life's a bitch at times, isn't it?"

"We've seen enough kids dragged through hell Penelope, you know that the ones with a loving family stand a chance of pulling through.  Don't despair for them quite yet."

Chapter Text

Portia Featherington leaned towards the magnifying, daylight mimicking LED lit mirror as she touched up the last coat of her lipstick- Louboutin Rose Exhibit, bought that morning in Selfridges, a bit gaudy on her skin tone but what was the point of spending £84 on a lippy if it couldn't be seen?- she smacked her lips together, blotted, and rubbed at her teeth just in case she'd somehow left an invisible spot on her expensive veneers. Satisfied, she added one more coat of Hermes mascara and smiled at herself in approval, before swiftly turning her lips back down in case she caused a wrinkle. She moved towards the full length mirror and checked herself over, lifting her breasts slightly (32E, every penny well spent in her opinion, a gift to herself on the first anniversary of her husband's death), and pulled the neckline of her cashmere top down just a little bit. She checked over her black satin jeans, added her precious leather jacket, one of the few things she'd brought with her from the country, and stepped into her Farfetch leopard print stilettos before grabbing her Balenciaga bag and heading out the door, a drift of Penhaligon’s Empressa in her wake.

Portia loved living in Mayfair- truly loved it.  She hadn't expected to at first, not really, but she'd have moved anywhere to escape the memories that flooded her former marital home; that sense of never feeling really safe, of waking up each day to check your phone to see if today was the day it all crumbled... losing herself entirely to the instability and just trying to hold everything together. She hadn't known how it all would all end- often laid in her bed imagining new season finales: Archie messing with the wrong sort of loan shark this time, one that would hurt her or, worse, one of the girls; Fliss or Penelope's schools calling in social services; Prudie and Pip walking away and never looking back at her; a call from the hospital, letting her know that one of the girls was... well she never dared fill in that blank: she'd lived in perpetual fear.

It had been a relief when the only person he'd taken down had been himself.  She'd never know if that had been his one decent move, an intentional separation of family from addiction, but she was genuinely grateful.  There had been so many good times since then- times she had never thought she was guaranteed; Penelope's university place, marriages, careers.  Grandchildren, even. That one gift from her husband had given them a escape, and she'd grabbed it- at a cost sometimes, she knew her girls thought her harsh and even detached but she had done what was needed to buy them a second chance: a new beginning for all of them, and now they were adults she wasn't wasting her own shot at a better life.

Her place in society was different to that of the genteel countryside: certainly Mayfair worked well with her newfound desire to keep her life on a superficial level in as many ways as possible.  Coffee mornings and impromptu volunteering, fundraisers and casual lovers- if they hinted they wanted anything more off they went, Portia was done with all that: this was her time.

Beneath all the botox and her beloved Versace stirrup leggings (in her signature leopard print, obviously daahling), however, there were deeper, more altruistic reasons for her love of the city, reasons she'd never admitted, pretended she didn't even have the capacity for really but had kept her going in her early months here, when building networks had been a precision thing, targeted, driven.

Everything had been first and foremost about her girls. She was certain she'd lose them if she stayed where they were- no question about that, apart from Fliss they'd all been ready to fly by the time Archie died, stifled at every turn by the limiting rural combination of no money and no public services.  She'd even had to apply to a charity to get help for Pip's college transport, a hardship fund had met the expense of her college equipment- she'd felt ridiculous, typing her address into the forms, listing the rent from the Square as their only income and then having to show how the rather large sum was swallowed by debts and estate expenses- it had been an embarrassment, just one more attack on her dignity.  Of course the children would all fly away from their limitations, she couldn't blame them- envied them, in fact.

It had worked out better even than she'd hoped- she was finding great joy in watching as they stepped out from the shadows of their father and found their own paths.  Prudence, often scratchy, difficult, now adored by her husband; Pip a doting mother and marital helpmate, happy in her cheesy bubble ("we are rather fondue of each other" she had said when she announced their engagement- Portia had closed the door on them for a moment in horror at the pun before fixing a smile and returning to the fray, warning them to proceed Caerphilly, not waste a Gouda thing)- and Penelope-

well Penelope.

She'd been against her teaching at first, worried that she wasn't resilient enough to cope in the state sector, that she'd be forever working too hard to meet anyone worth having and too poor to live life on her own terms.  The more she had resisted Penelope's pull towards education the more Penelope fought, until Portia had realised that not only was it a vocational calling - something she'd never really encountered in her own world- but that it seemed that the best way to manage her most complicated of daughters was to to oppose her choices, inspire a strangely dutiful rebellion: it reminded her of herself as a teen, really.  

For someone so committed to existing on the surface level Portia easily managed to fill her days; she'd been helping out at the community centre allotment this morning, lunched with Agatha Danbury and had a third date this evening- she had a five date limit on any man so she'd be starting to pull away soon but she still expected some good fun.  Right now, though, she was headed over to Violet's house- Benedict had offered Fliss work experience at his gallery after seeing her watercolours at a school open day and she had offered to walk her across to make the arrangements, always glad to get a chance to visit the Bridgerton household.

Really it had been pointless; Hyacinth and Fliss, less than two years between them, disappearing into the studio as soon as they arrived, planning a sleepover afterwards. Her daughter had come armed with a bag containing what looked suspiciously like a bottle of vodka: she pretended not to see, trusting Ben well enough; the man had a reputation but he was a good soul at heart.  They'd had their own brief dalliance back when he'd been single, and had retained a vague sort of respectful friendship after the fact.  She knew he'd be fine with the girls and winked at him over Felicity's head as she disappeared, nodding briefly towards the bag with a half smile.

Better here than passing out drunk behind a shrub in Hyde Park, anyway.

Once her youngest child was safely deposited into Bridgerton care she headed towards the drawing room, where she'd been asked to await Violet's company, a pot of tea already set out on the little table.

She hadn't been settled long before she heard the door opening behind her, turning to watch as two small children slipped into the room.  This wasn't unusual; Violet had passed her own unnatural fertility on to her own children, and there were usually a handful around- the cousins all seeming to carry mostly Bridgerton genetics, with just enough variation to help place them- Daphne's brood darker in skin tone, Benedict's somehow looser and more bohemian, the Viscount's painfully formal in a way that made them appear old souls- these two were not any of those, somehow their own version of themselves.

She watched in quiet interest as they shuffled into the room, hand in hand, eyeing her suspiciously.  It was clear where they were headed, the old doll's house in the corner, but they were somewhat uncertain.  Portia tried to catalogue their own differences-  a warmer skin tone, the girl's hair tightly curled but the boy's less so, quieter but something else, something she hadn't seen in a long time- something that took her back to when her husband was alive in fact, a wariness in their eyes that reminded her of Fliss when her dad had rolled up at the door drunk, begging for funds to gamble, unwilling to accept no as his answer.

"Well well well- who do we have here?"  Portia shot them the smile she reserved for her grandchilden, the only time she let her barriers down and truly relaxed.  Amanda kept stepping towards her goal but Oliver turned and met her eye,

"who are you?  This is Nanny Violet's room, you're not like Nanny Violet."  Intrigued, Portia tipped her head to the side, "well if I'm not llike Nanny Violet- what do you think I look like?"  Oliver met her question with confused silence but Amanda shot her an assessing glance and fired her answer,

"you look like an evil stepmother from a fairytale."

Someone else might have been offended but Portia just threw her head back and laughed- real, deep rolling laughs that stopped both twins in their tracks, curious but still clearly nervous.

"I'm not entirely sure that's the manners your Nanny would ask of you but now you come to mention it, I think you have a point.  I promise i'm all out of poison apples though, if that reassures you? My name is Portia."

"Portia?  Like Uncle Anthony's car?"

So they were yet more cousins then- Portia ran through the listings in her head, trying to recall which of the numerous children she had yet to meet.  Before she had a chance however she needed to answer Oliver; she slipped her heels off and padded over towards him, kneeling slightly and meeting him at eye level,

"near enough, sweetheart: it is nice to meet you."  She extended her hand to shake his, something Edmund had always been encouraged to do when she visited- Oliver simply stepped back.  She nodded and withdrew hers, "can I ask your name?"

"Oliver."

Of course it was, Violet kicked herself mentally: she'd known of the twin's existence of course, but had never met them, they'd always been down in the west country or wherever it was their father lived, and then of course their mother...

"and this must be Amanda, then?"  she tipped her head towards his sister and he nodded,

"we're twins but i'm taller."

"you're taller but i'm older."  Amanda might be the quieter of the two but she wasn't going to let her brother claim all the power that easily.  Portia fought to keep the laughter from her face and nodded seriously, 

" I am sure that it is very important for twins to keep such things in order."

"Are you Nanny's friend?"  It was clear Oliver was somewhat fascinated by her, despite his sister's attempts to draw him towards the doll's house.  

"I don't know about friend, we've worked on a few things together, but she is a very nice woman.  We are supposed to have tea but she has been held up."

"She's shouting at daddy again."

"Ah, is he here as well, for a visit?"

"No,"  Oliver shook his head quickly, the curls tumbling around his face.  "We live here now.  We came 2..3..." he counted on his fingers, Amanda sighed and spoke over him "6 days ago Oliver, you know that."

Portia was entranced by this pair: she always felt she'd missed out on much of her own children's childhoods, so constantly circling the drama and fighting each mini crisis, being around children now was a treat.

"So did you come in here to play with the doll's house?"  They nodded and she stood up, brushing imagined dust from her trousers: "would you show me? My own daughters had a lovely doll's house, but it wasn’t as nice as yours."  She grabbed a cushion from the settee- no doubt something antique- and cast it on the floor besides the toy before settling on it, gasping dramatically as they showed her that the house looked just like the one they were all in.

"And who is this?"  Portia pulled out two little dolls, clearly new, obviously created to resemble the twins.

"That's us!"  Amanda's voice lifted for the first time, a little bit of enthusiasm sneaking through, "Uncle Ben painted them as a gift when we moved back.  He said it means we belong here now, that this is our home."

"Well, that is very kind of him, the house looks older though."

"Our Grandad Edmund made it, for Daphne.  We don't know him,"  Amanda shook her head, eyes serious again.  "He died.  Adults die."

"They do, eventually.  I think he'd have loved you two, though."

"Daddy used to say the same.  Well, when daddy was happy."  Oliver elbowed Amanda and she changed the subject abruptly, starting to unpack the furniture and showing each tiny piece to Portia in turn.

Half the house was emptied by the time Violet bustled through the door, a harassed expression, throwing a pile of folders on top of the sideboard before looking up to find her guest sprawled in the corner with her two new friends.

"Oh Portia, I am sorry... children, I have a meeting with Mrs Featherington, could you go and find one of your uncles for me?"

Portia watched as Amanda's shoulders dipped, clearly sad to have her playtime ended so quickly.  Portia bumped her arm gently,

"such a shame, I was enjoying the company of my two new friends.  I hope we shall meet again, please say hello to your Uncle Anthony for me.  I think Uncle Ben is a bit busy with my own daughter."

"You have a daughter?"

Portia nodded; "four, but only two still live with me.  Fliss is still at school and Penelope is a teacher."

Oliver turned and stared at her for a moment, "we met a Miss Featherington today, at school."

"oh did you?  Did she have red hair?"

"Yes."

"Well there you go, did you like her?"

"No.  We don't like teachers, mummy said to keep quiet at school so nobody notices us."

"Well..."  Portia shot a look at Violet, clearly embarrassed at the side of the room, "I am sure your mother had good reason but I am rather fond of my daughter."  She stood and bowed, a bright smile aimed at each of them in turn.  "I am afraid I must run and speak to your Nanny but I am very glad to have made your acquaintances.  I do hope we get to do this again."

Violet stood and watched as the duo left the room, indicating a seat and taking the one opposite, falling back with a sigh.

"I am so sorry, Portia."

"Why?"

Violet screwed up her face, "why?" she repeated, confused.

"Yes, why?  They are delightful."

"They are... troubled.  They gave your Penelope quite the run around this morning."

Portia shrugged, "Penelope sees all children as a puzzle to solve, she'll be in her element."   She nodded as Violet pointed at the teapot and mumbled about it needing freshening, rummaging through her bag for a pen and notebook as Violet nipped into the corridor and gestured to one of the household staff. She returned and picked up the folder, beginning to skim the minutes of the last meeting before placing it back on to her knee.

"You never told me Penelope was a teacher."

"No.  I try and distance myself."

"Are you not proud of her?  As two mothers together."

"As a mother?  beyond belief.  But it is her achievement, not mine- I barely held things together when she was a child, I do not wish to claim her success: it is hers alone."

"It is difficult, isn't it?  You think you have the knack of this parenting thing and then...  Portia, are you busy?  if I sent away the tea do you fancy sharing a bottle of something a little more adult?"

"I do have a date later, but..."

"Oh no matter, I can't get in the way of true love."

"True love?  He's a coach at the tennis club Violet, he's good for a dance and a bit of fun, he knows what this is.  I can cancel, it was fading anyway."

"If you are sure?"

"Of course."  She tapped away at her phone for a minute, Violet watching as she did so, then tucked it away into her bag."

"Ah yes I'd forgotten, you're the fling type.  I'd forgotten about you and Ben."

"Violet, I am sorry, I..."  The other woman smirked,

"if I had an issue with that darling most of Mayfair would be out of bounds."  An efficient young woman brought them a pot of tea and Violet accepted it gratefully before placing another request, pouring them "a quick cup" and leaning back into her chair with a sigh, staying silent until a bottle of champagne arrived, downing the first glass then pouring herself a second: Portia remained quiet, sipping as she watched her.  Krug champagne: extravagant for a random afternoon at home but certainly not the best in the cellar by far- Portia heard the message.

"Portia," Violet leaned forwards, suddenly looking tired, the mask dropping. "We are both widows, perhaps we might find a connection."

"Certainly I would welcome that, I have not been in Mayfair so long that I couldn't use another friend- a decade is settled but it doesn't bring the deep bonds of belonging."

"I am sorry about that."

"There is no need- I am happy.  Yes, we are widows.  Rather young to be in this day and age."

"I was in my thirties when he was taken, there were charities and the like but they could not fill the gap.  I have a partner now, Marcus, but Edmund will always be missing.  Colin is in his twenties, too young to meet that same fate.  He has moved back because he wasn't coping, social services stepped in- well I imagine Penelope has told you."

"She never would and I would not disclose anything you tell me to her."

"Well it is that simple really- he could not cope, so we brought him back to offer support.  I thought, as a widow myself, that we might share that understanding- I was not close to Marina, she wouldn't allow it, but it seemed something profound to share.  It has not been long, but..."

"May I share an insight with you?  One thing, then we down the rest of this bottle and find something stronger- perhaps head to a bar?"

"A bar sounds good.  One with dancing?"

"Yes.  You told me your Edmund was taken.  A bee sting, I believe?  Tragic, a happy marriage."

Violet nodded and swirled the last bits of the champagne in her glass, staring at it with intensity.

"I do not know much about Marina but from what I have heard, even a few words from the children- my Archie was not taken.  He went, willingly: ran to it really, embraced it.  My loss wasn't of a partner and soulmate, not like yours.  I lost a youth, my hopes of family, my children lost something of their childhoods- we were always on the brink, just a touch off social services involvement ourselves; no seven year old should know to be quiet and hide away when the debt collectors come knocking.  There is an innocence I could not gift them no matter how I tried."

"I am sorry."

"I didn't mourn him- the girls don't know but whilst they were sent to grief counselling I went to therapy because I felt guilty for not feeling grief.  I felt free."

"Colin found her you know, the children were upstairs.  He won't talk of it."

"Perhaps he also feels guilty?  On top of whatever trauma there is from that.  At least Archie had the good grace to get himself killed away from home, the few things he did do for us were about protecting us from him- signing the estate over to me so I could sell it and start anew, not borrowing from the sort of lender who would hurt us, dying away."

"Get himself killed- was he murdered?"

"Oh yes, well- a car accident but there was a general acceptance that he'd finally upset the wrong people.  It was inevitable.  We were just waiting, had been for a few years."

"I suspect you know more of what Colin is experiencing than I."

"Perhaps; it isn't the same- I don't think Archie wanted to die, rather that the next bet was more important than not dying.  He had stopped choosing survival a long time before.  Our difficulties were about understanding what it was about us that could never be enough to make it worth changing, staying- it is very different from what you lost with Edmund."

"And yet we all had to learn to make our way again, in an unfamiliar world."

"That is certainly true."

"Now, forgive me the change of subject, it has been an awful few months and I really, really need a fucking break.  You look like fun.  There are good pubs nearby but in those monstrous shoes of yours..."

"Do not come for the shoes!  I'd run a bloody marathon in these before I accepted one pair of Penelope's crocs.”

Violet cringed, "awful things,"

and they both giggled, linking arms, Violet pausing only to shove her head inside the study, greeting Anthony and checking for children before announcing,

"I am going out."

"Anywhere nice, mum?"

"Anywhere that sells alcohol.  I intend to return fully pissed, don't wait up,"  then she exhaled in relief as she closed the door, her son gaping at her, stunned.

Chapter Text

Violet was not able to stick around for more than a day, and she didn’t really make him talk that much about what was going on with his wife either- a few pregnant pauses that he chose to ignore, grateful for the opportunity but not willing or ready to grasp the nettle just yet.  She allowed him to show her around their area, truly seeming to enjoy the beautiful scenery, forcing a laugh from him as she deliberately chose the tackiest souvenirs for her family as if she was on a holiday and not in the middle of an emergency intervention.  By the time she finally left for London he was starting to feel a sense of remembering who he was again- some silliness and joy amongst the melancholy.

Most of all he admired the fact that she hadn’t once asked where his wife was after she left shortly after his mum’s arrival: he couldn’t have answered. Usually when she vanished she was with Neil or even simply sitting in the garden with her phone, staring into the distance (thinking, she called it; she usually picked up a bit afterwards so he didn’t like to push).  Every now and again she’d simply vanish, usually for a few hours occasionally overnight- he didn’t probe, she was an adult after all and just because he made sure she knew where he was it didn’t oblige her to do the same.

Violet had also managed to form a bond with Neil- well Colin had never doubted that, it was her speciality really, but the two had shut themselves away whilst he made breakfast, talking no doubt about him and Marina: where once he’d have felt intruded upon he found he now had a sense of a net being woven around his little family- not restrictive or confining but just enough to catch them if they needed it whilst letting them breathe and try and form some shape of their own.  He knew that was why his mum had come, Marina would have found Sophie worrying with her healthcare background, Anthony couldn’t have helped being judgemental, Eloise would probably have joined Marina on her jaunt to god knows where and read him the riot act for even asking where they’d been- Mum got it just right.

Violet left as the sun started to lower over the horizon, and Marina returned not long after- taciturn as ever, clearly expecting an interrogation, picking at Neil’s spag bol in a manner that reminded him of El in the worst days of her teen years, when they all used to take bets on how long she could go before starting a fight with whichever poor fool managed to get in her sightline.  Colin said nothing that could upset her, sticking to questions about the farm work for the month and telling the pair about his mum’s visit but when she still stayed in her shell he decided to push the boundaries a bit and mentioned that he might ask one of the others down in a week or two, give them the full Avalon experience, releasing a breath as Marina just nodded and said that it might be a nice idea before the twins arrived. They discussed who would be first and Neil suggested that Daph and Simon might be a wise idea as they had kids and perhaps he could offer rooms in the main house- Colin had to bite his lips to avoid a laugh as he recognised his mother’s hand in the suggestion but he breathed a sigh of relief and just served himself more pasta, fetching Marina some milk to help with the heartburn, welcoming the distraction.

He didn’t share her bed that night, not yet ready- settled on the sofa with a fleece blanket, watching the TV on low until he couldn’t help but fall asleep to the background of old episodes of I’m A Celeb, feet hanging off the end of the two seater despite his attempts to curl into a tight ball.

It was Marina that woke him the next day, surprising him with a kiss, dressed nicely and with make up and hair done- something he hadn’t seen in a while.  He followed her around like a lost (and slightly confused) puppy as she moved around the annexe clearing up, monologuing about the importance of a good breakfast as she made them both scrambled eggs on toast, pulling part used cartons of juice from the fridge and sniffing them before throwing them down the sink (Colin wanted to object- he got through so many that he knew they were all fresh but he wasn’t such an idiot that he’d complain about anything that meant she was engaging), and opening a  new one for them both.  When they’d eaten she sent him into the shower then- to his utter bemusement- followed him, sitting on the bath side and chatting as he washed.  He couldn’t remember the last time they’d kissed beyond a peck, let alone had sex, and somewhere deep he was aware of a sense of growing unease as he let her pull him into the bedroom but he silenced it: this was his wife, this was normal- maybe things were changing at last.

It was mid afternoon when the midwife finally turned up.  Colin, stuck in the house waiting, had decided to use the time to start painting the nursery and Marina was sat outside with a cup of tea when she arrived, her red Corsa bouncing a little over the uneven farm track as she pulled into their parking area and climbed out with a bag full of files and equipment.  Colin texted Neil to alert him to her arrival, introduced himself then vanished to put the kettle on and leave his wife to get to know Susie.

Marina was actually chatting when he brought the tea in, answering Susie’s questions about the farm and the chances that they would be flooded in during spring when the baby was due (not impossible but they should be just outside the risky spell, fingers crossed).  She asked Colin a few questions about his accent and how he came to find himself in Somerset, handing him leaflets about a group for young fathers before stilling and facing them both with a serious expression.

“I know you’ve been lectured already and I don’t want to get off on the wrong foot but that was some stunt you pulled, a twin pregnancy- the babies are viable now, they could come early.  It was worrying for anyone but especially…”

Colin didn’t bother to argue and didn’t want to ruin Marina’s mood so he simply nodded and apologised, absorbing as much of the blame as he could without directly admitting to any particular negligence on his own part.  A minute or two into the chastising Neil quietly entered and took the seat opposite the pair, introducing himself, putting an early end to the lecture.  Colin sighed a deep breath; he could see Marina was getting increasingly anxious, didn’t want to her to seem difficult or distant.

Then it was to business: blood pressure, paperwork, histories, and the sort of casual chatting about their support networks that was always anything but.  They already knew there would be more appointments, a closer watch and they listened as the plan was explained.  Finally she closed her files and asked,

“anything else I should know?”

Colin shook his head; no, and Marina did the same.  Susie started pulling her things together as Neil took a deep breath, shuffled forwards and closed his eyes briefly as he gathered his courage, and shuffled uncomfortable in his seat as he started to talk-

“well, actually there is something I think we all need to discuss.”

His eyes were on Colin all the time he talked.  He had already grown to love this young man, and it had been his hope that he was exactly what his beloved daughter needed- well he was really: he couldn’t imagine a more kindly, devoted young man and he’d told his mother just that the night before.  He’d also faced some pretty stern questioning from the woman he was already calling Mother Superior in his head, her demeanour changing rapidly once she was away from her son and his young wife, protective in a way that he could only really admire.  He understood her as well- they were both single parents, both deeply committed to their wildly different families.  She’d just shared her concerns about the couple at first, facing not just parenthood but twins at their age, clearly unprepared.  He’d been well aware she watched his every expression as he spoke, and knew what was coming well before she leaned back, crossed her arms, met him squarely in the eye, and asked:

“and Marina’s mother?”

“Gone?”

“That much I had worked out and I am terribly sorry for whatever happened, but could you be a little more- detailed?  I know I am being rude of course but I can’t say I actually give a fuck, if that's what it takes.”

He’d laughed then, surprisingly: never expecting this woman to use such language or be so forthright.  He hadn’t underestimated her as such, he’d just thought she’d be more the 'peck at him until he gave it up' type: matching cashmere jumper and trousers, elegant but ridiculously expensive silver diamond necklace, salt and pepper hair tastefully highlighted and trimmed to a shoulder length bob, a watch that was probably the same value as his beloved new land rover: he’d thought her a mama bear, and he’d definitely found the grizzly.

“Marina’s mum was difficult.  She didn’t really suit farm life, wasn’t used to it- not in the way your lad was new to the thing, he’s worked hard and learned a lot,”

“he did spend a fair amount of time at the family’s country estate, we’re not all Mayfair and Harrods you know,”

“not much of the slurry pits and lambing either though.  But yeah, she struggled- spent a lot of time in Bristol and Bath, wouldn’t get her hands dirty, worked in the town in fact- little cafe on the high street.  I thought it would be good for her and I was right for a bit, then she fell with Marina and-“

“she struggled?”

“No; the opposite, in fact.  First six months after she was born were fine, then she started getting erratic- nothing I could put my finger on at first, a bit moody but we had a baby that wouldn’t sleep, who wouldn't be? Overspending but she’d always liked nice things- heck it was part of what attracted me to her, she was a lovely looking girl.  Her sleep got worse, she started acting a bit strange, erratic.  I caught her one day out in the snow in just her pyjamas and wellies, another time she decided at 3am to start decorating the living room- put all the furniture out in the rain to clear it.”

“Oh Neil.”  Violet wasn't a walkover but she wasn't harsh either, she recognised the look of sadness on his face. “When I lost my Edmund- I was eight months pregnant, and I didn’t cope at all well.  Took to my bed for a year really, my older boys had to carry on for me and Colin and his sister Daphne stepped up when they could.  I know I did my best but I don’t think I can ever really forgive myself- it was too much for them, you think somehow you can pull yourself out from anything for your children and then when you can’t-“

“Yeah.  I did keep thinking she would, you know?  Look, if we’re doing this I need a coffee.  You want one?”

Violet accepted the frankly appalling mug of instant and feigned gratitude, coaxing him to speak again after a few minutes.

“Anthony struggled, too much for a lad his age; Benedict bumbled along helping everyone but I think his crash came later, once we were all safe and climbing back to whatever was going to be our new normal, he went a bit off the rails you know…”

“Drink?”

“A bit, some drugs, slept with anyone that would have him.  All things young men do but he took it to extremes.”

“Sounds tough.”

“Colin I think was the worst- he didn’t have a real role to help with and he didn’t have that way to make himself feel useful.  If I could go back…” she shook her head, “but of course I can’t.”

“Eleanor was a good mum.  No matter how odd her behaviour seemed she always was, Marina was clean, loved, fed and confident.  Then one day I came back to find Marina in her high chair asleep, Eleanor gone.  I looked for her, we had the police out, she was found in a car park in Bath, an absolute mess.  Diagnosed with bipolar and admitted to hospital.  When she left six weeks later- well that was the last I saw of her. She died about a year ago, drink, self medication I’m told.  She never wanted to see Marina after the incident.”

“Oh.  I am sorry; for some reason I thought that was going to go a very different way. That raises a lot of questions, Neil, my love.”

My love: he didn’t miss the change in tone, different approach.  He knew what was coming already though, he’d been avoidant but not stupid.

“You want to know if Marina shares her mental health patterns?”

“I do.”

“She’s sensitive that one, prone to taking offence and shutting down.  I've watched her like a hawk all her life-“

“of course,”

“and I never really came to any conclusions.  She’s always been a bit different to her friends but then she was the only one that lacked a mum, lived out here all isolated- but never in a problematic way, not really, just teen stuff.  When she brought your lad home I thought good for her, and when it got serious I thought I’ll have to have a chat about Eleanor but then they-“

“fucked off to Vegas without a word to anyone?”

He chuckled, “that.  And I didn’t want to do this big whole reveal- no ‘oops lad I forgot to warn you’ because that makes her sound like she's somehow less than a prize and she’s not, she's amazing and he is lucky to have her.”

“I can see that, actually: how do you let someone know that without it seeming like some doom and gloom prophecy and warning?”

“Right!  So I thought- well she'd probably told him herself and he’s not someone who’d judge, so why not say something if it’s needed instead.  And then she did start slipping away and- oh god Violet.”  Neil turned away and took a single heaving sob, she resisted the urge to go and hug him thinking that he wasn't the sort who would appreciate it- in a minute or so he’d calmed himself.  “I read up on it and she had the risk factors for postnatal depression and I didn’t know then but it can kick in months after a baby and maybe that’s what pushed Ellie over the edge, I don’t know- how can I? She just left.  It’s like history is repeating itself and I don’t know what to do.”

“Yes, I rather think you do.”

“Talk to the midwife?  And if she hates me, doesn’t that mean one less person to support her if things get worse?”

“Or the chance to intervene, stop it now.  She has Colin, I know they are struggling but he will stand by her.  He deserves to know what’s happening.  I mean, twins Neil- don’t misunderstand me, I can’t wait to meet my grandchildren but they don’t need that.”

“I’ll be here.”

“I know, and so will I- but still.”

He’d agreed to her pleas to talk to the midwife, knew he had no choice really, and now here he was- sat on the chair, Colin looking confused, Marina staring daggers at him and Susie looking at her watch as if she needed to be somewhere.

“Marina’s mother is gone now, we were divorced anyway but she passed a year ago.”

“I’m so sorry, Marina were you close?”  Susie watched Marina’s reaction, Marina shook her head, “I never knew her, not that I can remember.  They divorced when I was small."

“Marina sweetheart, I’m sorry,”  Neil’s voice cracked and Colin found himself shuffling towards him, ready to console him- he’d bonded with Neil, found a father figure in him: he'd never seen him this distraught.

“My wife- ex wife- she had bipolar.  We didn’t know, not until it was too late and she needed hospitalising.  It was when Marina was six months old.  I’ve always worried about Marina but these last few months- she was in such a good place you know?  After her wedding, Colin is such a lovely lad but then you think why did she marry so quickly, was that a sign…”

“We love each other Neil, it wasn’t…”

“No, no lad and I know that and you two were so happy but you have to admit, something is off- it’s gentlemanly of you to take the blame but Susie needs to know that you thought she was having healthcare, it was all my daughter avoiding- and well, you can’t pretend she’s well. Marina?  You know we love you darling but you must know…”

“You think I’m going to be like mum and leave my babies?”

“No!  I know you better than that- but I don’t want you to get so sick that we even risk it either.”

Neil had quietened then, what more could he say?  His daughter was retreating into herself, Colin distressed- leg tapping in an agitated manner, not seeming to know whether to reach out to his wife or Neil, or pace: as if he wanted to weep and shout and plead all at once.  Instead Colin lifted his head and faced the midwife,

“Well we’ve all had some new information then and I need to process it but I am presuming there is someone we can speak to yeah?  I know when mum was widowed there was a psychiatric nurse and agencies, lots of people floating around all the time.  I assume that’s where we’re headed?”

Susie had already pulled out her bag and started writing, making notes on paper.

“I don’t want anyone to get ahead of themselves here, and Marina this is about you- I can see these two are worried but I don’t want you feeling overwhelmed.  Are you ok talking with them here?”

Marina hardly answered, nodding, eyes on the ground.  Susie kept her words focussed on her nonetheless,

“are you worried about your mental health Marina?”

“No; well not really.  I messed up with the scans and things, I didn’t cope too well with the news but I think I’m doing OK.”

“That’s good.  Do you think your husband and father feel the same?”

Marina shook her head.

“You’re not alone, and this is really early days and there is no reason to assume there’ll be any problems but your dad's intervention is helpful.  I’m going to refer you to a specialist team just to meet them and know who they are if you do need them, if that’s alright with you, and there is charity out here that can match you with a volunteer to befriend you a bit.  Would that be ok?”

“I get a choice?”

“Absolutely.”

Marina looked between the men warily, clearly seeing how worried they were, weighing up her options.  Eventually she looked back at the midwife, a few tears escaping, and agreed.  She then stood and watched as Susie left, arms wrapped around herself as the midwife was followed by her father, leaving just Colin and Marina alone together.

“I’m sorry.” 

Colin was with her in two steps, arms around her and pulling her in.  “Hey hey, what are you sorry for?”

“Not telling you everything.”

“There wasn’t anything to tell until there was, and then you had enough going on. Don’t blame yourself my love.  Blame-“

“Dad?”

“Oh I am pissed at him for dropping his now but nah, Neil loves you.”

“Mum?”

“Doesn’t sound like she had much of a chance either.”

“Who then?  Who do I scream at and rant at?”

“Me? For getting you knocked up, my super sperm…”

“gross…” he noticed the hint of a smile though, felt a thawing.

“I don’t think there is anyone to blame sweetheart.  I fell in love with you as you are, that won’t change.”

They stood arms around each other, both feeling the weight of the day but hopeful that something good might come of it.  Marina took a deep breath,

“Col, I need to tell you something important.  About the babies.”

He shushed her, knew she was exhausted.

“It doesn’t matter, whatever went before- we are here now, it’ll be OK.  We will make fab parents, our kids will be loved.”

“But Colin…” she tried to get his attention, desperate to talk to him whilst her nerve held.

“I won’t have it Marina, the hard stuff is done for the day, we need rest and fun.  I’m going to check on your dad, put your coat on and we’ll go get some lunch.”

“Please…”

“No.” 

She nodded at his insistence, giving in: maybe she could make this work anyway, he loved them all, it would be OK.

Chapter Text

They didn’t invite Benedict for a visit, or anyone else for that matter- certainly they had intended to but matters soon spiralled out of their control, caught up in events far bigger than either of them.

In truth, and completely outside expectation, it was some of the happiest times they’d spent together.

The start of lockdown brought significant worries for them all- Violet worried that she was stuck 158.5 miles (she’d googled it) from the couple, prevented from accessing them this time not just by a rather unwelcoming and sometimes surly daughter in law but the full measure of the law and threat of a new disease.

Somehow it forced them all into new ways to share. They missed the physical presence of each other but there were quiz nights, Eloise and Hy always winning, Anthony tending to vanish halfway through frustrated with everyone messing about or disappear into his study with a glass of brandy and a very firmly closed door. Neil was always a welcome participant, setting himself up on his own laptop in his living room, and Marina joined when she was in the mood- somehow seeming to find it easier to deal with the large crowd of boisterous faces from a distance. They were all surprised to find out that she was great at quizzing, and far more competitive than anyone, even Colin, had anticipated. He hoped that her growing familiarity with the family and their bond with Neil meant she would find it easier to socialise with them once the rules were lifted.

Neil’s fear that Colin would somehow blame him for withholding the family history were soon proven foolish; Colin understood them of course, yet he found that once he knew what was happening it was so much easier to understand. He snuck into the living room at 2am whilst she slept, reading all he could on mental health and ways to help her when the twins came. Marina’s shyly admitted fear of attending the support groups and therapy sessions she was pointed towards ebbed when faced with the same offerings over Teams, needing her to travel no further than the kitchen table.. The complete lack of outsider interference in their lives led to the family finding their own routines- Neil often commented that farming was farming in a pandemic or not, nothing much changed; being able to wander across their own land meant they saw in the spring content in their bubble. His family had invited them to Aubrey once they were allowed to move en masse, but they declined, Marina seeming more well than she had done in months.

They spent the evenings preparing for the twins- they still had regular hospital visits although Marina had to attend alone, the consultant agreeing to her facetiming the appointments on the phone for Colin given their past history. He was welcome to attend the delivery, of course, although there were restrictions even then, and they lived in fear of the twins arriving early, with all the complexities of lockdown healthcare and the underlying fears of infection. The midwife still visited, Marina’s newly assigned antenatal psychiatric nurse still popped by and the Home Start volunteer they were trialling (Colin with enthusiasm, Marina reluctantly) dialled in a few times to get to know them before the twins arrived. The rest of the time was spent in a vague haze of board games, a shared love of terrible movies (Colin: The Attack Of The Killer Tomatoes, Marina: I Bought A Vampire Motorcycle), each taking it in turns to pick for a weekly movie night with popcorn, over decorated fruit juice cocktails and Colin’s old Clifford The Big Red Dog duvet thrown over them.

Colin had been warned to watch out for mood swings as the babies arrival drew closer, but even whilst watching like a hawk he could find nothing to concern him- she slept more and more as delivery approached and he applauded that, catering to her every food craving and celebrating as she laughed, got excited about the future and helped him with the preparations for the day they brought the twins home.

It was only later, sat in counselling sessions, that he realised that he’d completely absorbed her existence for that time- hadn’t given her the space to spiral or just think, not a moment to follow a destructive path but neither a second to breathe- he didn't know if it was a bad thing really, certainly there were occasional moments where he’d look in the bathroom mirror and not necessarily recognise the seemingly much older person staring back at him but he was meant to grow up, wasn't he? There were twins on the way, he had a wife to care for, there was a worldwide catastrophe for goodness sake- of course some of that boyishness had ebbed.

There were moments as well- moments where he’d turn and catch her seemingly shut down, staring into the distance, face entirely blank before reviving and regaining the smile as if she’d hit a reboot button, mornings where she’d stay in the shower just that bit longer or seem to lose her energy but he put that down to pregnancy exhaustion or his imagination- they were never moments that seemed to add up to anything, just occasional slipped stitches in the warm blanket they were supposedly knitting together.

The twins arrived on a Wednesday, when Marina had been in hospital for two days with raised blood pressure, Amanda (for Marina’s grandma) first- screaming and red, a good weight for a 37 weeker, and Oliver (Neil’s middle name) ten minutes behind, smaller, quiet and requiring a quick check over but not needing to leave his parent’s side. The happy couple cried in joy, Marina worked hard to establish breastfeeding and they were home within days, spending their days in the usual blur of exhaustion, ecstasy and confusion. They devised a system, taking turns overnight, Marina sleeping in the mornings, a time Colin spent mostly online with his mum or siblings, Colin sleeping after lunch when Marina would visit Neil and, unbeknownst to Colin, either settle herself back to sleep on his sofa or when he was working wander the farm paths with the off road buggy, returning when they needed changing or feeding, always a little brighter and relaxed.

There was just one faint cloud over them still- Marina just occasionally trying to tell Colin something, him always making excuses not to listen, to walk away, scared that whatever it was that she had to say would break through their bubble, wash away some of the joy that they had found. She never persisted, he reasoned that if it was something big she would have done- there had been moments where she’d apologised and made romantic gestures in her guilt at the way her mental state had impacted them when she was first pregnant, and he assumed it was probably related to that- accepted the first few expressions of regret and even pleas for forgiveness as something he needed to do to move forwards, eventually starting to distract and, when especially resolute, refuse her when she started down that path, feeling that reliving the darker times was only destructive. He’d noticed that those times came when she was particularly tired or if he’d been tied up with farm duties so he rejigged and juggled their timetables until she either gave up or stopped worrying- he was never truly sure quite which, only that his heart would hitch in a painful way every time she raised it, a way that left him slightly panicky and breathless, and when she stopped his anxiety seemed to fade.

Gradually the world began to open up, fits and starts, odd reconstructions of what went before that never quite worked- an evening with friends whilst Neil babysat spent at prebooked outdoor picnic tables, driving to Devon for a few days away and standing socially distanced on the seafront, masks for antenatal care and weight checks. Violet travelled down and spent a while with them when she was able, isolating at in Neil's house for a week before Marina would let her handle the babies, accepting but gently probing Colin for other signs of her being germ phobic or anxious, enquiries turned away with a roll of the eyes and the set phrase “there’s been a global pandemic, mum!” Violet and Neil quietly agreeing between them that there was something wrong beneath all the perfect domesticity, a strange shallowness to the connection, as if both thought the other so fragile that they dared not poke too hard- their relationship all blossom and no roots. Nobody felt there was enough good reason to dig deeper, and no access was given anyway: any vague mention resulting in a shut down, week without phone calls and the realisation that they had been taught a severe lesson indeed.

It was early September, the twins almost five months, when Benedict and Sophie finally managed to arrange a visit. Colin decorated the spare room for them, learned fancy recipes to impress them and drew up an itinerary of visits to the surrounding area, Ben and Sophie taking the twins so the duo could have some time alone, a bizarre lunch date spent eating take away on a park bench inside Glastonbury Abbey gardens, neither knowing quite what to talk about other than the strangely coloured nappy Amanda had produced that morning or Oliver’s inability to sleep without his squeaky giraffe toy. They watched as the dragonflies darted around the fish pond, spooning Gu chocolate puddings from the glass pots with teaspoons that Colin had stashed in his bag (the changing bag, repurposed) and drinking tinned M&S wine before sitting in silence, Marina’s head resting on Colin’s shoulder, occasionally pointing out one of the bigger fish as it came to the surface.

“Col… can we talk?”

He sighed, “this again? Marina no, it’s done with. We move on, it’s all we can do. You’re doing well, the kids are thriving, everything is good. Don’t mess with fate, love.”

“Yes, but Col…”

He stood up and brushed invisible crumbs from his trousers, “No, Marina: whatever it is you want to say let it be for chrissake. Just be bloody happy in the moment will you? You know, sometimes…” he turned and sighed, pointing himself towards the abbey ruins, smiling slightly at the rather dramatic backdrop.

“Sometimes what?” She was still sitting, peering up at him, hand shading her eyes to see him in the autumnal sunshine, something that didn’t quite fit with the need for sweaters and brollies shoved into the bag but that gave her an air of really listening, being engaged.

It was easier to talk to her when turned away he found, he wasn't studying her every move, expression, trying to analyse her tone and wondering if that pause in her breathing showed stress or… “It’s been so good since the twins arrived, more than I expected really- I knew we’d love them, but I hadn’t expected this level of togetherness.”

“Things could have been so much worser, I have you to thank for that…”

“No, everything we have we built together- but sometimes don’t you think it just feels a bit surreal? A bit as if we’re floating, detached- watching every word we say, always worried about upsetting the other one.”

“Isn’t that how it should be? Kindness, keeping the other happy?”

“Is it? My parents were so in love but they argued, snapped at each other sometimes, had days when they were grumpy and horrible and the next day they laughed and put it behind them. I’m terrified that if I say one wrong word you’ll get ill or I’ll somehow blow this whole thing open.”

“You won’t let me talk to you about anything deep Col, I try and you deflect it. You’re treating me like I’m made of china and I can’t quite break through that.”

“Maybe I need to ask for help, move past everything…”

“and attract more scrutiny? Is that really a good idea? I still can’t get the twins weighed without the health visitor doing that damned head tilt;” pulling him towards her she tipped her head in parody, “awwwww, Marina dear! Is that lovely husband of yours looking after you now? Is everything alright, yes? You feeling better now?” she mimicked the woman’s high, reedy voice exactly and he laughed in recognition.

“Yeah there is that I guess. I just feel a bit adrift, need to set anchor.”

“So go and do that: you were about to teach sailing when we met, go and do it Col- a few months.”

“Marina! I’m a dad now, that’s not on the cards.”

“We’d cope.”

“I’m trying hard not to be offended but you would get to stay right here with your dad and the kids, do you really think I want to be separated? They’re not even a year old! Would you want to be away…”

“I don’t want you to be tied to us, Colin. I need you to know that you are free, if you feel the need.”

“I mean a few mornings out on the reservoir sure, thank you very much and I appreciate it but more than that? “ Colin shook his head ferociously, horrified, “are you trying to get rid of me?”

“Did you want to live in each other’s pockets for ever?”

“Well you know- marriage, infant twins- kinda yeah, didn’t you?”

“I’m stuck Colin, they rely on me- you don’t have to be the same.”

“Are you dumping me?”

“No! God no. I just thought…” she shrugged her shoulders and stood to join him, “never mind. Shall we go for a walk, get a coffee before we need to get back? Soph has bottles but I’ve had a drink, I’ll need to pump and dump.” She snuck her hand into his and he curled his fingers tightly around hers, the strong grip that always left her feeling that he was trying to pull her back from something unknown.

Ben and Soph were waiting for them in Colin’s newly installed hot tub, the twins asleep in their prams beside them, mugs of tea in the cup holders, grinning.

“You kids gonna join us?”

Marina shook her head, “sorry no, need to go pump the wine off. I’ll leave you with Colin.” She waved and left them, Ben nodded at his younger brother,

“you getting your trunks then? I mean I love you dearly but I’m not quite sure it’s a skinny dip with us sorta love, you know?”

Colin smirked half heartedly, taking a seat on the chair next to them. “Nah, I trust Soph but you give off that vague air of syphilis and chlamydia Ben.” Ben swore loudly and threw his towel at Colin’s head, Colin laughed and ducked, snorting again as the towel landed in the rose bed.

“Prickly bastards.”

“Funny, that’s what Anthony used to call you as a teen.”

“Twat.” He crossed his arms and closed his eyes, laying back in his chair, only opening his eyes quickly to nod and smile at Soph as she she stood up and grabbed her robe, muttering about grabbing a shower. Colin mumbled something about the post-spa-with-Ben antibiotics being in the bathroom and she ruffled his hair,

“funny boy.”

They watched her go in a shared silence, waiting until she was out of sight. Ben watched his brother carefully as he asked,

“how was the date?”

“Yeah. It was- yeah.”

“you talked?”

“She suggested I go sailing for a while.”

“A weekend away, would that be so bad?”

“Months, Ben.”

“Fuck. I thought you said you two were good?”

“I did, we are, it’s just-“ he shrugged.

“Yeah, I get it, yeah.”

They didn’t talk about it any more, Colin flipped open Ben’s laptop and they watched Boris Johnson giving his address in confusion, tutting loudly as the policy changed to groups of six, Ben yelling “capitalist wanker” at the screen before Colin shushed him,

“you’ll upset Neil and besides if you haven’t forgotten, you’re the second son of one of London’s richest families.”

“yeah, soooooooooo much worse than being the third son. Such a fucking example of moral purity there Col.”

“Better than that fuckwit,” Colin nodded at the screen where Boris was still talking, muted.

“Yeah.”

Two days later Benedict arrived back in London and sought out his elder brother for a drink, closing the study door behind him as he settled into the comfiest chair, waiting until Ant finished his phone call.

“So how’s Colin?” Anthony looked at him with trepidation.

“You should go and see him, get to know Marina a bit more. She’s ok.”

“I’m scared the rules will have changed three times by the time I arrive. Besides I haven’t been invited. How is he?”

“Joking, welcoming. The twins are gorgeous, thriving.”

“All’s well then? That’s a relief, mum said it was better but…”

“But. Soph and I brainstormed a word to describe it as we drove home, trying to put our finger on it. The only one we could agree on was foreboding.”

“Shit. Mum said similar, that it was all a bit Brady Bunch and for a young couple trying to care for twins they never even had one word out of place, but not just not bickering- no teasing or anything.”

“She suggested he go travelling for a bit, he refused; the twins obviously.”

“What does Neil think?”

“Told me to keep my Londoner arse out of it, that they’re fine and he’s on top of it.”

Anthony walked to the liquor cabinet, poured himself a glass and Ben a second. He sat down and rested his elbows on the desk,

“fuck.”

Chapter Text

Three weeks after the twins started at the school Penelope sat her kitchen table alone, her laptop and a notebook on the table, elbows on the high thread count tablecloth her mother always insisted on, hands over her eyes.

She wasn’t exactly new to this- she’d had kids who’d been through trauma of all sorts, often with far less access to resources and lacking anything like the love Oliver and Amanda seemed to be surrounded by- children taken into care after their single parent had become ill, families without so much as a roof over their head or children who had been removed from their parents on child protection concerns.  The school she’d trained in had been near a homeless shelter, families crowded into a solitary room, students barely getting settled before being whisked away again to who knows where- many already having moved schools four or five times in their primary school career, completely unused to the idea of being established in any one spot.

These two were a new lesson.  Materially they had everything- in fact she’d had to talk Anthony down from all sorts of cackhanded but sweet gestures, explaining why he couldn’t buy new coats for that family he saw walking in thin jackets or intervene with the mother crying at the gate because their rented home was being sold from under them (she was fairly sure he had anyway, the purchaser had agreed to keep renting to the same tenants with no increase and all under a corporate name but she wasn't going to waste valuable energy worrying about it, if this was his belated introduction to the working classes then so be it).  The family was strong as well: Ant of course was a sweetheart, she’d only met his wife a few times as their children were obviously studying somewhere expensive with much better resources and a predictably twee uniform, Violet was a gem and the brief chats she’d had with Benedict (who was going to run an art workshop for them all) and Daphne had reinforced her conviction that they were fundamentally decent people and that she could never, ever even begin to measure up to their innate style, no matter how many of her mother’s personal stylists or restrictive diets she invested in.

She rose and walked to the counter to make herself a cup of tea, dunking the bag in her mug and adding two sugars for energy- tomorrow was Friday, she was already exhausted, she had babysitting duty later- she needed all the help she could get.  Cradling her sunshine coloured mug in two hands she returned to the table just as her mother arrived home.  She had barely seen Portia these past few days, she’d been making the most of the last days of her fling with the tennis coach and then scouting out a new tennis club to join after he reacted unexpectedly poorly, something Portia was always surprised by despite it’s frequency, perpetually convinced that men were incapable of deeper feelings beyond hunger and a general sense of annoyance at the way of the world when things didn’t go their way (which, with Portia, they never did).

Portia opened the fridge door and took out a kombucha, her latest health food fad, undoing the lid and emptying the contents into a Waterford crystal tumbler, always refusing to drink directly from any bottle or can.   Usually they barely even spoke in these brief interludes- Penelope reluctant to lose her train  of thought to whatever society disaster her mother was fixated upon this week, Portia not wishing to interrupt her clever daughter.  Penelope could tell this time would be different by the way her mum hovered slightly, nails tapping briefly against the marble counter before turning.

“Can I tell you a story, Penelope?”

“I’d rather you didn’t, not when I’m trying to solve this puzzle.”

“Humour me, I might even be able to help.”

“There’s a first for everything,”  Penelope grumbled but she closed the laptop and covered the paperwork, vaguely aware that inspiration was evading her anyway.  Perhaps the banality of her mum’s afternoon at brunch might help.

“Once upon a time there was a woman - oooh shall we say late thirties, early forties”-

“Rules you out then, mum.”

“Rude!  She was a very beautiful, accomplished woman, always volunteering for charitable endeavours, a paragon really.  And nicely dressed! Always looking her best- designer outfits, make up perfect, heels- never crocs!”

“Okaaaaaaaay, sounds familiar but I’m getting older, maybe sixties or more”….

“Again, rude.  Anyway, being the social delight she was a neighbour invited her over for tea and she went; this poor, drab neighbour had so little fun in her life and well…”

“If you’re talking designer twin set and pearls, probably a billionaire’s mother, wife to the late Viscount Violet Bridgerton mother, I swear…”

“Shut up, Penelope.  I’m not taking about anyone, that would be breaking a confidence.  It is a story, a light tale to amuse, you hear me?”

"Oh ok." Penelope was intrigued now.  She put down her biro and Portia snapped it up, holding it at the end with disdain.  Really? This is the message you wish to give out?  Raised to use a biro?

“The kids would nick anything else mum,  or more likely a parent.”

“You’re at home now Penelope.  Tools at work, style at home.  I shall buy you something nicer, perhaps a Dupont, I saw a lovely white and gold one last week…”

“Mum!”

“What?”  Portia had already opened a tab on her iPhone, ready to shop.

“The story?”

“Oh yes. Well obviously the young lady was very nice and approachable so she was sat having a nice cup of tea when these two adorable orphan children in their rags and with thin pitiable limbs…”

“Orphans? Violet is not running an orphanage, mum.”

“Gives off that bloody vibe doesn’t it? Place is swarming with kids, I actually have a spreadsheet on an app to try and work out which Bridgerton is which at this point. Cross matching by age, accent and preferred clothing designer.”  Portia took a sip of her kombucha before continuing; “nobody but you mentioned Violet, love. A simple fairy tale, remember.  Anyway these two adorable street urchins…”

“Nephew and niece of a frigging billionaire.”

“Street urchins took a liking to her and confessed to our heroine that they may have visited a school earlier that day but that they did not like the teacher- poor, underdressed, crocs wearing, poverty stricken creature that she was.”

“Fuck sake mother.  I don't even wear crocs at work. You are the reason why I drink.”

“You hardly drink at all.  I wish you did, more anyway- we could go on a few mother and daughter outings…”

“you are the reason why I should drink.”

“Right.  Well come back to me when it works and you’re up for some fun. Anyway it seems they didn’t like this teacher. Not because of anything she did but because their late departed mother had taught them to be wary, in fact one of them actually said ‘we don’t like teachers’, something about their mummy saying to keep their heads down and out of notice at school.”

“Oh. That’s rather useful.”

“Yes well obviously that doesn’t apply to anyone in particular, it’s just a thought you understand, a story between us?”

“Thanks mum.  You’re a pain in the arse but a star when it counts.”

“And definitely in my late thirties.”

“It is a tragedy though.”

“What is, darling?”

“That I’ve lost my sisters, you’d have been a kid when Pru was born if your story was true.”

“Penelope Anne Bridgerton…”

“39 mother, puhlease!  I mean you look good for your age, really you do,”

“it’s entirely effortless.”

“Yeah.  I believe you. The women on the make up counters at Selfridges that you're on first name terms with might not, but I do. But for your age, not that age.”

“Benedict believed it.”

“Benedict did not believe it mum, he’s just a tart.”

“Hmph.”

Penelope cast a rare fond look at her mum’s disappearing back as she left the room, opening her laptop again and staring at the screen.

It wasn't that the children were acting up- she could handle that, there were resources for such things: educational psychologists and behaviour support teams she could call.  No, on paper they were settling well: they’d managed to move to half days, their relatives were always waiting outside ready for the end of session and never late, they were dressed, fed and washed (Penelope snorted at the memory of her mum’s mention of rags-  the school uniform was basic but Violet had already found ways to put a monied spin on it, she’d had to tell her she wasn’t going to take responsibility for Burberry raincoats last week). 

No, it was just that they were so distant.  It was clear they didn’t trust her no matter what she did, always polite and adhering to every rule, one word answers to any query, no spark or joy.  Not really anything she wouldn’t expect from two children whose mother had been taken from them of course but this was the first time in her teaching career that she hadn't been able to break through, at least a little bit.

Annoyed that she was emulating her mother's mannerisms she drummed her fingers on the keyboard, trying to evaluate the wisdom of her chosen next step.  She read the paperwork another two times, scanning for any sign, a single clue, something else to try: nothing.  Their mother had pulled them from preschool weeks before she died, and the teacher there had described them as shy but happy; their grandfather had raised them whenever mum and dad had been away but she didn’t have his number- that left her one person.

Sighing dramatically for the attention for a non existent audience she dialled Violet’s number, closing the kitchen doors as she did so, making sure her mother was nowhere near.

“Miss Featherington?”  She could hear the worry in Violet’s tone as she picked up; she was used to this, slipped straight into teacher mode.

“Hello Lady Bridgerton, please don’t worry, there’s no emergency.”

“Oh thank goodness!  I know Gregory has taken the twins to the park, I thought maybe something had happened.  Call me Violet, dear.”

Penelope considered the request- she didn’t call any of her other parents by their first name but they weren’t neighbours or her Mother’s newfound bestie either. 

“Off premises that would be lovely, Violet- and call me Penelope, please.”

“That would be lovely, how can I help you?”

Penelope had been struggling with wording this call, not wanting to cause unnecessary worry- the school had a caseload of children who were close to having social services called on their behalf or whose behaviour had pushed them to the brink of suspension.  The twins were not in that cohort, truth be known she couldn't quite say why they mattered to her so much, except for perhaps the tragedy of their situation.

“I just wondered how you felt it was going so far.”

“Ah.”  She could hear Violet deflate, what she thought was the rustle of soft furnishings as the older woman settled herself down to talk.  “It’s not terrible; it could be much worse.”

“It could.”  Penelope endeavoured to add a soft tone to her voice, understanding Violet’s worries.  “The twins are a delight, but they don’t seem to be opening up to any of the adults.  I have seen them with you, with the Viscount and his siblings- they are different children at school and I worry about them.  I would like them to feel safer before they start full time.”

“As would I; I know they are due to do that soon but I don’t think they’re ready.”

“We agree then, that’s a positive start.  They’re entitled to a full time place and if you insisted I would have to take them but I don’t think it is for the best, not yet.”

“No.”

“I was wondering- we’ve spoken about almost everything but never their mother.  I know it must be so hard, I am truly sorry for your loss, I just wondered if there was some insight into how she engaged with education and services when she had their care.”

“Marina?”  There was a hardness to Violet’s tone that Penelope had not expected: interesting.  “Penelope, I hardly knew Marina, sweetheart.  She wouldn’t visit us here and disappeared whenever I visited Colin, there was a short time after they were born when I thought we might build a relationship but…”

Penelope gave thought to this: if she had to conjure up a perfect mother in law she would consider Violet a candidate for the post.  Oh she was sure she could be a little interfering at times, but she had a heart of gold and her entire personality screamed mother in a way her own had never quite managed: Portia was more troublesome dorm mate, perhaps.

“I don’t think Marina trusted anyone, really.  She had her father and she had Colin.  She was making progress and then it happened- and after that… well we hardly saw the twins, then she became ill and well-  they didn’t go to nursery or leave the farm until Colin took over their care the first time.  Then they were pulled out when she returned and really all they knew until now apart from a brief period was the farm.”

“I suppose it was remote, hard for her to take the twins anywhere?”

Violet’s laugh was darker than Penelope expected.  “Darling, it was a short drive to the village, thirty minutes to the closest town.  Rural yes, remote no.  Marina chose to remove herself from society, and the twins were unfortunate casualties.”

“That makes sense.  I don’t suppose you have any other insights you might offer up?”

“Colin.”

“Colin?”  Penelope was curious; he’d been in the background of course but she didn’t get the impression he had much of a say at this stage, the family taking over the minute he left Somerset: she could imagine it would feel overbearing and knew he had little choice with social services always hovering ready to intervene.

“It’s about time he stepped back up, don’t you think?  He hasn't even visited the school and I know he is supposed to do that with us when he is ready but he should be there, shouldn’t he?  Not shut in his room like a recluse or watching endless cartoons with the pair of them.  He only seems to leave the house to go to the gym or for a run, he has to step up at some point.  Lord knows I know what it is like to mourn a spouse but at least I liked mine.”

Ouch, Penelope cringed: She had assumed that he’d been close to Marina at least.

“Well I am sure Colin will recover at his own speed, but…”

“No, Penelope: I am sorry, this isn’t your job but really- he is the only one who can give insight on Marina.  It’s him you need to speak to, it’s time for a Bridgerton intervention.  The twins still have a father, he needs to act like one.”

Penelope said her goodbyes and hung up, pausing to think about teenage Penelope and how she’d have reacted to the chance to speak to 💕💕🌈Colin Bridgerton💙💙 as she'd thought of him then- or likely not so much speak as watch in awe, losing her words and turning into a giggly mess. She was a grown professional now but she hoped to goodness that he’d aged appropriately and preferably really badly or she might just make a fool of herself anyway- she shook her head at the mental image of what that would look like; she was beyond that, surely?

The alarm on her phone rang and she started to pack her things away, ready to head out to visit Pru and her niece, rather glad of a night away from both her mum and her job.  She showered quickly and pulled on a t-shirt, jeans and her beloved crocs (Mother be damned!) before grabbing the car keys, filling her travel mug with strong coffee and heading out to her little Fiat, ready to take the short trip to Hammersmith.

It was a reality of London living that parking was at a premium and her car had been blocked in again- a van inches from her bonnet, the workers who knows where installing internet and likely impossible to track down; she climbed out and examined the distance between her car and the navy E-Pace parked behind her: it was doable, with care- might take a few back and forths but she’d grown up driving here, she was more than able, wasn't the worst she’d faced this week even.  She climbed back in, settled the seatbelt across her curvy frame and put the car into reverse, ready to make that first move: tapped the accelerator and-

“Fuck!”

The car shot back at speed, the back of her croc firmly wedged between the pedal and the car mat: somehow everything slowed down enough to allow her to anticipate the impact as her boot crunched firmly into the vehicle behind her, her head going to the steering wheel to rest for a second as she paused to breathe, shooting back up again as her car door was wrenched open.

“What the fuck did you just do…”

She dropped her shoulders and inhaled before turning her head to meet the furious eyes of the man standing next to her, the man whose car she had presumably just reversed into.  When she immediately recognised him she actually laughed- noting the understandably incredulous look on his face as she did so- before engaging the handbrake, switching the car off and leaning over to untuck her trapped shoe from the pedal so that she could step out. 

It was immediately clear that whilst she knew his face all too well, he didn’t have a clue who she was; instead he was staring at her footwear in disbelief.  She couldn’t argue- that had been a stupid move, really.

“Yeah, I guess crocs are not made for driving.”

“You think?” 

She was all to aware of his presence next to her- he was tall, taller than she’d realised in fact- his brothers were all a few inches shorter and distinctly more Mayfair in their attire and appearance: he wore a brown leather jacket and blue jeans that looked as if they had seen a few days of hard labour,  “that’ll be the farming then,”  she mumbled to herself.

“You what now?”  He looked confused, patting his clearly empty pockets in a futile attempt to find a pen, instead resorting to pulling out his phone.  “You do not know how much I need that not to have happened, fuck- fuck fuck fuck.”

“Yeah, I get that: fuck.  You’re not the only one who needs their car you know.”

“I’m not the one trying to reverse out of a space in fucking crocs!  What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking – yeah,”  she shook her foot, already cringing at herself as she did so, “I don’t suppose I was thinking much at all.  Sorry?”

“Sorry!  Some of us have responsibilities you know!  I have to get the kids to school tomorrow!”

Penelope was usually a fairly quiet person- dedicated, wallflowerish, neither a killjoy nor given to frivolity in any great degree.  Occasionally, just occasionally another, more reactive Penelope crawled out from under the cord skirts and Boden frocks to make herself known, and to her utter horror now was just one of those times.

“Like fuck you do, who are you kidding?”

“I beg your pardon!”

“Look mate, I know this is my fault and I’m insured to the hilt and you don’t have to worry about that but school run?  Like hell.  I’m pretty sure one of your siblings can loan you a car for a few days anyway, but why bother lying?”

“You have the audacity to even think you know who I am…”

“I'm Portia’s daughter.”

“Portia? Oh- mum’s tarty mate.  Makes sense.”

“What does that even mean?”

“Well she’s not exactly given to deep thought and sobriety is she, mind you I couldn’t see her in crocs either… I mean really?  Who the fuck wears crocs to drive around? You might be visiting your mum but…”

“You’re judging my fashion choices when you’re dressed up like the singer from a 90s boy band?  Some bloody cheek. Give us a shimmy love, wave to the fans... but no I’m not visiting my mum,”  she slammed her car door closed and took a few steps away, “I live here so if you want to speak to me about details after you’ve found your manners you can come and knock.”  She turned her back and began the walk home, cringing as he called out to her,

“Aren’t you going to at least shift the car forwards so I can see the damage?  It’s currently sitting half in my front grill.”

“Are you going to play nice?”  She turned, holding her keys out to him so he could move the vehicle- she wasn't getting back in with the crocs, she’d probably end up wedging the Fiat into the van instead.

“Play nice- your yellow monstrosity just hit my car!”

“Bad luck doesn’t mean we get to be rude now, does it?  Perhaps we need to think about our temper.”  She realised she’d overdone it as soon as the words left her lips- his spine straightened and he turned, pointing.

“You- you’re the teacher daughter aren’t you?  I’m not one of your five year olds you know, you are firmly in the wrong here.  There’s probably a law about driving in those shoes.”

“Yeah, probably. Sorry?”

“I should probably call the police or something but you teach the twins, right?”  he looked at her with curiosity, “makes sense, they were drawing pictures of dragons with red hair last night.”

“They were?”  Penelope’s voice had dropped now, embarrassed.

“No, but I wouldn't blame them if they did!  Miss Featherington- Patricia is it, sure mum calls you that.  Stupid citrus car looks as if it belongs to a Patricia, maybe a Pearl.  Someone dowdy, anyway.  ”

“Penelope.  Miss Featherington.  And you're making a mountain of a molehill- i'm sorry if my stupid citrus car hit yours with it's buttery boot but at least I haven't knocked anyone over with my yellow bonnet, it is just metal.”

He ignored her outburst, valiantly she thought, begrudgingly. “Yeah, I knew it was something that sounded like a maiden aunt.  Penelope, is this some jokey attempt at a parent’s evening or something?  ‘I know, he won’t come to the school so I’ll just reverse into his fucking car then have a go at him on the street?’”

“Clearly not but seeing as you have my name and now my keys, perhaps you’d like to sort this out and you can drop them through my letterbox? I’m sure your brother can handle this for you like he does everything else.”

“You what now?  Are you fecking kidding me?”

He was right, that was the worst of it: this was entirely her own fault, her mother had been on at her to bin those shoes for ages and instead of showing contrition and the embarrassment befitting someone who had just introduced herself to the the parent of children in her class and who- she paused to glance at him again, just to be sure: yep- seemed to be the prettiest man she’d seen in quite some time by damaging his car, she’d turned into quite the sarcastic harridan, goodness knows how he had this effect on her: she had to pull this back somehow.

“OK, let’s do this properly.”  She held out her hand, “Penelope Featherington, Miss. I seem to have hit your car, I do apologise, I will have my insurance details with you within the hour.”

“Colin Bridgerton-“ he extended his hand and pulled it back immediately, “what the hell am I doing?  Look, just let me move the cars and see the damage, go and fetch the details and bring it back here.”  He kicked the kerb, muttering, “just what I fucking need.”

"You and me both Colin Bridgerton, you and me both."

Chapter Text

It is an unkind truth that we are often the last to know when our lives are falling apart and that was no less true of Colin than anyone else- as his family watched from a distance with a growing sense of horror, hidden by bright smiles over facetime chats and silly jokes on messenger, but no less true for all that: it seemed inevitable that there would be a crash, some kind of catastrophe that nobody could define and that they were powerless to find a way to prevent it without alienating their son and brother, collectively agreeing that the best they could offer was a safety net, the surety that if- when- it all fell apart they’d be there, quiet and never judging.

Colin in contrast bounded through that first year of parenthood, feeling he’d finally found his place in the world- he was a young father of course, possibly even younger for a husband yet he quietly and effectively tailored his world so that the family was the centre of his universe, something easier to do in their farming isolation than it might be in Mayfair surrounded by other calls on their time:  extended familial duty served mostly over internet connections and quick visits, the twins strapped into the back seat, Marina- somewhere else.

He did not regard the abbey picnic as the disaster someone else might: read her words as a need for space and used that to reclaim his time at the reservoir, sailing on a weekend, making a few friends on a Saturday and letting her do the same on a Sunday, enjoying the freedom of the water and that sense of reclaiming his youth that he found amongst his peers.  There were moments it was awkward- women who had never seen him with a partner let alone a spouse making a play for the handsome young man, Colin learning to mention his wife early in conversations, intentionally flashing the wedding ring and showing the photos of the twins he carried in his wallet.  He was aware there was a small group he couldn’t break into as well, more local sailors who held themselves apart, a group his friend Will labelled “Marina’s friends”-  he gave up after a few attempts, deciding rather deliberately that it was healthy to have something apart, that it boded well for their future.

All in all he considered himself happy, perhaps for the first time since his father had passed all those years ago, only wishing that Edmund was still around to witness Colin at the helm of his own little ship- not realising that by now Edmund would be sending out the lifeboats and flares, silently awaiting the expected storm.

It was with surprise, then, that they all received invitations to  visit the twins for their first birthday, a  party organised in a local hotel.  Aside from Ben and Sophie nobody else had been welcomed by the woman of the house, Violet inserting herself on a regular basis and building an intentional friendship with Neil but the others only meeting the children on Colin’s short visits, stays of a single night when the family flocked to try and slip relationships into the tiny gaps left open to them, determined.

It was, in fact, Neil’s doing: his worries growing with the widening gulf between Marina and all that held Colin dear, wanting his grandchildren to have a family that wrapped around them rather than separate branches as if the parents were already divorced- as someone more immersed in the couple’s life he did not see their separation as inevitable but he knew something felt awry, especially with his daughter- something he could not put his finger on, at least until it was held up for all to witness and then it made sense, as if he’d always known: perhaps he had, if he'd been brave enough to see.

The Bridgertons descended in a flurry of elegantly appointed cars, some with drivers (Daphne and Simon, Violet and the younger two), some delighting in the chance to run their beloved chariot out for the weekend free of the restrictions of the city (Anthony, Eloise); Sophie and Ben making up the rear guard, coaxing the old family jalopy on one more of what was always referred to as ‘one last run out’, the couple forever intending to replace it with something more reliable but never quite getting around to it.  Francesca arrived on the train, fresh with news of a university place in Bath that delighted Colin and horrified his wife, new boyfriend John in tow, silent yet devoted. 

Colin waited at the hotel  to greet them all, Neil fetching Francesca from the station, somewhat bemused at the knowledge of yet another sibling that he had not yet met- despite the couple being close to two years married now Francesca and Eloise had somehow managed to slip through the gaps.  As someone who had no siblings or cousins he found it strange, knew how much he had longed for the ties of close family but he supposed everyone had to find their own paths and if the Bridgertons were not as close- well if it worked for them.

That weekend Neil learned just how far from the truth that was. 

A sociable man forced into solitude by profession and circumstance, Neil delighted in the strange sensation of being immediately accepted by all as an honorary member of the clan.  He already had a good friendship with Violet, both bonding over the love they held for their own children and somewhat traumatic if very different ends to their own marriages.  He liked Ben well enough and held Anthony in a certain amount of awe yet experiencing the whole group together was something entirely new: something he had never witnessed in his life, their closeness combined with the self assured way they swept up anyone who had even the smallest claim to kin.

Marina, however, refused to be swept up.  Colin, Neil and  Violet watched separately but were equally disappointed as she stayed on the sidelines.  The twins were handed off to anyone willing to take them, her eyes at times barely leaving the phone screen.  Kate and Sophie descended in a pincer movement, carrying drinks and stating a clear intention to pull her into their little sister in law support group: Colin’s brief sigh of relief was short lived, the irrepressible and until now seemingly irresistible duo barely acknowledged, the drink left to sit on the side as Marina’s eyes drifted elsewhere in a dismissal so blatant Colin found himself apologising profusely for her lack of manners, receiving only hugs and promises that they knew some unspoken ‘it’ was hard.  Even John tried, utilising his status as newest addition in an attempt to quietly draw her out- earning him nothing except a sympathetic smile before Marina wandered off.

The twins delighted in the chaos that such a large and devoted family brought- toddling from one adult to another, uncles and aunts pulling faces to attract their attention, sneaking sweets and treats in exchange for cuddles or cutesy bumbled attempts to pronounces name- ‘Unc-Ann’ proclaimed a wild success by a delighted Anthony, Daphne clapping as Amanda extended her own name to a wildly generous “Daffffffffffffffffffffffff’, hissed as if blowing bubbles, repeated endlessly as soon as she realised the reaction it gained.  Gregory became Ger-Ger to Oliver, his new status as favoured uncle secured by a pocket full of jelly babies; Eloise declared them all brain dead and baby mad before sweeping Amanda up into a corner, reading her the history of Ada Lovelace in a voice so animated that Amanda was enraptured by the lilt of her monologue, and Eloise claimed an early convert for her cause.

The party closed with the inevitable pile of baby gifts, Colin seated in the middle of a circle, the twins on his lap pulling gaudily printed paper off a seemingly endless pile of offerings before taking their turn to toddle around holding their father's hand and little baskets of thank you cards and cake- everyone declared it quite delightful, the twins descending into an exhausted sleep the minute they were strapped into their car seats, Marina wiping their faces and grimacing about the amount of sugar they’d eaten.

That evening Violet and Neil hunkered down for a hybrid babysitting and crisis meeting, allowing the young people to congregate at the hotel for a meal. 

What Colin did not know was that Marina had tried to get out of it, letting Neil know early that his babysitting wouldn’t be required: he had already seen enough of her behaviour, decided to make a stand.

“No.”

“What do you mean, no?”

“Would you like it straight or shall we hedge around it forever?”

She’d sat through his little lecture, sullen faced but quiet, as he told her that he’d been ashamed of her behaviour, had raised her with manners and that he had expected her to make an attempt to at least welcome people who had travelled to spend an important day with her family.  He carefully but firmly pointed out that her husband had moved his entire life to be with her, and she had made no effort at all to show the same kindness- in the end she had agreed to accompany her husband, admitting that one weekend was worth it as a thank you for the effort they had all made. 

“And then?”

“What do you mean, they’ll be back in London.”

“Marina…”

“What?”

“Baby: talk to me.  Or talk to Col, but talk to one of us.”

“I can’t.”

“You have to, I can’t bear to see you slipping away like this.  The Bridgertons don’t know better but I miss the friendly outgoing kid you used to be.  You can’t go on like this sweetheart, whatever it takes.”

“I can’t go back, either.”

“Do you want to?  To which point?”

She stayed silent but it was enough for Neil to know that she realised there was a problem, that whilst Colin bumbled along singing nursery rhymes and tying tiny shoelaces, she realised she was struggling.

“We’ll get you help my love, you just have to agree to accept it.  You know it’s just waiting for you to ask.  Are you ready?”

She nodded, once, almost imperceptibly but it was enough.  Whilst the young people laughed and drank until the early hours, Neil and Violet had the agreement they needed to begin to put their support plan in place, leaving messages for the psychiatric team and health visitor, Neil reaching out for a part time farm labourer to help lift some of Colin’s load so that he could help support his wife, a leaflet for a local support group for the husbands and partners of those affected by mental health difficulties printed out and tucked into Colin’s bedside drawer.  Violet wanted to buy the two a holiday, offering to come and help Neil take care of the twins but he shook his head- “not yet, Vi: she’s not ready.”

Colin waved his family off the following day with a banging headache and heavy heart, walking back into the annexe to find Neil and Marina waiting for him, ready to unveil a plan of support and healing that left Colin simultaneously stunned by how loved they were and how much he had somehow missed whilst picking up the slack- Neil reassured him but he was quietly devastated, wrapping himself around his wife and making her his first thought in everything- until it happened.

Three months later

The Billionaire Bridgertons: Inside The Brother’s Marriage, Two Years On

Anthony was first to see the headline, sent to his email account with a note from the editor that it was going out in the early edition and just sent over as a courtesy.  He groaned as it flashed up- he’d only woken for water before returning back to his warm bed, glancing at his phone screen just to find the time.  He clicked the email in a disinterested fashion, probably nonsense, they were always finding lies on the society gossip pages or filling the gaps on the websites run by the former red tops, they weren't exactly immune to it but they’d learned to live with it- it was obvious that a family as large and successful as they were would garner attention, it was impossible for them to be invisible after all and mostly they made it work for them, all taking roles in a number of charities and philanthropic endeavours.  This read differently and his mind immediately went to Ben- he was settled now, but he’d had his fun before and it wouldn’t surprise him to find out that he and Sophie got a bit wild at weekends: would surprise him if they didn’t, really.

He filled his glass and pulled out a seat at the kitchen breakfast bar, closing the door before putting the light on, not wishing to attract attention, then clicking on the email to read the copy.

Within ten minutes he was on the phone, reading the words to Ben and his mum as he shrugged a shirt on, apologising for waking Kate.

“The Bridgertons: the ideal British family- successful, beautiful, charitably minded- everyone knows them and most of us will have our favourite, whether it’s the cheeky grin of the second son, put together perfection of the eldest daughter or the childish mischief in the eyes of the youngest two as they combine navigating college with their exploration of London’s social scene. No upper class party is complete without at least two family members, and they are arguably the last universally popular aristocratic family.

Amongst the eight siblings one has always remained something of a mystery: Colin Bridgerton, third son, who married at a young age and left London for a life of bucolic domesticity and wedded bliss: or so we thought.”

“ Oh no, no no”, Ben mumbled as he realised where this was going: of all of them Colin was perhaps the most vulnerable, all by now knowing that Marina was struggling, the poor lad already caught up in enough heartbreak for anyone twice his age.

“Hold your panic a minute Benedict, it doesn’t get any better.”  Anthony was now tying up his shoelaces as he continued, determined to get to his car and brother as soon as he could, but knowing that Ben would be needed to head up the home response, Violet the motherly support.

“Right… hang on, a load of crap about the farm value, Neil’s age- did you know he was that old?  Christ, looks good for it doesn't he, must be all that fresh air… Marina was educated at, yeah yeah OK nobody needs to know that- fuck they didn’t have to mention her mum, really pushing the boat out- here we are.

As a teenager Marina was known to hang around with the sailing set at a nearby boating club, competing at a high level and often found at clubs around the country,  one of the most successful British junior sailors of her generation.  Did you know that, either of you?”

Violet just made a murmur to the negative; Ben replied with “not a clue, but explains how she got together with Col.”

“Yeah- OK, getting to the meat of it.  She was known to be dating George Crane, two years her senior, Olympic hopeful and general man about town.  They split shortly before she turned twenty and not long after it was revealed that she had wed Colin Bridgerton, brother to the billionaire Viscount- oh fuck off, I am more that a Coutts account and title- a wedding followed a year later by the birth of twins.

Right, let’s get to it- sources known to the journalists here at The Express can reveal that despite the seemingly idyllic nature of the young marriage, Marina has in fact repeatedly revisited her first true love, spending days alone at their sailing club and overnight trysts at - fuck that’s the same hotel we stayed at.  Our informant raises the question: does anyone know if the twins are even Mr Bridgerton’s?  We have reached out to the family with no comment so far- well no, of course not, it’s the middle of the fucking night”.

The trio all fell silent for a moment, processing, before Violet spoke,

“the twins are the spitting image of Colin, they have his hair and eyes…”

“We don’t know what this George looks like Mum, although the later edition will have photos of them meeting which is lovely, just what that poor fucker brother of ours needs.”

“I do; he’s easy enough to google,”  Violet responded, quietly.  “I’m not saying they’re wildly  different- if this is true and we will wait to find out- but he’s shorter, stockier, brown eyes: nothing like the twins.  Those twins are all Bridgerton, Ant.”

“Yeah, I hope to god that you’re right.”  He kissed his wife on her forehead and told her to check her messages when she got up, no point in dragging her into this early morning dash- “what response do I give them?  Our PR team won’t be awake before it goes out.”

“Keep it simple love,”  his mum responded, audibly shaken but in control.  “We have always been pleased to welcome Marina to our family and the twins are a delightful addition to the Bridgerton line.  The couple has our full support as these rumours surround them.”

“Not perfect, what if it’s true?”

“It is enough for now. Are you picking me up on your way?”

“I’m on my way now mum, I’ll be passing yours in five minutes.”

“That’s OK, I’m already outside.”  Anthony sighed, he hadn't wanted company for the journey, but he knew it was inevitable as he swung around to meet her.

They drove mostly in silence, the weight of the day already on their shoulders, only the occasional bleep of their phones drawing them from their thoughts.  Nothing from Colin yet, he would probably be waking as they arrived with the dawn, ready for milking or shearing or whatever it was he did on that farm- neither had a clue, really.  Anthony’s response to the article received a thumbs up from the editor, a man he had met at a few charity gigs; Kate called, sleepily, when she woke at five, surprised to hear that he was almost in the Mendips, signposted to Benedict for the whole story so he could keep the phone clear.

They were ten minutes from the farm, watching the colours of the sky above the tor, when the email came in, Violet clicking it nervously to find images of Marina with her arm wrapped around the man she had earlier seen online- some very clearly old, dated from before Colin even met her, a few more recent.  She scrolled down, narrating quietly.

“Maybe they’re just friends?  I see Serena at parties, doesn’t mean…”

“Yeah.”  Violet stared at the handset for a minute, silent, contemplating.  “Most of these pictures would fit that theory.  But this one…”  she held then phone out and he glanced at the screen, swearing hen pulling over to take the handset. 

“Fuck.”

The final photo was a bit blurry but they both recognised Marina, pressed up against the wall of the sailing club, a man with his back to the camera, hands in her hair as he kissed her.  Her eyes were closed, both Anthony and Violet’s eyes landed on the same spot.

“She has her wedding ring on, it’s definitely after Colin.”

“Yeah.  This is gonna kill him.”

“You know when I went down to visit she vanished for the whole night, I thought- but he didn’t question it, I assumed he knew where she was.”

The farm was still quiet as they pulled in, just a light on in Neil’s kitchen as they arrived; they parked behind his car, unable to be seen from the annexe, and knocked.  Neil opened the door in confusion, inviting them in and putting the kettle on before accepting the phone, the article already live.  He sank into the nearest chair, head in his hands, and wept.

Chapter Text

They spent some time with Neil, first calming him then trying to discuss the situation, a new tension between them as if sides were already forming.  It was increasingly clear that Anthony did not completely believe Neil’s promises that he knew nothing of Marina’s supposed cheating, a situation not helped, as all admitted with sadness  and defeated looks, by Neil hiding Marina’s ill health in the past. 

He did of course know George- once upon a time he had been the teenage boyfriend and Neil hadn’t really thought much of it, he’d thought there might be something more than just passing crushes between them but her sport had been one that often brought the sailors to his house, scattered across the nation as they were, looking for somewhere to meet and settle, a large farm being an obvious candidate.  He had asked her when George had disappeared, and she had said it was over and left it at that, with all the discomfort of a teen discussing boyfriends with their father- and not long after Colin had appeared, full force and inclined to formalise everything before anyone even had a chance of finding their feet. 

Neil had never admitted it before, even to Violet, but he spoke then of the time after Marina’s marriage- a call asking him to pick them up from the airport after a holiday (a holiday!  It had seemed such a natural thing for the active young duo), the pair excitedly shoving rings and photos in his face at the airport.  Neil had retreated to the toilets for a moment to gather himself, the world swaying slightly, but when he had emerged it had been with smiles and congratulations and a firm belief that his role was to support, not question.

The Bridgertons admitted to feeling much the same way- Colin wed to someone they didn’t know, the son who always seemed vulnerable because he loved so hard and openly abandoning everything he knew to build a new life away from them, with someone who seemed very resistant to getting to know them.  Violet had felt she had done something wrong and created a world where he hadn't trusted her enough to talk to her, Anthony had regretted all the petty sibling arguments and missteps, sitting up awake with Kate night after night, wondering what he could have done differently with the lack of emotional resources and experience he’d had at the age he’d been when he’d had to step into his father’s shoes- it had led to a bit of resentment and a lot of hurt, hurt they had struggled with, at least for a while.

It made for a morbid self reckoning, everyone finding their own fault in the situation long before they spoke to either of the couple.  There had been a brief moment where Anthony had asked if they were sure the two did not have an open marriage, had agreed on something unconventional but that was swiftly put to bed, Violet’s certainty that Colin could never countenance such a thing recognised by all.

When all the coffee had been drunk, all the toast nibbled or quietly set aside, and words had seemingly run out it was agreed that Anthony would go and knock on the annexe door, try and separate Colin to talk to him so that Neil could find Marina.  There was a brief moment of sadness where Neil reached for Violet’s hand, certain that he would lose his new friend in all the pain and difficulty that seemed inevitably headed their way. Violet squeezed it, recognising the emotion:

“We will still be the grandparents Neil, we only have to take sides if we choose it. It will be hard watching the young people struggle- I should not want to lose a friend as well.”  He nodded gratefully, choosing to hold on to the optimism and not chase that extra loss.

Anthony took his time heading to the annexe, pausing to type a text to his wife, google paternity tests- he felt dirty even typing it in- and stare out across the flat landscape, only now emerging from it’s habitual morning mists.  He’d been on the road since the day began, give or take an hour and was tired in ways he never knew himself capable of- bone deep, emotionally drained, and ill equipped for this coming day.  Still there was little choice and although he wished his mum had stepped up he knew she did not wish to be confronted with Marina, was scared her inner mother would take over and she would say something harmful, especially with a woman so fragile.

There were no obvious signs of life so Anthony knocked once, quietly, then tried the door, fully expecting that it would be locked, hoping so really- a reprieve already longed for.  What was another hour?  He knew that if it were Kate he’d want the not knowing to last as long as possible, perhaps that was the only kindness he could offer?

To his disappointment and surprise the door pushed open, the quiet revealing the figure of his brother at a table, hunched over his laptop, Oliver sat in a highchair waving a spoon in the vague vicinity of a bowl of porridge whilst watching the uncle he barely knew silently take a seat at the table and pick up a banana, splitting it with the toddler.

“I see you were chosen then.  I’m surprised- I expected Mum, maybe Ben.  You’re an odd choice.”

“Mum is with Neil, it wasn’t about choice- I left as soon as I found out and mum insisted I bring her.”  Colin nodded, his fingers hovering over refresh, eyes firmly on the screen.

“Col, mate-“ he took his hand gently and Colin immediately pulled it away, slamming the laptop shut and standing up to put the kettle on.

“Don't worry about me, we’ve been here a while already, Neil has me so full of caffeine that I might fly home to save fuel.”

“You must have left early.”

“Yeah, they wanted a comment-  Matt contacted me on my own number, otherwise we might not have seen the story until start of business.”

“Matt?  The editor, do I remember him?  Think you might have introduced us.”

“Probably, he was a year or two above me at uni, you know how it all goes.  Look, Col…”

“No, Ant: it’s OK.  Thank you for coming but you can go home.”

He’d made Anthony a coffee despite the older brother's refusal and placed it in front of him, even after his dismissal.  Anthony sipped at it, quiet, waiting for something he couldn’t predict but was inevitable.  Eventually Colin lifted Oliver from his chair and handed him to his brother, Ant quickly wiped the food off his face then grabbed a baby book from the side to start reading.

“I’ve got to wake Marina, she has an online lecture at ten.”

“She’s asleep?  Does she even know?”

“I haven’t said anything and I’d ask you not to either, hopefully her classmates don’t read The Express.  Better if we can keep this on the down low don’t you think?”

“That’s not going to work mate.”

“It could, it’ll all be fine, marriage is like this isn’t it?  You and Kate have had your issues, happens to everyone-“

“Issues like who has take a day off when childcare cancels and when one of us is grumpy with a hangover, not…”

“Don’t say it.”

“Ignoring it won’t make it go away”

“It might. What do we know here?  A  woman that we all know has been struggling kissed an ex one time, hardly worth ripping the kid’s lives apart for is it?”

“You don’t need to do this Col, we can get a lawyer, fight for custody.  Ben is at home, one call and he can have rooms ready.”

“What?”  Colin looked confused, dazed and Anthony considered fetching his mum, he decided to give it one more try, walking over to kneel by the chair he had now sat on, placing a reassuring hand on his sleeve.

“We can get genetic tests done, quickly- they only take a few days now, we could send them off today-“

“No.”

“Colin, I know this is hard,”

“You haven’t got a bloody clue”

“You’re right, you’re right mate.  Of course.  Shall we start again?”

“On the condition that nobody mentions paternity tests ever again, got that?”

Anthony could hear the resolve in Colin’s voice, underlaid with a strange sort of panic- it was clear that Colin needed help but this, for the moment, was insurmountable. 

“Yep OK, we can do that- it’s all your call mate.  You can't hide it from Marina though.”

“I can try.”

“Neil and mum are next door, it’s on about fifty gossip pages already, it’ll be all over the other sites in an hour tops.  You can’t protect her mate, whatever the story is she’s going to find out.”

“She can’t handle it.”

“Handle what?  Anthony- what are you doing here, I didn’t-“

Both men turned in horror to see Marina enter the room, stretching in her pyjamas, heading for the coffee.  “Has something happened- is your mum alright?”

“Mum is fine, she is with your dad.”

“So…”

“Ant, can you leave us for a minute?”

“Col…”

“Sorry, what I meant to say was- get the fuck out of my kitchen so I can talk to my bloody wife will you?  Now.”

The older man held up his hands as a sign of acquiescence. “Shall I take the kids?  Mum’ll want to see them.”  Amanda was toddling behind Marina now, clearly looking for breakfast; Anthony scooped her up and took Oliver’s hand ready to lead them away.  Colin nodded, reluctant but resigned to the reality that the children would be better off next door, “you coming to see Nana, kids?  I am sure she’d love a hug and they have toast in there.”  He walked away but turned once, “Col, if you need me-“

“I fucking won’t.”

Neil was ready to go to his daughter when he arrived but Anthony put a hand on his shoulder and persuaded him not to, that the married couple deserved a chance to talk.  Together they put on fake smiles and  happy voices for the children, crawled under tables to play, cuddled and sang songs- all whilst their hearts broke with worry and sadness.

“Why’s he here Colin?  You know I'm not keen on surprise visitors.”  She stood in her short pyjamas, hands on hips, glaring at him as he found her a mug and  handed over her medications.  He thought briefly that not so long ago he’d have been blindsided by the sight of her, sleep ruffled and slightly angry yet when he thought about it  he couldn’t even remember the last time they’d kissed, somehow all lost in the confusion and parenting.

“He came for my sake Marina, I know you might find it odd but they actually care about me.”

“And you are saying I don’t?”

It was already an argument, something he’d promised himself he’d avoid- they so rarely argued, he’d thought theirs was a deep friendship but now he was wondering if he’d been deluding himself, shoring up something that didn’t even exist.

“Probably not the day to be asking me that if I’m honest, love.”  The sarcasm on the last word was biting, so full of venom that she spun on her heel to stare at him, shocked- he didn’t think he’d ever spoken to her like that before, hadn’t wanted to then but the adrenaline was wearing off now and the conviction that it was just a blip, a mistake gone with it- he blinked furiously to try and stop himself crying, slowly aware that he felt as if he was choking, couldn’t get his breath: he doubled over, head swimming, gasping.  She ran to his side,

“Jesus babe, breathe, breathe: come on, it’s a panic attack, breathe with me: square breathing, in- hold it… copy me…”

He mimicked her, holding on to the back of the chair to steady himself as the terror slowly wore off.  Still shaking he pulled out his phone, navigated to the Express and almost threw it at her, passing it with such force she had to steady herself as she took it then stared at the screen.

“Tell me it’s not fucking true.”

“Colin, I…”

“I don’t want explanations Marina, no excuses or guilty admissions: just tell me it isn’t fucking true.  Tell me!”  he’d long given up fighting the tears now, trying so hard to keep his voice steady but almost screaming the last bit anyway: he heard the door click and knew Anthony or his mum was stood back there but didn’t bother turning, he had no energy for anything but the unfolding disaster in front of him, he could worry about dignity later.

“You can see it’s true- I did, oh god Colin I did kiss him, at the club- I’m so sorry.”

He nodded as another thought hit him, his brain desperately searching for something safe to cling onto. Reaching forwards he took her hands, his voice changing tone, “don’t worry love- I know- I know you couldn’t help it, it’s the meds or the depression or  bi polar like your mum or whatever- I’m not going to blame you, I know you wouldn’t have chosen…”

“Colin, no…”

“No, no: we can get better help, I have my trust fund…”  he heard what was definitely Ant’s voice behind him but he ignored it, “you’re a Bridgerton…”

“Perhaps I shouldn’t be.”

“You don’t mean that!”

“I don’t know if I do.  Look love, sit down a minute- let me explain.”

Colin did exactly as he was told, settling himself onto the armchair that sat in the corner of their open plan kitchen diner, eyes closed.  She sat at his feet, holding his hand.

“That picture isn’t new, I will start by promising I haven’t seen him in months-“

“So before you started on the meds then?  That’s good right? We can”-

“It wasn't my mental health babe.  I could pretend it was I guess but you deserve better.  You and me- you can’t pretend this is healthy- I love you, I love you so much, you are such a great dad and quite probably the nicest man I ever met and George- well he’s a bit of a wanker really…”

“So we can work it out yeah?  We love each other, that’ll be enough.”

“You’re like a brother to me, Col- the one man aside from my dad I could trust with my life but George- I can’t seem to stay away.  I’m sorry, I’m sorry a thousand times.”

“You can’t – this isn’t fair, I don’t want this.”

“Nor me, but maybe it had to happen.”

“And the kids- what they said about the father-“

“I don’t know.”

“You what- you can’t…”

“I wasn’t taking the pill Col, I thought a condom would be enough- with both of you.  It wasn’t.  You’re their dad though, I’d never take them away from you and I’d pay for a paternity test.”

“I won’t take one, I’ll never do that- they’re mine Marina, I’ve practically raised them whilst I gave you space to get better or study or – well- fuck some other man…”

“Let’s be clear here: you have every right to be angry,”

“you think?  Gosh wife, how kind of you to say so…”

“But it was never planned.  It was never, like, an affair- well not on my part.  Not an actual relationship.  He started turning up at the club and following me around, I couldn’t resist I guess.”

“Ah well that’s ok, good luck to you, I’ll just pop off then shall I…”

“No, it’s not- it’s not- I know it’s not… it’s my fault and I know it, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry Col.”  Broken as much by his face as the situation Marina leaned onto his lap, still holding his hand, and started sobbing.  After a few moments Anthony gently picked her off and walked her outside to where her dad was stood waiting, Violet now in sole charge of the twins.  He returned to the kitchen, pulled a chair up next to Colin and threw his arms around him, holding him tight whilst he sobbed.

Eventually, when he was a cried out red faced mess, still clutching at his brother’s shirt sleeves, he caught his breath.

“It’s my fault, Ant, it’s my fault.”

“How could it be?  You’ve been a great husband.”

“No- I  knew she was struggling with something, wouldn’t let her tell me.  Maybe if I had listened.”

“Did you cheat on her?  Lie to her?”

“No, never- how can you even ask…”

“Look mate, I don’t know what happens now but you have looked after her, cared for your children, given her so much love and time and space…”

“that she used to fuck someone else,”

“If she had been truly in love with you she’d never have done that, no matter how much space you gave her.  You saw her: she’s really cut up about how much she’s hurt you.”

“She got to make the choices though didn’t she?  She can throw me out and take the kids, all this time building this life and she can take it just like that.”

“I know, it’s really shit.”

“What do I do now, Ant? I went straight from uni to Marina, if she won’t take me back…”

“Take you back?  Col, the ball is in your court, she cheated on you.  The rest- we can find you a fucking farm if that’s what you want, get you in with one of the Aubrey tenant famers for experience or fuck, I’ll buy you one if it helps.”

“Oh god no.”

“No?”  Anthony stared at him in confusion; “look if you want to try and make it work with Marina we’re all behind you, we love you and you have to know that.  But I have to be honest, it isn’t looking good…”

“I have to try and make it work Ant, I can’t imagine not being with her but if I can’t, if the whole fucking world collapses then if there is just one good thing that comes from this it’ll be-“

“Colin?  Go on,”

“If I never have to see another fucking sheep again, stinking, stupid fuckers- well…”

Anthony stared at his brother for a moment, dumb founded: very slowly Colin  began to laugh, giggles at first then heaving, deep, breath stealing gaps of hysteria.  Anthony kept his hold whilst he waited for it to pass, grounding him and silent.  Eventually the episode passed and he started crying again, head against Ant’s shoulder.

“Fuck Ant, what am I going to do?”

“You’re going to survive this day, and then tomorrow and somehow the next until it’s OK again.”

“I’m glad you came, I was so scared, she gets so upset when you’re all around…”

“Yeah, we had noticed.”  Ant’s voice was dry, but not judgemental. 

“I’m so sorry, I've fucked up everything, you thought I was a silly little boy and here I am proving it to you…”

“No!  Look at you. All you’ve achieved- I am so amazed with the man you’ve become, the husband and dad- I don’t know what comes next but you should be so proud of yourself, I know Dad would be too.”

“Oh fuck.”

“What?”  Ant asked, eyebrow raised.

“Now you’ve mentioned Dad, I don’t think I’m ever going to stop this crying.”  He wiped furiously at his eyes, pulling a face at himself.

“No, probably not for a while if I’m honest- I was bad enough after Serena, and that was never meant to be forever… you got any handkerchiefs handy?”  Colin nodded and pointed to the cupboard where he kept the tissues.

“I can’t stay here tonight Ant,”

“No.”

“I can’t go back to Mayfair either- I have to try, I don’t know- to work things out or understand or – and the kids.”

“We’ll find a hotel.”

“Not the one she was meeting him at.”

“No, of course.  Of course not Col.”

Chapter Text

Marina Thompson was surprised by how much she looked forwards to the trip to London, not used to navigating cities bigger than Bath or being so far from her only family member- growing up in Somerset she’d only been away for weekend sailing competitions or senior school, and even then she hadn't gone far- weekly boarding just twenty miles away in the county town,  her father keen to help her find friends outside their small rural community, friends whose parents didn’t remember the day her mother had vanished, police at the farm and going door to door, locals hungry to help and even hungrier for the gossip afterwards, neighbours they’d never really spoken to beyond a quick good morning or comment on the weather (“raining again”, “that’s England for you, better win the lottery and move somewhere hot”, “ooh that would be nice, bye!”) suddenly queuing at the door with heavy casseroles- did anyone even eat casseroles these days? Marina’s family was more of a pasta, sausages, fast food on a Saturday family- and cakes. 

The better ones faded away quite quickly, a  few genuine souls offering to help with the practical stuff- finding childcare, taking in a bit of laundry, a few dad and daughter play dates even.  One or two hung around a bit more- her dad still spoke about those in hushed tones, farmer chasers he called them, strange predatory women already marking him out as their territory before her mum had even been discharged from hospital.  A decade later and she might have been inclined to set him up with someone but he was still married back then, learning to deal with being a single dad, not knowing what faced them long term.

She had always known she was a bit of an oddity: a rural girl at heart yet mixed race in a county and world that was so very white; child of a single dad, considered beautiful- she knew that too, enough people had told her over the years- yet more  at home mucking out the cow shed than trying to be seen in one of the nearby cities. School had been a bit different, she fit in there, lots of international students, and she’d briefly considered university abroad but her dad had been too nervous, needing to be able to reach her in a crisis, the ghost of her mum's path always close.

It had quickly become just the two of them, once the initial novelty of their situation had worn off for their neighbours- Marina helping on the farm after primary school, taking riding lessons, reading to her dad on the sofa in the evenings.  She’d been unhappy about the prospect of going away for school but weekly boarding had suited her- the chance to make girlfriends, learning to sail at the school club and still able to go home to the farm and her horse at the weekend.  It worked far better than either of them had expected and by the time she had taken her A Levels at 18 both father and daughter had seemed settled into a happy routine.  She had spent half of each summer at sailing camps or travelling for contests, and she’d become a confident young woman, loving her life and planning to go and study modern languages at Bath, envisioning a life of seafaring adventures and excitement.  She didn’t want to settle down or have children, the knowledge of what happened to her mum haunting her, a strange certainty that she would meet a similar fate so instead she planned for adventure, and she planned big.

The summer she turned 18 had been a formative one- days helping out on the farm or at one of the local tea shops, evenings hanging with friends or her first boyfriend George, home from competing and a superstar in all their eyes- Olympic hopeful and winner of all the cups in his class on their circuit.  He was, as with so many teenage boyfriends, completely unsuitable: never pretending he wanted to hang around or build anything serious, always with one eye on the next big thing, but Marina was the prettiest girl at the sailing club and their time had been about fun and experimenting before they said a perfectly amicable farewell and moved on to the next stage, both agreeing that the draw of their relationship was the power of chemistry over compatibility and timing, George off to join the Navy, lured by the duel promise of sailing and a regular wage.

That first year of university had been hard on Marina- she’d found the girls in her halls to be a bit cliquey, struggled to build the same sorts of friendships she’d had at school and found that it affected her positivity.  She stayed in touch with her friends who’d scattered to universities across the globe, social media and face time calls, but it wasn't the same and when the year ended she’d bought herself a small car, found herself a part time job and resolved to move back home, commuting in each day. 

Twelve months later, with just one more year to go,  she’d headed off to London, trying to get her plans together so that she could head off abroad the day she graduated- she’d already lined up a work placement with the family of an old friend based in Malaysia, working on weekly charters, her dream job.  She’d London sailed at the club before, attending a few open events, found herself equally nervous, excited and optimistic, knowing the city just well enough from her competition days, the club and  hotel familiar – the same one each time, the managers getting to know her dad when she was younger and they travelled together, now keeping a gentle eye on her as she journeyed alone.

When she'd arrived the night before the course, grinning happily as she’d stepped off the train with her wheelie bag, she’d met up with old friends, celebrating at a club before crawling home just after 3am, shattered and slipping off her high heels as she climbed out of the taxi, falling asleep fully dressed and made up then barely crawling out of bed in time to make it the shower and induction, just enough make up to cover up the green glow she was fairly sure she maintained until well into the day, sunglasses, and a hasty dash into Costa to grab her favourite flapjack and double shot flat white before crawling into the club just before the doors closed, signing the register and collapsing at the back of the room in an attempt to hide through the welcome speech and safety briefings, knowing she’d heard them all many times before anyway. She might not recognise the faces here but these were her people, she felt as home in this room as she did back in Somerset- she would be fine as long as she found a bit of peace to let the hangover pass.

She had not been in luck: in no time at all she’d been joined on her table by a lanky, wavy haired young man.  Polite certainly, he’d asked if she minded him taking the seat next to her, and friendly- his accent marked him out as upper class, certainly not unusual in the sailing world, an observation backed up by the small tells that she’d learned to spot- the Barbour jacket, the Jaeger Le-Coultre watch, the casual confidence.

She sighed internally and watched him for a few moments as he hovered, clearly hoping for an invitation to sit.  Eventually she gave in to the inevitable and gestured towards the chair, still feeling faintly nauseous from the night before and hoping he would let her be once he had taken his spot- she was not in luck.

“Hi, my name is Colin.”

“Colin?  Don’t meet a lot of those these days, thought that name had gone the way of the Keiths and Grahams, only for the over fifty brigade.”

He laughed, eyes pointing forwards towards the instructor unpacking their bag in the front, reaching into his own pocket for a mars bar.

“You’re not wrong there, my parents I’m afraid- named us all in alphabetical order, all 8 of us.  Apparently we all received good, strong classic names but I think they dropped the ball on mine- it’s the chap from The Secret Garden, apparently: the sickly kid.”

“Were you all named after literary characters?”

“At the start- Anthony is from Anthony and Cleopatra, Benedick from Much Ado About Nothing- well they modernised it, can’t call a kid Dick these days- though it might have suited Ben come to think of it…”  he paused to listen to the instructor asking those who were new to the club to raise their hand and lifted his, still talking.

“Daphne- well Apollo obviously, then they slipped up. Eloise was my mum’s best friend growing up.  Francesca was Francesca Caccini, a composer- appropriate, she’s planning on studying music at a conservatory; then Gregory because mum fancied Gregory Peck and Hyacinth for dad’s favourite flower.”

“Bloody hell, there’s loads of you- are you all super confident fashion model types?”

He blushed bright red, surprisingly endearing, and allowed a small smile to break, still pretending to be paying full attention to the instructor.  “Would you believe me if I said we all look almost identical, small things of course- Daph’s hair is a shade lighter, I’m a bit taller, Ben is- well Ben.”

“I’m liking the sound of this Ben already, should I meet him?”

“Careful, I’m the jealous type.”

“Good to know, Colin- er last name?”  He groaned,

“Bridgerton.”

“Course you are.  At least I’ve found someone to buy me lunch I suppose.  Come on,”  she grabbed her fleece and threw her cup in the bin, “they’re all heading out- can’t attract attention and reveal the hangover, you can be my stooge.”

The day wasn't overly challenging- she’d been helping with the kid’s club for years by now- and lunch had been fun, a group of eight of them in the end. Colin had paid as she’d jokingly demanded, refusing her last minute attempt to step in and cover her own bill, “what’s the point of lunching with a Bridgerton if you have to pay for your own sandwich?”

“I should have ordered lobster.”

“Darling we’re in Subway, join me for dinner and I’ll show you proper Bridgerton fine dining.”

“Oh of course, you just call up anywhere you fancy and give your name and…”

“Well, yes.  I could pretend otherwise but yep.  Where do you fancy eating?”

It had been sushi in the end and it had been clear he’d been trying to impress her; she’d had to run out and get a suitable dress but his suit was clearly tailored for him, a relaxed flowy fit, grey with a t-shirt underneath- effortful but just shy of too much.  He turned up with a gift of a box of flapjacks- “no point buying flowers when you’re in a hotel”- and entertained her with his jokes and what she slowly realised was a far more genuine interest than she’d initially assumed, thinking this was her chance for a quick fling to chase any lingering thoughts of George from her mind. They ate, laughed and shared stories of their wildly different childhoods, his juvenile longing for one to one parental time and a peaceful home counterbalanced by her perpetual wish for siblings, both knowing what it was to exist in the shadow of a lost parent, even if those parents and what most people remembered them for was very different- apparent perfection versus only loss.

She'd mentally prepared herself to invite him in when they walked back along the river, the native London boy knowing all the best viewpoints and seemingly having a story for every place they paused, his hand taking hers without fanfare or comment, just a natural gesture that made her feel inexplicably young, free and brave.  He’d handed her the box of treats (because he’d carried it, of course he’d insisted on carrying it) at the hotel entrance and leaned forward to kiss her, chastely, open eyed, hands behind his back as if he was fighting to resist going in for more.  Then he’d thanked her for a lovely evening, watched her safely through the doors and walked away, turning once more to blow her a little kiss, as if he’d known she was stood by the glass doors watching his retreat.

He was already at the table- their table?- the next morning, white v neck t-shirt half tucked into blue jeans (she’d told him how much she’d liked his t-shirt the night before hadn’t she? She was sure she could remember doing so), two coffees on the table, hers made just as she liked it in a brand new reusable mug printed with roses: it was 8am, what on earth kind of time had he had to get up to find that, where had he even found that overnight?  She sat down next to him, “smooth, Bridgerton.”

“I prefer Colin, well unless you’re taking my last name of course,” he winked at her and she’d sat there gaping until he gently reached over and closed her mouth, “now come on sweetheart, teacher’s here, time to work.”

The strange thing though had been the way he relaxed as the day went on, and the evening after that- the smooth lines and painfully curated romance soon ebbing away, replaced by a slightly insecure but still charming and kind, so very kind young man.  Her hopes for a fling drifted into something more as he listened to her talk about her home and her poor start at university and shared her dreams- dreams that seemed very aligned to his- over dinner and later drinks at a small club, and this time he hadn’t left her at the door, following her into her room, her last barriers broken down when he had whispered shyly that he was a virgin and he’d let her guide him: willing student, self professed devotee.

Although he’d left in a black cab afterwards he’d been there on the Wednesday, sat on the wall outside her hotel to greet her with breakfast, and on the Thursday night he stayed, not leaving her side until she had to return home on the Sunday, both seemingly bewitched by the other, on the phone making promises as soon as the train pulled away, laughing at each other's tears.

A week later she’d met him at Castle Cary train station, his life shoved into a rucksack, cheeks still streak marked from his tears at Anthony’s harsh words but eyes unable to leave hers.  She’d driven him home and introduced him to her dad as her boyfriend, moving him straight into her room- two weeks later Neil had all but dragged him out, telling him that if he was staying then he’d have to learn the ways of the farm, throwing wellies and overalls at him as he taught him how to make himself useful.

The intention hadn’t been to stay- at least not for long.  They’d booked a holiday to mark six weeks together, a week with some of Colin's school friends at the Nevada yacht club followed by a weekend in Vegas before flying home; on the first night, drunk but not so much that Colin didn’t know exactly what he was doing and fully believe that Marina did too, they’d walked to a nearby wedding chapel, paid $170 dollars to be married by a Prince look alike and well- that had been it.

In truth he’d been a little upset at the shock on her face when they woke the next morning and he had offered her an annulment- hoping to goodness that she’d refuse- and she had promised that she was happy.  It wasn't as if it would hold them back- they had plans, she was going to pause her degree, and they were going to fly out and teach sailing together, travel round the world, see as much of it as they possibly could.  They didn’t talk about life beyond that yet but Colin envisaged returning in a few years, settling down, having a few kids- she saw herself travelling forever, returning when her dad needed help from time to time, but otherwise just the two of them, free and happy, chasing the sun.

The honeymoon period had lasted just a few weeks- Marina shocked by how trapped she felt, even when Colin had done or said nothing any different to the promises they’d made before.  She found herself hanging out with her friends whilst he sat home alone or with her dad, and then when George had returned it had all gone awry.

It hadn't been planned.  They’d been drinking, some silly shots game he'd learned in the Navy, a large group of friends that had known each other for a while,  and at some stage in the evening she had realised that it felt inevitable.  Sleazy: she’d very much not wanted it to feel anything like the romance and domesticity she shared with her husband and it had been a mostly dressed quickie in the changing rooms, George pinning her against the wall, her legs wrapped around his hips: fast, dirty and so fucking needy that she’d screamed when she came and then cried for days afterwards, telling her husband she wasn't well, crying even harder as he treated her to chocolate and a romantic movie night in an attempt to cheer her up.

It had happened twice more: both times George passing through just for a few days, drink involved, both swearing to the other that it was the last time, a definitive goodbye. The final time she’d completely cut him off- telling Colin she was handing in her membership to focus on finishing up her studies ready for travelling, deleting the numbers of their mutual friends: she’d meant it.

Then of course she’d found herself pregnant and terrified, trapped between her own lifelong decision not to have kids and the shocking awareness of just how much he longed for a family, caught up in the guilt of what she’d done, feeling she’d somehow cheated him by not telling him about her fear of turning into her mum or indeed her mum’s history at all; her husband only knowing that she’d left after neglecting her as a baby and then passed away later.  He’d looked so damned fucking hopeful, even when promising he’d support her no matter what, and she knew she had screwed up but she loved him so she’d gone along with it because she thought he deserved it after the way she had let him down.

She’d spoken to George twice since then: once when he heard she was pregnant, friend of a friend gossip that permeated through the sailing networks and reached him wherever it was he was training, her promising him faithfully that the dates didn’t line up even though they did, reminding him they’d used protection and claiming that she and Colin had not. It had been when Violet was staying with them, she'd walked away, her and George spending the whole night sat on rocks by the waterside talking it out- he wanted her to run away with him, keep the babies or not, find somewhere they could both settle: she’d laughed at him, knowing the babies needed much more, finding motherhood impossible to imagine at all but even harder to picture without Colin at her side, admitting she’d messed up but still declaring herself in love with her husband when George had tried to pressure her.

The second time was a party, reunion for a teen team- she hadn't expected him to be there and they’d kissed, the kiss in the newspaper.  Of course the paper hadn’t shown that she’d shoved him away immediately afterwards, told him to never come near her again and it hadn't really mattered anyway because she had been unfaithful and she had already broken the marriage vows, but she was trying and it felt like damnation that the kiss that had seen them caught was the one where she had finally found the strength to say no.  By then though she had realised she wasn't in romantic love with Colin any more, she adored him and thought he was quite likely the love of her life but no longer in the way he so clearly loved her.  She tried to tell him and he wouldn’t listen, so she waited, knowing it would catch up with them someday, that she didn’t deserve this life of care and the gentle protection he had somehow woven around them both.

Now the worst had had finally happened and the truth was out there.  They’d argued, both said some harsh things, her more so perhaps in the desperate desire to make him see that she couldn’t be what he needed but hadn’t stopped caring- it had come out the wrong way of course and she’d hated that 'like a brother' line as soon as it left her lips but it had made him listen and maybe-

Marina stood by that: maybe it had been needed? Because it was true, heartbreakingly so.

She’d spent the rest of her day with her father, Neil alternating between anger that she had destroyed the man he considered to be his son, and fear at what it meant for the twins now, scared he’d lose them to Anthony’s lawyers and Marina’s habitual apathy.  Colin had been taken to a hotel in Taunton and she’d retreated to the twins and the annexe after dinner, sitting up all night with her laptop, trying to work out what came next.

The following evening she stood at the open door of the Castle Hotel, watching as Colin sat in the lounge area with his mum and eldest brother, a shared bottle of wine on the table in front of them.  Violet had her hand on his back, supporting him (god she wished she could be like Violet, such a natural mother, so full of warmth and devotion-it was part of the reason why she’d struggled so much with her really- that and the gut wrenching guilt, anyway), and Anthony was talking into a phone as usual, making notes on a laptop open in front of him.  She simply stood until he noticed her, raising his head for long enough that she could see how red his eyes were, how drained he looked; he nodded at her once and then walked to the bar, she stood alongside him as he ordered her a glass of sparkling water, just one sentence- “you driving, or…” she nodded and he knew what to order; Marina almost buckled from a painful rush of awareness, the devastating knowledge that she would miss that sense of being known but they couldn't go back, she couldn't be so deceitful as to even consider selling him a dream she no longer shared.

He led her to a table just out of earshot from his family, pulling out her chair and settling opposite, nursing his pint.

“Are you-“

“Are the twins-“

They laughed awkwardly after speaking over each other, the tension fading just slightly as Colin took a deep breath,

“are the twins OK?”

“Yes, yeah of course- I thought you would want to come over tomorrow, visit.”

His head dropped then, hand wiping away tears, “God Marina, visiting my own kids.  How the hell did we fuck this up so badly?”

“We didn’t, I did.”

“Do you think I don’t know that I didn’t always listen- I knew you didn’t want to continue the pregnancy-“

“Col-“

“No, listen: I know you love them, I really do but I did know.  And you tried to talk to me so many times and I wouldn’t have it, didn’t even ask where you disappeared to because I didn’t want to hear the answers.”

“Right, I’ll clear that one up- I went to see school friends.  Except once, yes to see George, but not for some lovey dovey rendezvous: it was when your mum came up, George had heard I was expecting, wanted to talk to me about the babies- I had been putting it off but thought fuck it.”

Colin looked around the old fashioned bar for a sign anyone had noticed her swearing but found nothing to worry about, shrugging he urged her to carry on-

“I told him that they were definitely yours, lied in fact, because as far as I am concerned they always have been- you are their dad.  He asked me to leave with him and I refused.”

“You could have left it there, nobody would have ever known, we could have still-“

“After that I saw him once, yes we kissed- you know that, you saw the photo- but I pushed him away and told him never again.  I meant it, I have absolutely no intention of seeing him again but that doesn’t mean I can keep hurting you.  I’m not glad it came out but maybe it had to?”

“I always loved you, always.  I knew you were- well suspected you were seeing someone else, but I didn’t want…”

“I wasn't seeing him, not the way you mean it: it was sleazy emotion free escapism at best, self harm really.  He was a symptom, not the problem.  The problem was us rushing into adulthood way too quickly- marriage and twins and you being so far away from your family-“

“You hate them.”

“I don’t.  Being around them reminded me of what I’d done, it was on me, not them.  I mean Anthony is a bit-“

Colin gave a sad smile, “he is, isn’t he?”

“And Eloise is something else altogether, god knows how you put up with her,”

“She always felt sorry for you, thought I’d coerced you into giving up your youth- well I did, I guess…”

“No!  You didn’t coerce me into anything.  I rather suspect that you’re the love of my life, it is just that I never really wanted that, thought I’d change myself to fit the idea and it never happened.  It is not your fault.  Some bits are all mine and some bits are neither of us- the twins, the fact that I have spent my entire life waking up every morning wondering if this is the day I turn into my mother, the day it all starts to end.  I never wanted to do that to a child but you- you are a wonderful father, I found a copy of my dad really, didn’t I?  I couldn’t deprive you of that chance.”

“I meant what I said, I would have supported you.”

“Hey, I know that”: she reached out and placed her hand over his, squeezing gently.  “I do, it was my choice- and I can’t regret it Colin, they’re my babies, I love them.”

They sat there like that for a while, knowing it was probably the last chance they’d be able to take physical comfort from one another, even if it was just a hand hold.  Eventually Colin broke the silence,

“so what now?  I take a flat in Taunton, miles away from everyone I know or love, no job, visitation twice a week?  You move George in, get the twins to call him daddy?”

“I will not be moving George in.  I- I have something for you but I don’t want to give you the wrong message.  Can you promise you will listen?”

“Ok.”

“First, to clarify: joint custody.  Always.  If you ever turn around and want a paternity test that’s ok but otherwise nobody needs to know, I told George you and I slipped and forgot to use a condom and that will stay as my story.  They are yours, you are an amazing dad.  But the flat bit- that sounds so miserable Col, your life was so heavily built around me and I am so very sorry for that, I should have reached out more- well there is a lot I’m sorry for.”

“So what’s the idea then?” 

She reached into her bag and pulled out an envelope, unfolding the printed paper therein.  She took a deep breath before she started to explain,

“I booked you into a yacht master course, in Phuket.  I want you to have your dreams Col and that seems as good a place to start as any-“

“Two weeks away from the kids, Marina?  No"- His eyes flew to hers in some distress, she waited for him to calm.

“it would be more like a month with medicals, getting your hours up.  And then when you return I’ll do the same, probably a bit nearer home, France, you know I speak fluent French- you can take the twins to your mum’s or stay at the annexe.”

“A month on, a month off you mean?  They’ll fucking forget who I am- you might be OK with that but I’m not…”

“How will they forget, Col?  There’s facetime every night, bedtime stories- plenty of people work away from home, Anthony does sometimes when he has a case- you know that, your dad did when he was off on parliamentary business…”

“Yeah but…”

“I want you to chase that dream Colin, you deserve it.  Find out who you are beyond wonderful husband and amazing father.  I want that for myself as well- god, you just turned 23, you supported me all the way through my studies.”

“I don’t want that, I want to be with them every day.”

“How, without being miserable?”

“And if you got ill again-“

“I’ve discussed this with dad, he’ll help me and then when you come he’ll be your back up as well.  I think I've broken his heart if I am honest, he loves you to death, he’ll miss you as much as any of us.”

“And if I did go?  What then, what comes after?”

“Well I envisaged something similar. I’d like to sail competitively again, you could take on bookings or even buy your own boat- we’ll work out a routine that works for both of us. Some kind of partnership.”

“I need to think.  The idea of being apart from the kids is killing me-“

“We can't come back from this.  I know it's hurting Col but I don’t want to do this any more, it’s been a lie for too long, you deserve a future.  Maybe meet someone else,”

“yeah I’ll be such a catch- hey I’m Colin, on even numbered months I sail around the planet and the other months I live on a farm in the back end of fucking beyond looking after the twins that I adore more than life itself and that I had with the love of my life before she cheated and decided I was a brother to her.”

“I am not the love of your life.  I know that someone way more suitable for you is waiting somewhere, for when you are ready.  Someone who copes well with domesticity and wants a hundred babies and doesn’t spend their entire existence feeling as if the sword of Damocles hangs over their mental health.”

“Do you think that’s it then?  The big why- your fear that you’ll turn into your mum?”

“Maybe, it’s hard not to feel that way, that this might be my last day of coping, that every mistake or wrong choice I make isn’t somehow down to time running out- god that was your first thought wasn’t it?  That I did it because I was ill, not because I was just an idiot?”

“I suppose.  And if I do accept this idea– no promises, every bit of my brain is screaming at the idea of not seeing them every day- what happens when they are at school?  If I took them back to Mayfair- they need more stability than that, Marina.”

“I don’t know Colin, but we can work that out when we get there, maybe one of us will be ready then-“

“I’m ready now.  One word from me and Anthony will file for full custody….”

“I know and I half expected that.  I’d fight it but I would understand.  But I don’t think you’d take them from their home, from my dad; I don’t think you’d take them from me.”

“Christ, Marina.”

“I know. For what it is worth I am sorry.”

Colin stood up hurriedly, not wanting to cry in front of her, not again: “I’m going back to mum, I’ll be over for ten tomorrow, I will let you know what I think then.”

He didn’t say goodbye, just turned and walked out of the door to the gardens, followed soon after by his mum, Anthony shooting her angry looks and mouthing ‘fuck off home’ across the bar: she nodded in acceptance and walked away.

The next morning Colin turned up several hours early, sitting in his car until Neil brought him in, making him a cup of tea before letting Marina know he was there; Colin had always done the morning routine, couldn’t face the idea of the twins waking up to find him not there- Marina stayed in her room and let him feed, wash and dress them, only emerging once she knew everything was done and they’d be playing happily.  She made a drink and sat at the table with him.

“Have you made any decisions?”

“I can’t just sit in a shitty flat and know I am not allowed to be with them whenever I want.”

“I can’t imagine a Bridgerton in a shitty flat but I know what you are trying to say.”

“I’m going to do it, one month- a trial.  You’ll sign papers though, no me going away and you claiming abandonment or refusing to piss off yourself.”

“Fair.  I'm surprised you don’t have them already.”

“They’re in the car, Anthony drafted them last night.  It’s a trial, nothing more- I get to break it at any time.  Face time every evening and other times if discussed, we have shared parental responsibility anyway because I’m on the birth certificate so no big decisions without me.”

“OK.”

“I’m furious at you Marina, you need to know that- I won’t let the twins know but you have destroyed me.  I’m saying yes in a big part because I feel that if I can’t get away from this, this place where I thought my life would be I think I’ll go mad.  I am making no promises about after the course though, it’s a two month thing: me then you.  Afterwards if I decide to get a job with a British sailing club or run charters off the Kent coast- well you suck that up.  Ant thinks I could get custody, send them to school in Kent, live at Aubrey, work at any number of clubs there- “

“Is that a threat?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely.”

“Right, that seems fair actually, I’d do worse in your shoes.  Look I’m going to fuck off to see dad and leave you with them and then you can come back every morning like this until you fly out.  We will arrange face time and we can buy books so we both have copies and all the things that will tie it together- and if it fails then we will try something else.  I dunno, maybe I will try living in London-“

“You need Neil.  You know that.”

“Yes, now, but maybe one day- maybe when they’re school age, or whatever.  I plan to use this time to get well Colin, properly well- I can’t live with my dad forever.”

“There is one more clause.”

“OK.”

“No George.  Well, I can’t tell you what to do apparently but living here, around the kids.  Unless I know and agree, anyway- I don’t want a 3am call from a five year old asking why Uncle George has asked her to call him daddy.”

“Oh Col, I promise that will never, ever happen.”

“You promised forever.”

“We married in a Crystal Wedding Palace Col, two lines and we’d been drinking- we barely promised anything at all.  But yes, point taken, there is no reason for you to believe a word I say so of course I would sign that too.”

“Do you regret us?”

“No, actually: no.  I regret how we went about it and I suspect we were meant to be for a while rather than forever but no, I couldn’t.”

“I do...”

“I can’t pretend that isn’t hurtful but OK.”

“And then it hits me just how much I love you and want to shake you and beg you to take me back but I know that can’t happen, shouldn’t happen- and if I didn’t have you we wouldn’t have the twins and- oh god Marina, I’m so scared.”

“I can’t find your answers for you.”

“I know.  I think I am hoping that they’re out there in Phuket waiting.  But if not at least I’ll be miserable and lonely with a tan.”

“Yeah.”