The Wrong Mr Bridgerton

Chapter 2

The carriage passed. Anthony remained silent all the way back to Mayfair.

He hated keeping secrets from his family. Pen was that secret.

His brain was trying to make sence of what he saw. What the hell was she doing there. So late at night. What different circumstances that would take Miss Penelope Featherington to Fleet Street so late and unchaperoned. He mentally hit the top of his head, he knew what the only logical explanation would be. He just couldn't believe it.

"Anthony are you still up?" he heard his mother call from the bottom of the stairs.

He froze in his steps, looked up to his mothers caring smile "Sorry, did I wake you?"

She shook her head, and stepped down towards her son, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder, he covered it with his own.

"No, I am just going to get a hot drink to help me sleep, care to join me?"

Anthony nodded. He had to get to his study, but he could not be rude. Not to his mother. He started walking into the kitchen where he saw Mrs Wilson already pouring out the hot milk.

"I was going to bring it up to you, Malady" Mrs Wilson shot in fast, concerned that the lady of the house didn't wait for her.

"No need Mrs Wilson, we shall see to it ourselves, go back to sleep"

"Thank you" she nodded and left Violet and Anthony sitting opposite each other cradling their warms cups. Anthony breathed in the steam. It was rather cool out and the warmth from the cup was diminishing the stress from the day.

Violet's eyes looked a little watery "You would have thought that after all these years, the thoughts of your father wouldn't plague me so"

"You loved him very much" it was more of a statement then a question. He was after all there the day his father Lord Edmund Bridgerton had died. He was standing next to his him as he got stung by such a small creature. A bee.
It happened on a beautiful sunny day. They were on their way back from a day of shooting. Anthony was in a happy mood. His dad was teaching him all he knew about getting a good aim. The way his father looked at him, such pride in his eyes. That was the image he had to try and focus his mind on just to get some sleep at night, with little luck.

He remembered the moment so clearly, his father reaching down to pick flowers for Daphne. That's when it happened.
He called for help, his mother had just left the home and ran over to be by his side.
His mother's face, the anguish. The way she cradled his father's face like she would simply die without him. Anthony hated for his mum to know that he still dreamt of that night still. That day is what made Anthony the man he was today. Constantly pushing himself to be better, to be the man he believed his father wished him to be.

"Yes. It's just silly to still reach for his pillow in my sleep hoping for him to still be there"

"Mother" he started to say, Violet started to shake her arms at him.

"Sorry, Anthony I should not have burdened you with such things, so late at night"

"Mother, this is the very reason I cannot marry for love"

"What do you mean?"

"The way you were when he died, I cannot. Will not do that to my family"

"Anthony, you should marry for love" he voice soft and warming.

"Yet it is so much easier to marry without such a thing" his smirk mirroring her own. He added, mostly as he didnt want the conversation to remain "Would you like me to walk you to bed?"

"I will stay for a little longer. Good night my son" he leant down giving her a dotting kiss on her temple. "Good night"

Violet watched as Anthony left, she respected his wishes. She also wished for more of him. Anthony was so tough, so strong, the idea of him not getting to feel the power that she felt with her husband Edmund was unbearable.

Penelope Featherington, mastermind. Gossiper. Anthony rushed into the study grabbing his copies of Lady Whistledown and throwing them at his desk. He did what any other crazy driven man would do, he reached for his quill and started circling the clues printed on the sheets. He had collected all copies of Lady Whistledown, tried not to admit that he rather enjoyed reading the gossip. Men pretended not to be interested in such things, what a lie.

He was sat there marking for over an hour. The last one he read of Miss Marina Thompson with child. How difficult that must have been for her to write. Marina was her cousin, non the less. If she had not written that, Colin would have been lied into a fraud of a marriage. Anthony was unsure of the proposal to start with, it did seem rather forced, especially when it came to Miss Penelope's mother, Lady Portia Featherington.

She saved him from himself from utter ruin it would have caused him and our family.

It was all so clear. She did not, unfortunately put her own family in any light. Quite the opposite. She shone light at his own family and put her own in the shadows. She cared about his family, like really care for them. He didn't know why no one had put these obvious acts together before. He leant back, took a large swig of whisky and glazed over the desk to appreciate his handy work.

Benedict would be rather impressed with the artwork he found himself doodling over the papers. He felt as if he had or, in fact needed to inform anyone, it would be dear Benedict.

He was second son, and if he would marry all responsibilities should be moved to him.

He was always so positive and lightened the mood in any situation. He was a great man, a great brother to take his place. If he was to find a match, he would take his new wife to start a new life in The Bridgerton family home.

What to do about Penelope Featherington.

There was no doubt, it was her. Miss Penelope Featherington was Lady Whistledown.