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It had been a few years. Kate went back to India with only her ego intact. She met a decent man, a good man who can make her laugh until her eyes crinkled and that was enough for her.
Sometimes she misses him. Anthony Bridgerton now had an heir and a spare; if Edwina gets her way as she always does, another one was on the way.
She allows herself to reminisce. Sometimes the pain punches her in the gut but most of the time it only hurts like a bruise not allowed to heal.
When her husband told her that he had business in London, she immediately agreed to join him. She knew she was brave enough to face it. She can even admit that she would like to see him again with the family that could have been hers.
It took six months for them to reach England and they took the time to practice making the baby they both wanted. Not a duty, just a baby.
In a couple of weeks they learned that the sickness she felt in the pit of her stomach wasn't because of the sea.
Kate was excited. She never imagined she would go back to London, let alone with happiness in tow.
When they arrived in London, they were greeted by Lord and Lady Bridgerton and their army of relatives. Their audience immediately went to the hand on her stomach that’s been protruding since they reached the last port. Edwina screamed like a girl who received a surprise present while her husband lost any trace of emotion on his face.
The matrons teased them on how economical they were during their voyage and Kate smiled while her husband breathed laughter on her forehead.
That night, Edwina told Anthony that she would love to have another child of her own - a girl perhaps - and Anthony acquiesced, finally. He entered the viscountess' chamber for the first time in months and pushed her to the bed with her face smothered in the pillows. Edwina was used to it by now.
They were in the drawing room as Anthony and Edwina’s children created havoc under the tapestry. Kate beamed at the sight, it didn’t hurt as much as she thought it would.
'Do you love your husband, Didi?' Edwina asked, her face sharper than when Kate left her a few years ago. To think that she was just eighteen when she left for India. Now, Edwina is a mother, a viscountess, and a wife.
She thinks about how time has passed. How she met her husband at one of the parties in the Maharajas’ home. They started off with an easy conversation, nothing exciting per se, but safe.
All her hopes and dreams about finding someone who she can love her stupidly, religiously, and ardently had flown from her grasp the day in front of her sister's now ancestral home and she has lived enough to know that love doesn't just chase you through the forest and calls it a race.
She had been certain that she would live and die as a spinster and she had come to terms with that but after a few conversations, a courtship and wedding, suddenly she didn’t have to.
Her husband was kind, attentive, and even-tempered. However, she sometimes finds herself tampering with her own disposition because fighting with him makes her feel guilty. He never had a mean, judgmental thing to say to and about anyone and she found herself following his footsteps. She screams her frustrations at the river instead.
Kate thinks about her husband's hands - always gentle, always soft but what she loved the most about his hands is that she can hold them freely. It was never thrilling - they never had any secret moments in dark alcoves, but his hands would always find hers in a crowded room. His hands were there, safe and hers. She never has to hide him anywhere.
But did she love him? Well, 'He chooses me. Everyday. What else can I ask for?'
Edwina smiled at that and gently tapped Kate's hand resting on her stomach, the pearl ring on her finger glimmered under the light, a reminder that she was chosen once too.
'God, you look so beautiful like this, Kate. I should have put a baby in you sooner.' Her husband says as he thrusts deeper into her.
She grasps his shoulder, trying to keep still as she rode him on their borrowed bed in Aubrey Hall. She closed her eyes to savor every shift of him in her, fully enjoy fucking her husband, and not think about the owner of a few doors down. Did she even close the door?
'Darling,' her husband moans, his movement getting more and more erratic. She closes her eyes tighter, as the image of a chestnut-haired man whispering to her a million years ago about all the ways a lady can be seduced.
She opens her eyes in shock at the memory and saw a silhouette of the man in her dresser mirror as if she conjured him. A familiar sense of competition creeps into her as she maintains eye contact with his reflection.
Let him watch, she thinks. It was only fair.
She rode her husband harder to chase the itch that she failed to scratch a lifetime ago and her husband shuddered beneath her. She doesn't look away as her husband tries to catch his breath. She cums as the door closes, screaming.
The next day, Kate had overheard from the staff that Lord Bridgerton left abruptly in the middle of the night to attend to urgent matters. She tried not to feel smug about it.
It was storming when she felt the first sharp pain in her abdomen. Everyone else was at a festival a few villages down while her husband had to go back to London for some urgent matters. Kate had insisted that she was fine, she didn’t expect to give birth anytime soon so she pushed them away to enjoy themselves while she wallowed in her body prison.
At first, she thought it was due to stress — she still didn’t do well with storms. As the thunder struck again, another sharp stab hit her stomach and she felt a warm and wet liquid trickle through her dress. The baby was coming.
She immediately reached for the bell on the bedside table. When no one came, she stood up and looked for help and saw him. He was wet from the rain, a stray curl hanging over his forehead, and his clothes tight from the dampness. He was beautiful, familiar, and irrevocably not hers. She choked on a sob.
'Miss Sharma —' he says dumbly. He knew that wasn’t her name anymore but he couldn’t call her anything else. 'Kate' was too intimate, the alternative was much too painful. He mostly prefers not to call her at all.
She was too far gone to chastise him on his mistake. 'The baby is coming.'
His eyes grew into saucers as he realizes her situation but quickly carried her unconsciously to the Viscountess’s chamber. It was closer, bigger and it felt right. He shouted to the staff below and was thankful that one of the servants moonlights as a midwife.
The situation quickly turned violent. Kate’s screams ring up through the halls, into the rooms and Anthony feels a punch of deja vu when she screams at him to get out.
He didn’t. He grasped her hand and she held onto his tightly. He glared at the servants, a threat of repercussion if the word ever came out.
He whispered sweet nothings to her, assuring her that it would be okay, that the baby would be perfect because it was hers.
His hand had turned numb when finally, finally, the cries of the infant broke through the storm. It looked rather pudgy under the candle light but he could swear that the baby looked quite like one of his sons.
'A girl, milord.'
Anthony reached out to take the baby to hand her over to Kate. She shook her head, too weak to hold the newborn so he sat beside her instead, Kate’s head fell on top of his arm like clockwork.
'Her name is Chaitra. We agreed to name her after my Amma. It means bright light.' She whispers.
'That she is,' he replies as he fights back the tears.
When the storm passed, it did not take long for their family to arrive. They were confused when they found Kate in the viscountess chambers but no one said anything. Kate’s husband pushed everyone away to sit beside her, kissing Kate and Chaitra's foreheads. Everyone cooed at what a perfect picture they made.
Meanwhile, Anthony quickly scampered out of the house, ran through the gardens, and screamed violently at the lake.