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The Bridgertons’ second son had arrived without haste, and bore his mother no anguish. An heir and a spare, the midwife had remarked, as the babe was placed in his mother’s arms.
She would later remark to her friends that the Bridgertons were exceedingly unconventional; not once in her career had a husband elected to remain in the birthing room during the labour. Edmund Bridgerton had attended the birth throughout, attending to his wife’s every need. His presence had brought her comfort, and his touch softened her agonised cries.
The women all remarked at how lucky the Bridgertons had been in securing two sons in quick succession. Lady Bridgerton had hardly been without child since her marriage, yet she bore no signs of affliction. In fact, motherhood had only heightened her beauty, and she radiated joy each time she was asked about her darling boys.
Anthony and Benedict were the complete objects of their parents’ affection, and their rearing was not left to nursemaids or nannies, but undertaken by Lord and Lady Bridgerton themselves, who devoted their days to playing with the boys, and teaching them the ways of the world. It was a delightful sight to all who witnessed it, and guests often showered the boys with praise for their charm and beauty.
Violet was content.
Lady Bridgerton had been absent from society for some few months, and though her husband assured their acquaintances that she would soon recover from her affliction, the women knew better, and gossip spread of the cause of her absence.
Violet had been confined to their home for some time, burdened with nausea. A sign of a healthy pregnancy, her lady’s maids had remarked; a sign of a daughter, one had even suggested. She longed to be rid of her affliction - she missed the company of other women, and she missed playing with her sons. Violet sought nothing more than to play with tin soldiers, and run with her boys along the grounds.
It had been almost two years since Benedict had arrived, and her sons had grown ever more charming. They were polite and intelligent, though their rowdiness knew no bounds. They were frequently admonished for their unruly behaviour, though Edmund had passed on his sensitivity and warmth, and they had learned to restrain their enthusiasm during her indisposition. She often enjoyed afternoons on the couch, reading stories to her sons after a busy morning of playing with their father.
Violet had begun to fear there would be no more children joining their family, and, though she loved her sons more than she could understand, she longed to hold another babe in her arms. She had been delighted by her late courses, and informed Edmund of the news immediately. He had been equally pleased, and rejoiced in the hope of an impending arrival.
Lady Danbury often called to visit, and Violet was settled in the drawing room, given tea and biscuits as her oldest friend recounted all of the gossip she had missed. Violet knew, though, that she was the subject of much of the gossip among the ladies, but Agatha would not burden her with such information, merely recounting that the ladies wished for her health, and were eager for her to return to their company. Violet, too, hoped that her illness would cease and she could return to society before they made their journey to Aubrey Hall for her confinement.
Violet had barely needed to loosen her stays to accommodate the growing babe, when she woke with a cry. Her distress woke Edmund, who took her hand instantly.
‘Violet, my love?’ he whispered in the darkness.
She said nothing, and clutched at her stomach with an agonised grimace.
‘Violet?’
Edmund pulled back the bedsheets and withdrew in horror.
Violet did not need to look down; she knew what he had seen.
Edmund called for the staff; the housemaids, the lady’s maids, anyone who could hear his cries.
Violet felt nothing. She hardly noticed as their staff rushed into the bedroom. She was held, she was sure, by Edmund, as the mishap occurred. For hours he cried into her hair as their staff dealt with the terrible business. Violet did not cry. She did not know why. Violet had wished for the babe for so long, and had become fond of it as it grew. It was gone now, though, and she could do nothing.
For a week she remained in bed. The doctor visited. She could not be sure what he had said. Edmund whispered words of love to her as she drifted in and out of sleep. She had not seen her sons. For a week, she bled, and the house staff dutifully cleaned the bedsheets. Violet wanted to apologise, but she could not find the strength to speak.
She ate, on occasion. The staff supplied toast three times a day, but she rarely finished a slice. Edmund brought her fresh fruit and Turkish delight. She stomached them, if only to keep him from fretting.
On the eighth day of her grief, she woke to the pattering of feet across the bedroom floor. Edmund had returned for the afternoon with their sons. The sight of them brought a small smile to her lips, but their worried faces soon brought tears to her eyes.
‘Go on, you can join mama,’ Edmund assured them.
Slowly, more careful than she had ever seen her boys move, they clambered onto the bed, one tiny body either side of her. She hugged them close, and smelled their little heads, and she realised how much she had missed them.
‘You have been good for papa, I hope?’ She asked them, straining against tears.
The boys nodded. Anthony looked up at her face.
‘Mama, we have missed you. When will you join us for dinner again?’
On the eighth day of her grief, Violet left her bed. She stood on shaking legs, she dressed, and she took Edmund's hand and allowed herself to be led to dinner. She did not eat much, but she observed as her boys enjoyed their food.
After dinner, they took a walk across the grounds. The boys charged ahead, full of evening energy, and delighted to have their mother back, and Violet watched them, her arm in Edmund’s, almost content.
‘It will all be all right, my love,’ Edmund assured her.
Many husbands in his position would have blamed Violet, she knew, and she counted herself lucky that her husband would not find her at fault even if their estate depended upon it. He did not blame anyone for their loss, nor any thing.
Violet did not feel like everything would be all right. Perhaps nothing would ever be all right again. How was she to continue when her child, the babe she had wished for, was no more. How was she to live when she had lost the life so precious to her.
Edmund squeezed her hand. ‘It will be all right.’
Violet woke to rays of sunlight streaming into their bedroom. She rolled over, hoping to fall into Edmund’s embrace, but the bed beside her was empty. Faintly, she could hear his voice through their window; it sounded as if he was instructing the boys. He had been trying to teach them the rules of pall mall for weeks, but they were always far too interested in swinging their mallets around, each attempting to throw theirs farther than their brother could.
She called for Mrs Wilson, and her housekeeper arrived promptly.
‘What time is it, Mrs Wilson?’ She asked, sitting up in bed. Violet grimaced as she did so. A dull ache spread across her stomach, and she suspected she knew the cause of her late start.
‘Half past ten, Lady Bridgerton. Lord Bridgerton did not want to wake you. Should I tell him you are awake?’
‘Please do.’
Violet dealt with her courses with a practised deftness, and called on Mrs Wilson to bring her a herbal tea for her affliction. Violet knew she could never lose Mrs Wilson as her housekeeper; she would be asea without her. They had developed a shared language during their years together, one which eased Violet’s discomfort around speaking plainly regarding such things. Violet’s request would be understood, and Mrs Wilson would deal with the affliction accordingly.
Violet had hoped that perhaps her courses would finally be absent. Benedict was getting older, and it had been many months since the mishap occurred. She had begun to fear that her childbearing days were behind her. It seemed so cruel; she was not yet the age her mother had been when Violet arrived into the world, and yet her body seemed unable to produce any more children.
Mrs Wilson returned with her tea, and Edmund followed shortly. He smiled as he saw her, but his expression quickly changed.
‘Violet, my love. Are you all right?’ He rushed to her, taking her into his arms and wiping stray tears from her cheeks. Violet had not even known she was crying.
‘I am fine.’ She assured him. ‘I am just… under the weather.’ She did not want to worry Edmund, not over something so foolish. She had never been good at telling Edmund these things. It was hard enough telling her lady’s maids.
Unfortunately for Violet, her husband, in his hope and optimism, came to an entirely wrong conclusion from her words. Perhaps he had seen her cup of tea, and the untouched slice of toast by her bed. Perhaps she had been clutching at her aching stomach as he entered the room.
‘Oh Violet. Does this mean?’ He asked. ‘Do you think we are expecting?’
The hope on his face was enough to break her heart. Violet broke into a sob, and she clung to Edmund, burying her face into the crook of his elbow as she wept.
‘I have let you down,’ she sobbed. Poor Edmund, she knew, did not know what had caused her outburst. Though, she hoped, he would understand that she was still not with child. He eased himself onto the bed beside her, and Violet continued to sob, attempting fruitlessly to explain herself.
‘I have tried,’ she promised, ‘I wish nothing more than to bring another child into the world, but it has come to naught.’
Edmund shushed her gently.
‘It is all right, Violet.’
‘It is not all right,’ Violet inhaled sharply, catching herself raising her voice at poor Edmund, who did not deserve to face her anguish. ‘I have tried to be the wife you deserve. I am sorry, Edmund. I am not with child.’
Edmund took her by the chin, encouraging her to meet his eyes.
‘Do you think that is all I ask of you? To bear my children?’
Violet shook her head.
‘If you had bore us no children, you would not have disappointed me. You have given us two boys, two wonderful boys, and they are more than I could have asked of you.’
Violet sniffled, and nodded.
‘I only wish you to be happy, my love.’
‘I am happy,’ Violet assured him. ‘I just wish that my childbearing days were not over. It has been years since my last confinement, and I wish nothing more than to feel our love growing inside of me again.’
She freed herself from Edmund’s hold, and tucked herself into his side.
‘It is such a wonderful feeling, Edmund,’ she sighed.
Violet had not shared so much with Edmund before. It was difficult for her, to speak about childbearing. Her mother had never spoken about it, and she had had no sisters or aunts to share their thoughts. Her mother had thought it all too crude, and not at all the kind of thing she should speak aloud.
Violet had loved holding her sons within her. She had cherished each moment as they grew, and delighted in feeling their little kicks, small reminders of the life she would soon bear. She had allowed Edmund to feel them too, to rest his own hands on her as they made their presence known. They had not spoken about it, though. Violet wished they had, for now, it seemed, there would be no more.
‘And I know it is selfish of me to want more children,’ she continued, ‘when we have already been blessed with such beautiful boys.’
She thought of Anthony and Benedict, who were growing into fine young gentlemen, and who filled each day with joy.
‘But I cannot help the ache in my womb when I see how they have grown, and how I should like to fill our home with more of those little smiling faces.’
Edmund did not speak for a while, he only stroked Violet’s hair as her deep breaths began to even out, and her heart began to beat with less haste.
‘We must not lose hope, my love,’ he finally assured her. ‘We are still young, Violet, you are still young, and our fortune may change.’
Violet nodded against his chest. Edmund was right. He often was.
‘Perhaps a visit to our boys will brighten your spirits,’ he suggested. ‘They are becoming quite the experts at pall mall.’
Violet very much doubted that. From their cries this morning, it had sounded like they were becoming rather adept at mallet throwing.
That did not mean seeing them would not raise her spirits, though.
Violet longed to fill their house with children, but if it was not to be, she felt lucky to have been blessed with Anthony and Benedict.
Violet was content.