Season 1 Episode 7 - Oceans Apart
A duke and a viscount are said to have initiated a brawl in White's a mere two nights ago. While this behaviour can be expected at any gentlemen's club, for bets and debts can cause even the most honourable men to turn feral, it is rather unexpected that the two men in question are a certain Duke of Hastings and Viscount Bridgerton. This Author wonders if the newly married Duke and Duchess of Hastings are quite as in love as we all assumed them to be.
- Lady Whistledown Society Papers, 12 July 1813
When the clock struck to signify the commencement of a new hour for the fourth time that afternoon, Beatrice threw her arms up in the air. She had been waiting in her parlour for hours to be graced with a visit from Matilda and still she had not come. Since the moment she had awoken that day, her thoughts had been encompassed by one overriding question – how had Peter proposed? In an attempt to drown out these thoughts, Beatrice opened up her book once again, her eyes scanning over a page that she had attempted to read three times previously that afternoon. It seemed that whenever she had made any progress in processing the words, something would distract her. From creaking floorboards to the sound of her family's staff conversing with hushed voices in the hallway, any miniscule sound would gain her undivided attention. By ten minutes past 4 o'clock, five distractions had pulled Beatrice's attention from her novel. On the sixth, she had refused to look up upon hearing the sound of shuffling feet, instead choosing to complete the line she was reading. However, unlike the previous instances, Phillips voice had greeted her, informing her of Matilda's arrival.
"Finally!" Beatrice cheered. She leapt to her feet, placing her book on the small table in front of her seat before rushing over to her friend. She encased Matilda in a tight embrace, muttering incoherent phrases to herself. As she pulled away, she grasped her friend's left hand, searching her ring finger for, well a ring. Upon finding a diamond on her finger, she squealed, jumping up and down on the spot.
"You really are to be married," she mused dreamily. "I can hardly believe that my best friend is to marry another of my friends."
Matilda nodded her head, her smile being the widest that Beatrice had ever seen it. "I can hardly believe it either. I was all but speechless when Peter asked me."
Grabbing her friend's hands, Beatrice dragged her towards the settee, pulling her down next to her. "I insist that you tell me everything. Peter was rather vague when telling me that he was to propose."
"Well-"she began, recounting what had occurred barely two hours prior.
Matilda's mother had never insisted that she join her for a wander around London for the day, yet on the 9th July 1813, she had not allowed her daughter to stay home. That alone, had confused her. More commonly than not, when her mother had suggested the idea, Matilda would accept, yet that morning she did not fancy the idea of wandering aimlessly through the shops of London. Typically, when she would decline, her mother would accept her choice, taking to asking one of Matilda's younger siblings to join her instead. But for some reason her request only had one valid answer that morning, and that was yes.
After a long morning of gallivanting around the city, Matilda's mother had provided her with half an hours respite - the time it had taken them to eat their lunch. Not five minutes after the family had emptied their plates, she had ordered Matilda upstairs, insisting that she was to change into her newly fitted dress. Her mother had been vague in her reasoning, simply informing her daughter that they had an important guest visiting. As her maids helped her into her corset and then her gown, she wondered who it possibly could be. If it were family, she doubted there would be such a reason for her to need to change outfits, particularly if her mother was not doing the same. But who else could it be?
Finally, at 2 o'clock, her mother had tasked her with going out into the garden. She had explained that there was a surprise for her near the pond. So, with an unsure expression and only her thoughts to keep her company, Matilda endeavoured to complete the short walk to her families pond. As she turned the corner in which the pond would become visible, she came across Peter Blackmore. He was stood beneath a flower arch, decorated elaborately with peonies of every colour. A gasp had exited Matilda's lips; as she was completely bewildered by what she was witnessing. Only a few weeks prior she had proclaimed that she wished for peonies to be the flower of choice when she was to marry, and there they were, displayed in her garden.
She had worried for a moment, that perhaps she was to be married right there and then, without a moment to consider. Even if that were the case, she did not doubt that she would accept, for she could not imagine herself creating a family with anyone but Peter. Yet as her logical thoughts returned to her and she looked towards him, she realised that he was to propose to her. It seemed that she had forgotten that one needed to be engaged before they could obtain a marriage license.
"Peter," she spoke. That seemed to be the only word that would fall from her lips, shock limiting her ability to form a tangible sentence. Her legs, however, still seemed to be functioning as she walked up to him, standing not even a foot away.
"Matilda," Peter responded. Despite knowing that he would propose to her that day, he too felt lost for words. It seemed that all the preparations he had done and all the practices of his speech that he had completed had been futile as seeing her before him rendered him unable to recall his words.
They gazed into one another's eyes, unable to look away. And in that moment, Peter felt inspired. He did not need any speech he had spent hours crafting in the confines of his study, he wanted what he told Matilda to be true in that moment. To be heartfelt. That was not to say that his other speech was not, for he had poured his soul into it, but finding the words in front of Matilda felt right.
"From the moment I saw you in Hyde Park, I have pondered nothing or no one else more than you. I knew from that very moment that I wanted nothing more than to make you my wife. Before that I believed that I would be able to marry someone I tolerated and then have love grow from there, but upon meeting you, I discovered that I desired the exact opposite. I do not wish to make you my wife because of duty or status, in the hope that love may blossom between us; I wish to make you my wife because I love you and I want nothing more than to spend the rest of my days by your side. A day apart from you feels as though I am being tortured, a night away from you is arduous at best. I cannot bear to spend any longer without you beside me."
A momentary silence occurred between the pair, tears glistening in Matilda's eyes. Tears which caused Peter to panic; scenarios of her running away ran through his mind. Perhaps she had no intentions of marrying him at all? Maybe he had completely misinterpreted what he assumed she felt for him?
"You love me?" she spoke, so quietly that Peter barely heard her.
"Of course I do."
"I love you too," she replied, her smile shining so brightly that it rivalled the power of the sun.
"So what say you, Tilly. Will you be my wife?" he asked, presenting her with a diamond ring.
"Of course I will. I could not wish for a better fate."
Standing on the tips of her toes, she leaned up towards Peter, crashing her lips onto his. He met her with the same level of passion, moving to cup her cheeks with his hands. Her hands, however, moved towards his hair, running her fingers through his jet black locks, revelling in how soft they felt. As they broke apart, Matilda rested her forehead against Peter's while they took a moment to bask in each other's presence, not quite believing that soon they would be able to spend every day with one another.
"Oh my goodness!" Beatrice almost swooned. She believed she had been excitable the previous night, yet in that moment she felt even more animated than before. "It sounds akin to my romance novels."
"Indeed, it does. I do not know what I have done to deserve him, but hell I intend to cherish him forever," she spoke, partially to herself and partially to Beatrice.
"You do not need to have done anything, you deserve this. You deserve to be happy, Tilly."
"I just wish you had found your match this season too, you deserve it much more than I do."
Beatrice shook her head, determination exuding from her expression. She would not allow Matilda to believe such a thing. "I certainly do not. Besides, I am sure I shall meet the man I intend to marry soon, or in the absence of that, I will become a spinster. Just as we once said."
A sad look appeared in Matilda's eyes, causing Beatrice to furrow her eyebrows at her slightly. She did not understand why she would feel sad on such a joyous day. "I know that we once agreed to that, but Bea, I never believed that I would fall in love as I have done. Now I have found Peter, I do not believe I could ever live without his love."
She tried to remain hopeful, but Beatrice could not picture a world in which a man that she fancied was interested in courting her too. It seemed completely fictitious to her that after spending almost an entire season in society, that she would manage to find someone who caught her eye in the next season. She had met almost all the eligible bachelors in London, and she could not imagine herself falling in love with any one of them. Although she did not want to upset Matilda, she truly couldn't believe that she would marry someone she loved, so in the absence of that, she made peace with living her life as a spinster.
"Well, if I never find that love, then I will not know what it feels to be without it. Please do not worry about me, Tilly, today is your day to be happy." Beatrice said, sending a small smile to her friend.
"I shall try but will you promise to try to find love. That means not just shutting down any bachelor who attempts to speak with you. If you feel something for someone, please just pursue it."
"I promise."
"Excellent. Hopefully by this time next year, we shall both be married."
"Hopefully," Beatrice spoke, not allowing Matilda to view her expression. Being two and twenty, she had already emerged on the marriage mart quite late, but truthfully she had been delaying her debut for years for that exact reason. She did not want to marry a man who only saw her as a prize to be won, a girl barely out of her leading strings. What she truly desired was to find her love match, the man who desired her despite her many flaws. Yet during the season she had met few men who she considered to be a suitable match for her, and still she did not feel enamoured by a single one of them. Of course she wanted to be happy, but she simply could not picture herself being able to fulfil Matilda's wish.
***
Barely two evenings later, Simon Basset and Anthony Bridgerton found themselves in the place they frequented the most, the gentleman's club. Despite them usually having an enjoyable time there, that night there seemed to be an air of tension between them.
As Anthony had entered the room, he moved towards Simon to greet him. "Evening, your grace. It's funny meeting you here," he said, causing Simon to take a large sip of his drink.
"I am utterly comical," he answered, a look of disinterest written onto his features.
"You've been avoiding me." Anthony spoke bluntly, his hands positioned on his hips.
Simon rolled his eyes, taking yet another sip from his cup. "Now you're being the jester."
"If you're not avoiding my company, then you won't mind if I join you for a drink?" Anthony asked, moving to sit down next to his supposed best friend when he did not provide him with an answer. After sitting for a few moments in a painstaking silence, he summoned a waiter, requesting a large glass. If he were to converse with Simon when he appeared to be so avidly avoiding him, he would need to be intoxicated.
"Ah, just right," he mused as he sipped on his freshly poured drink, attempting to fill the silence at the table. "Don't get me wrong. I love a good brandy, but sometimes nothing will do but a beer."
Simon sighed, already bored of Anthony's attempt at polite conversation. "Would you just get to the point."
"I am afraid I don't know what you're talking about," Anthony responded, feigning confusion.
"Yes, you do."
Unable to maintain his polite tone, he finally matched Simon's hostility. "You're correct, I do. Just like I know that you've obviously made a considerable error with my sister."
Sighing yet again, Simon retorted back: "how may I ask, could you infer that I was the one to make the error?"
Anthony scoffed in return, not liking his tone. "Well, I know my sister quite well. And while she is an unusually capable woman, she is not capable of fucking up this severely."
"Do you lot ever get tired of pretending to be so perfect?" Simon retorted, causing Anthony to chuckle to himself. "It's exhausting just watching you."
Anthony had no idea of what Simon's problem was. To his memory, he had done nothing to cause the duke's hatred of him. In fact, since their duel, he had believed that they had rekindled their friendship, which was more than he had expected. Yet for some reason, Simon seemed intent on hating anyone that shared the Bridgerton name. He was sure that this had to be a problem that Simon had caused, for there was no way that Daphne had caused this.
"We may not be perfect, but at least we keep our promises," Anthony snapped.
"You know nothing of my commitments. I'm trying to be a man of my word. I am trying to keep-" Simon began, cutting himself off in the process. "I wouldn't expect you to understand."
"What do you mean by that?" Anthony pressed, for some reason Simon deemed it necessary to speak completely nonsensically.
"I mean that you leave a litany of broken trust and promises behind you everywhere you go. Your duty to protect Daphne from Nigel Berbrooke? What of that?"
Anthony tilted his head, unsure of what his sparring partner was intending to say. He had not once broken Daphne's trust in regard to Nigel Berbrooke and he had made no promises to her, except that he would not allow her to marry that awful man. Now, unless he had been living in an alternate reality, he believed that promise had been upheld.
"Whatever do you mean? I have not broken Daphne's trust of me, let alone a single promise. For you to insinuate any-"
Simon maliciously chuckled under his breath, just loud enough for Anthony to hear it. "I am not speaking of Daphne. I am speaking of Beatrice."
A flash of pain had shot down Anthony's spine at the reminder of the hurt he had caused Beatrice Sinclair. He had not meant to upset her, in fact he had meant to do the exact opposite. He had thought that if she had no knowledge of the duel occurring then she would be protected. Not only from the torture of knowing it was to happen but not being able to do anything to stop it, but also from the possibility of being questioned by the Bow Street Runners should anyone have linked her back to that night in the garden. Yet, it seemed that he had done the exact opposite, as if breaking her trust had hurt her more than any other possible outcome. The woman had never expressed any trust in him before, and to be frank, he had not anticipated her to even heed what he had said. But in some strange twist of events, she had trusted him and he had ruined any sense of friendship that could have been formed between the two of them. Anthony did not even know that was something that he desired to have, yet seeing the woman truly hate him had hurt him more than he would care to admit.
"I apologised to Miss Sinclair," he replied harshly, not wanting to show Simon his true emotions. "She chose not to listen to me. I cannot force her forgiveness."
"And why is it that she refuses to forgive you, Anthony?" Simon spat, pure hatred exuding from his tone as he said Anthony's name. "It is because you destroyed her trust. She trusted you to give her a day to prevent our duel but you could not even grant her that. You lied to her face knowing that the outcome could have lead to my death, knowing that she would never forgive you. But you did not even care, you still don't. Do you truly feel any emotion at all?"
Anthony was beginning to lose himself now, his face reddening and his breathing becoming more rapid. "Of course I care!" he almost shouted.
He did not know how to tangibly explain how he felt. He did not even think he knew how he felt. All he knew was that he did care about Beatrice Sinclair. That he regretted his decision to ever lie to her. Should he have the ability to manipulate time, he would have returned to that moment, instead telling Beatrice the truth. If it were necessary he would have locked her in his study for the night, informing someone to let her out after the duel had commenced if he had perished. Honesty was seemingly something that the woman valued above anything else – she likely would have forgiven him for entrapping her all night if he were honest about it. Yet he didn't, instead he chose the cowardly option, losing her completely. Losing a potential friend had never bothered him before, but it felt different with her. She was not someone that he was willing to lose.
"That does not seem apparent to me," Simon bitterly muttered.
Anthony attempted to change the subject, knowing that if he were to speak of Beatrice any longer, he would snap. "You judge me, yet you can't possibly understand the responsibility of heading a family, because you've never had one."
"Ah, but Daphne is my family now, and there is no changing that. Though it is most unfortunate that I shall never quite reach the loft ideal you have demonstrated."
"What is most unfortunate is the fact that your father was so absent, he never gave you a proper example of how to lead a household."
A long pause was shared between the men, Simon basking in the words that his supposed friend had said to him. "Well, you certainly make it look difficult," he spoke with a deathly coolness.
"I beg your pardon?"
"With your constant struggles. You cannot manage it, can you?"
"Hastings-"Anthony began, before Simon continued on with his relentless comments. He felt himself becoming more agitated by the second. No, he thought, I cannot manage being the Viscount at all. Edmund Bridgerton had made the job of having seven children, and one on the way, seem easy but that was not true for Anthony. All he had done for the past ten years was perform his duty to the best of his ability, ensuring that all of his siblings had the best lives crafted out for them. Yet, he felt completely overwhelmed by this task. Only Daphne had found a spouse and it seemed that he had already failed in that venture. She was now trapped in a marriage with Simon, who seemed hell-bent on destroying his sister's happiness.
"Your responsibility," Simon continued. "You, fulfilling the promise that every firstborn son makes to his father before he dies. Do you think he is looking down on you now, ashamed? You are nine and twenty, yet still you have no wife, no children. Will you fail your father? Can you not even provide him with the one thing he would have wished of you, a son and heir? You cannot, can you? I bet every woman in London runs away when she sees you, hell I know that Beatrice does.
Perhaps you will be completely unable to find a wife, having to pass on your responsibility to one of your brothers. Although you would love that; receiving all the praise and never having to do any hard work. I reckon he is mortified of what you have done. I wonder, what would the former viscount say were he here?"
How dare he? Anthony thought, anger coursing through his veins. He had spent the past ten years of his life ensuring that his family were taken care of, that they were provided for financially and emotionally. And still Simon judged him. Hell, he had not the time to find a suitable wife when he had dedicated his entire adult life to caring for the family that he already had.
Letting out an almighty roar, Anthony leapt out of his seat, ripping Simon out of his too. He threw a number of successful blows at the other man's face, receiving one in the stomach in return. He then thrust Simon upwards by the waist, causing them to both crash through the glass table that was previously beside them. He continued to unintelligibly shout at Simon, meeting his face with a number of blows once again. In return, Simon hit him in his eye at full force before attempting to defend himself from the barrage of punches directed his way.
Some men in the club pulled Anthony off of him, dragging them in different directions. Whilst Simon broke free of his hold; his need to aggravate the man subsiding, Anthony continued to struggle in the man's arms. He was still intent on beating Simon until he could no longer utter a poor word of him or his father. Luckily for Simon, he had chosen to take his leave, quickly fleeing from the scene in an attempt to not be caught in yet another fight on the driveway. After around two minutes of being restrained in now two gentlemen's arms, ample time for Simon to get far enough away from the room, Anthony had been released from their grip, allowing him to return home, albeit in a foul mood.
A/N: Apologies for the big break, it wasn't intentional but I sort of lost inspiration and then didn't want to force myself to write and make it a chore. I've just started uni so I've got a lot on atm but I will update when I can x