Chapter Text
Agatha Bridgerton forced her way into their world on a Monday night, surprising her mother thoroughly and causing her father to seemingly age ten years in the span of an evening.
She was early, only a little, but it was early enough that they were unprepared, striking chaos into their lives unexpectedly on an otherwise quiet night at home.
Violet Bridgerton, who had been determined to be present at the birth of every one of her grandchildren, had missed the entire show, too preoccupied with sleeping off a wine-induced headache from a rather rapturous dinner party and none the wiser to what was happening at her son’s home.
Portia Featherington, while never a priority to be called upon but was keen to see her daughter through her confinement period, had not yet come to stay – it was too early, after all. Instead, as her granddaughter decided to make her appearance, she had been busy with Varley applying a much anticipated new treatment to stop the advancement of wrinkles that she had imported from Italy. She was to get a shock in the morning, no doubt reversing any effects from her ablutions the night before but she would not mind, of course, she would have a grandchild – her first, in fact.
There was no time to summon either of them, there was no time to even write a note to anyone other than a necessary call for help. Their mothers had missed the birth of their grandchild, even he himself almost missed it, and Colin was forever thankful the household was able to rally together to get some form of help there prior to his daughter's arrival.
Their original doctor, summoned but nowhere to be seen, did not appear to be able to make it in time so Dunwoody, the best of butlers, had taken one look at the poor, frantic expectant father and took charge of the situation. In a stroke of luck, their neighbour, a doctor who lived across the street, had not gone out that evening and thankfully answered the knock for help. Mr. Jenkins, a stout but kind looking fellow, had only just got his coat off before Colin had frogmarched him to look at his wife, his sweaty palms tugging at his arm. He was panicked, they all were, at the suddenness of it all but Mr. Jenkins soon got to work and somehow managed to reassure even a terrified father that everything was alright, it was all looking normal.
Then, not half an hour after he had arrived, at exactly quarter past eleven, they were holding their daughter – so determined she was to be born on a Monday that it had all seemed to be over in a blur.
It had been quick, a flash, and their world turned upside down in a matter of hours. When Colin would look back on it, thankfully he would have a hard time moving past the joy of holding his child to remember the panic, the stress of it all, the concern that Penelope was certainly not predicted to be having a child just yet.
Everyone had told them that they would have weeks left, the best part of a month, maybe even longer as the first apparently always ran late. So when Penelope called out to him from their bedroom that evening, letting him know that something was wrong, Colin had been in for quite the surprise. He was on his way out to see Benedict at the club, it was lucky he was still at home for he would have had to run to be back in time to witness it (and sprint he would have, even if that meant crossing the entirety of London on foot in an hour, he would manage it).
Within only three hours, Agatha was born. It had been swift – worryingly quick but he had been reassured over and over again that everything appeared to be fine. It was eventful, and their punctual daughter made her mark on the world in the most fitting way possible for her, the new parents were discovering.
His daughter, even at just a few hours old, had wormed her way right into the forefront of his mind, heart and soul, to the point where Colin was so completely enraptured by her that the entirety of London could be alight in flames and he would not notice. She demanded his time and attention, and there was no question of when – she wanted it immediately. She had arrived precisely when she wanted to, in the way she wanted to, and she was determined to see the fruits of her labour: an absolutely besotted couple of parents, her mama and her papa.
Her papa.
Colin understood he was going to be a father, he knew what that meant in theory, he knew to expect to feel the swell of love upon meeting her. Anthony had told him all about holding his child for the first time, of the emotional damn bursting, of the overwhelming sense of purpose and love that it had brought, and had informed him rather passionately that he would feel the same. But theory and advice was one thing, experiencing it was something else entirely.
He was not just her father, but her papa.
Their relationship, only just being put into practice, had shifted entirely from the one inside his mind to the one in reality and it had caused a shockwave to rock down his spine. As she had taken her first breath, he had discovered what love truly meant.
He loved her, he loved her so very much that it hurt – and she was his.
She was his, she was here, and Colin was not prepared to give up his child any time soon. Agatha was only a few hours old, and so far, Colin had kept a hold on her almost the entire time.
He had been gracious enough to allow her mother to hold her first, their little family crying together for the best part of an hour, content to just exist in peace while their world settled around them. But Penelope had to be looked at, and ever since then, Colin had not let go of his child, not even when the very-tired-and-desperately-in-need-of-a-drink Mr. Jenkins came to him to enquire about her health – he was forced to examine her in his arms.
He already understood his possessiveness through his feelings towards Penelope, but he knew it to be something else entirely with his daughter. He always had felt the need to be a hero, he had to stand up for those he loved, and it had only intensified when he had held his tiny, reddened with anger daughter for the very first time. She needed him, she needed his help, and Colin would kill himself over and over again to provide it for her.
God help her future suitors, he thought. Even Colin could spare an ounce of pity for them, he was surely going to be a menace when she came to want a husband.
While his wife slept, he was content to sit with his daughter in his arms, amazed at her idyllic features, staring back at her as her eyes locked on his face. In her eyes, he saw the future unravel, he saw what his life had become because of her being, and he wondered if she felt it too. Reasonably, Colin knew that she was not yet at the point of thinking, not truly, and yet still he wished to know what was going on inside that little mind of hers, what she was thinking. Was it about him? What did she think of her world? Did she recognise his voice or her mother’s?
He took his time to take her in, enjoying getting to know her, grateful that he could get her alone. Penelope needed some rest, he told himself in a bid to not feel too guilty about keeping her, he would only wake her if Agatha needed her – it just so happened to give him the perfect time to get acquainted with the new centre of his world.
Agatha loved to stare, he found, and he was more than happy to return the favour, examining every little detail he could surmise about his daughter. Naturally, he had come to the conclusion that she was perfect rather quickly, aided by the fact that God had been kind to his prayers and they had produced a daughter that looked so much like her mother.
Her eyes were wide, almost as blue as Penelope’s, and Colin hoped they would stay that way. Her lips, so tiny and round, were surely hers too. And there was already a look of enquiry upon her face that was so very Pen, so very Portia for that matter, and it made Colin eager to see what other traits she had inherited from her family.
He could see others in her too.
When she cried – which thankfully had only happened once since she had quietened down following her birth (Colin suspected it would occur again soon, however, as his daughter would surely be getting hungry – it was his daughter, after all) – she had scowled exactly like Anthony. The way she wriggled in his arms, content just to move around and discover her new body, reminded him entirely of Hyacinth as a baby, so restless and ready for the world.
There was not yet much to find of himself in his child. She did, it seemed, appear to have his nose, though really it was too small to tell. Otherwise that was all he had discovered so far and yet he didn’t mind in the slightest. Agatha was his perfect daughter, after all, that’s all she needed to be.
Perhaps, she would inherit his hair – his daughter was born a blonde, as had he when he was a child, but if he had his way, it would not turn brown but red. Perhaps she would be more like him in her manner, in the way she carried herself? Perhaps she would want to see the world, to discover new places? Perhaps she would love cake just as much as he did?
“You have to put her down at some point, Colin,” his wife’s voice called out sleepily from across the room.
Colin did not look up, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from his daughter. Agatha would not let him, not with the way she was looking at him, demanding his eyes remain on her.
“She’s wide awake, she won’t stop staring at me.”
Penelope chuckled softly.
“I suspect I have already lost her allegiance.”
Upon hearing her mother’s voice again, maybe even recognising it, Agatha finally began to stir. Her delicate head tilted slightly in the direction of the voice, her eyes finally breaking from his. In an instant, Colin felt the loss of her stare, and he found himself yearning for it to return.
“She looks so much like you, Pen,” he murmured, admiring curiously the way his daughter’s brow furrowed just like her mother’s did. “I can’t believe it. It’s uncanny.”
“I’ve not had much of a chance to see her – her papa has been hogging her attention,” Penelope said rather pointedly, hiding behind the jest but Colin recognised her demand in an instant.
He understood it, of course, he had been unable to put his daughter down himself.
He was lucky so far that he had not had to share her yet, not even with his wife as she rested. It was almost morning, in a few hours, they would have to summon their mothers, and then, undoubtedly, the rest of their families would hear and descend on their house too. It would be utter chaos and there would be no use even trying to hold their own child once their families got there. At least he had had a few hours alone with her before the madness happened, he supposed he could offer the same to Penelope – she did do all of the work, of course.
Reluctantly, Colin pushed himself out of his seat, ready to give up his daughter. If it was anyone other than her mother – his Penelope, the woman he loved more than anyone in the world until the night before – he would not be allowing her to leave him.
“You, my darling, have been asleep – a much deserved rest, I might add,” he tried his hardest to keep his eyes away from his daughter and steady on his wife laying on their bed, looking worse for wear but very much still intact. “How are you fairing?”
Not good. Even an idiot like himself could see that.
He would never dare to tell her but she looked tired, and awfully pale – a result of what had happened, from the shock and all that she had gone through. Her hair, so slick it had been with the stress of the night, had dried upon her forehead, and Colin could already hear his wife’s complaints at her maid trying to remedy it in the morning.
Penelope looked a mess, but she was their mess – his and Agatha’s.
“I ache. So very much,” she smiled at him, a forced smile that gave away too much but he allowed it to fall unchallenged. “And I think I might be in a state of delirium… but she’s here and that is all that matters.”
At that, Colin gave himself leave to look back at his daughter, taking just one more moment of blissful wonder before he finally let her go.
“Yes, she is,” he muttered, his eyes fixed on her as they both settled her in her mother’s arms.
Colin had missed it when he had first seen it, too overcome with the joy of having a child that he had not noticed the rush that seeing his daughter in Penelope’s arms gave him. It stirred something within him, something deep and warm which could only be likened to pure love or euphoria.
Penelope was not a natural at holding her, not yet, but their daughter did not care, her hand happily resting at the skin of her shoulder, like she yearned to have the connection while her mother shifted her awkwardly in her arms.
He was reminded in an instant of what had come before. Of the pain of thinking their love was unrequited, of the sacrifices they had offered of their own hearts just to produce her, of everything that had happened as a result of her coming into being.
An agreement. This had all happened because of a silly little idea of his that was laughable to think of now that their daughter was here. Agatha was there, she had bewitched them, all because of what they had done, of how foolish they had been, of how blind they were.
“The best thing to come out of an agreement ever, don’t you think?” He murmured in disbelief to no one in particular, an idiotic grin upon his lips as his mind whirled of how they had gotten there, considering how quickly it had all happened.
Agatha had brought them together, much swifter than they would have managed if left to their own devices, and seeing her there, in the arms of the woman he loved more than life itself, made his heart feel like it was carving itself out his body.
“Agatha,” Penelope hummed sweetly, their daughter’s name rolling off her tongue like it was always meant to be a word upon her lips.
Colin let out a chuckle as he came to rest beside her, curling up to his little family without once taking his gaze off of his daughter. “Lady D will be beside herself when she hears – you never know, she might even crack a smile.”
His words earned an eye roll from his wife.
“She always smiles,” she cautioned him playfully, a smirk playing on her lips.
“Does she?” Colin retorted, his heart not in it. “I must just be too busy getting scolded by her to notice.”
Lady Danbury had earned the namesake, he could not deny her that.
When choosing a name, they both knew they wanted something that represented strength, that would set their child up to take on the world head on just like the two of them were determined to.
Colin had turned to the gods, pulling out name after name from mythos and all of them Penelope found an issue with. Their child needed a ‘normal’ name, she reminded him, and as much as he would have loved a Hercules Bridgerton or an Athena Bridgerton, Colin was inclined to agree with his wife (as all good husbands should do).
Penelope had wanted something literary, a nod to their professions. Lady Whistledown had been going stronger than ever, and his own book was due to be published at the end of the month - An Englishman in Greece, Penelope had come up with the title herself. While it was a fine thought and all the names she suggested for their child had been perfectly normal, none of them felt right. They had not yet met them, and yet despite that they knew their child had to have a name that had something special to it, it couldn’t just be normal and a nice idea.
Their child was made from love, they were made from heartbreak and hardship, and they had been what brought their parents together, through it all. They needed to have a name that reflected that intensity.
The following day after coming to that conclusion, his mother decided to host a dinner party and Colin had the audacity to snipe back a witty remark to Lady Danbury. The dowager had hit Colin on the ankles with her cane for daring to have the cheek, her eyes sparkling with the delight of having a challenge. While his ankle throbbed, his gaze had quickly sought out his wife and a knowing look was exchanged between them, the name coming to them in an instant.
Agatha.
It was to be the most excellent choice. They both just knew it was meant to be.
Then, as if to make it even more clear that it was destiny, not five hours later their daughter arrived in the most formidable way possible. It had been decided by the fates, especially considering it was fortuitous she was a girl, for there was not yet a name picked out for if they were to have a son. It was a sign of a higher power, her name was perfect, and Colin was excited to inform Lady D of their decision and perhaps leave the woman lost for words.
“She is rather obsessed with you, isn’t she?”
His wife’s voice brought him out of his thoughts, and Colin broke into a grin upon seeing that his daughter was once again staring at him with her eager blue eyes.
“Like mother, like daughter,” he chuckled, reaching out to run his fingers along his daughter’s pink cheek.
He would dedicate his entire life to her, he would move mountains just for those eyes, just to see her look at him like that forever. There was so much to tell her, so much to teach her, so much to show her. He would do absolutely anything she could possibly ask, all because he had the privilege of being her father.
He would take her abroad, he would show her everything he loved about the world and watch as she fell in love with it herself. He never did get around to organising a trip before she was born yet he still felt the urge to roam – for entirely different reasons. He had a curious child ready to make discoveries along with him, he had a wife whose side he never wanted to leave. They would show their daughter the world, and it would be the trip of a lifetime.
“I hope her hair turns out red… it might just be wishful thinking but I think it already has a tint to it,” he whispered, taking a few strands of his daughter’s hair between his fingers, admiring how thick it already was.
Their daughter had a good head of hair already, as full as every Bridgerton baby so far had inherited, and yet hers could only rival Gregory for the sheer amount of it. It would fall out and change, he knew that, but Colin swore there was a strawberry colour to it forming already.
“I started out blonde. I asked my mama,” Penelope agreed with him, coming to hold their daughter’s hand in hers. Upon the grasp, Agatha’s eyes started to close for the first time, ready to rest for a short while before she undoubtedly realised she was hungry.
“So did I, I asked mine too,” Colin sighed, both out of the pain of coming to terms with his daughter potentially not being a redhead and the loss of her gaze upon him.
“She is ours either way.”
His wife had summed her up perfectly. Their daughter was indeed theirs.
He would cherish her, no matter what her hair turned out to be, no matter if she was difficult or a breeze, no matter if she caused him to tear his hair out from worry or frustration. She was perfect because she was theirs.
This was bliss, this was happiness, and to think that for so long they denied themselves of it only seemed wild now that their child was finally here. As carefully as he could, he pulled his wife into his arms, content to just bask in their joy, his lips brushing against her forehead.
His wife – Penelope, the love of his life, his dearest friend and now, finally, the mother of his child.
He couldn’t have asked for more, and he thanked God every day that he drew up that stupid agreement that started it all. Who knew where they would be otherwise? Maybe it would have been quicker, maybe it would have been a mess? Either way, it was surely their agreement that led to Agatha, and that became all the more evident with her arrival on a Monday, of all days.
“She was born on a Monday…” Colin announced, the thought not yet solidifying as fact in his mind.
At the revelation, his wife laughed, startling their daughter slightly yet she did not waken.
“Mondays have always been the most exciting of days. Rather fitting for our little one,” Penelope tucked their daughter in close to her, beaming up at her husband as she did so.
There was nothing to do other than to kiss her. And kiss her he did.
“I love you,” he whispered as he pulled away, compelled to say it by some unknown force, needing to say it without even thinking.
Penelope made a noise of sleepy agreement, resting back in his arms as she tried her hardest not to fall back asleep.
“And I love you, Agatha. My darling girl,” he added softly, drawing his attention back to his already sleeping daughter, his fingers toying with the blanket that covered her.
He had long since delivered on his promise of a thousand declarations of love to her mother (thrice over, in fact, probably more but he had lost count months ago). But in that moment, upon saying it aloud for the first time, Colin vowed to give his daughter a million – and it would be the greatest amendment he would ever make to their agreement.