Chapter Text
4th of June, 1816
My Alfred,
I hope this letter finds you well and in better spirits than those of us here in London. The weather has been most uncharacteristic for June. Instead of the usual warmth of summer, we’ve been confined indoors by a relentless downpour that began just two days after our ball on the 30th of May. The rain shows no sign of stopping, and it has brought with it a chill that is quite unlike the season.
The boys are safe and snug indoors, far from the damp and cold. If anyone from the family wishes to see them, they must visit during calling hours. I’m being quite strict on that front, especially with how unpredictable this weather has been.
Mr Bridgerton paid me a visit after the ball – Colin Bridgerton, I mean, the second Mr Bridgerton. You must remember how we used to be good friends since I was girl, though time and circumstances have since put some distance between us. His visit felt... peculiar. I suspect he was curious about my life and the changes of the past year, especially since we haven’t spoken in some time. He inquired about the boys, and I suspected he might have hoped to be considered as one of their godfathers, had he not been away for so long. I won’t bore you with all the details, but it seems clear that our friendship isn’t quite what it once was, and I don’t expect it will be for some time.
By the time you receive this letter, I know you will likely have already set sail for the Arctic. The thought that this may not reach you for three or four months weighs heavily on me, but I trust it will make its way to you sooner rather than later. I only hope the post takes less than six months round trip so that I might hear from you again before the year ends.
The boys are growing so quickly, it astonishes me. Every day they seem to gain new skills, and I can already glimpse the little people they are becoming. Bertie now recognizes Mrs Selby and Eloise from a distance, his little face lighting up when they enter the room is so beautiful to see! As for Freddie, he’s just had a growth spurt and is now on the verge of rolling from his belly to his back! I expect Bertie will follow suit soon enough; for now his grip is inescapable. When he has those chubby little fingers in your hair there’s nothing in the world that will untangle him from you – yes, I learned this through pain.
They’re already 13 weeks old, and in no time at all, they will be four months. Time moves so quickly with them. Every morning, I take them to the painting of you, so they can see their father’s face and grow familiar with it. I cannot wait until Sir Henry is available again so that I might send you a new illustration of them—you deserve to see how they’ve grown.
Stay safe, my love. Please, take care of yourself in that cold and distant place. We are waiting for you as patiently as we can, and I count the days until you return to us.
With all my love,
Penelope.
9th of April, 1816
My Penelope,
I write this at you in what seems to be the beginning of my last month in Newfoundland, and filled with a mixture of sadness, frustration, anticipation and anxiety I don’t recall having ever felt in my life. Each morning, I wake up hoping Mr Carvalho is going to come running to knock on my door to tell I’ve finally received correspondence – correspondência, as he says – and it has your name on it, and that when I open it, I’ll find the news of the arrival of our children.
By this time now, you’ve been blessed with their presence, and by the time you read this letter, I imagine they’ll be even more grown. I can only imagine them, round cheeked, with their mother’s beautiful eyes and lips, perhaps your unforgettable red hair?
Yet, regardless of my hopes and dreams, the very Earth conspires against me being allowed to delight in such news, and the wait is long and torturous. I cannot express how much it pains me to be so far from you at this moment, at this time I long to be by your side more than ever.
Once, the prospect of doing what I’m doing now filled me with joy and excitement. But now, each step of my plan I take is a step away from you, and I cannot find any happiness it.
We are still stationed here in St John's, making final preparations for our departure in early May, when we will venture north to the Arctic. I have managed to secure a route through which correspondence might be sent and received, though it is a difficult and uncertain path, even more when the weather starts changing again.
I am arranging for letters to be carried by a supply ship that will occasionally pass through these waters. Once I leave Newfoundland, I fear the gaps between my letters will grow even wider, as the further north we travel the more isolated we become. But know this: no matter the distance or the difficulty, I will find a way to send word to you as often as I can.
I think of you constantly, my Penelope. In these lands the thought of you and our children is the only thing tethering me to any sense of home. It is strange — this barren, frozen world that I have longed to explore for so many years feels even more remote now, not because of its distance from my world, but because it separates me from you.
I take comfort in knowing you are not alone at our home – knowing you have Mrs Selby and Miss Rae, as well as your mother, your sisters and brothers calms me at night. Our babies will never lack in family, and they’ll have the most wonderful and loving mother that London has ever seen. And when I return, I vow to spend the next years compensating for my absence not only in their lives by in yours.
On this side of the Atlantic, the crew is excited at the promises of our expedition and to hear of the birth of the “Little Deblings”. They are betting a pair of boys, though I do hope we have a girl, still.
If we don’t, I’m certain the methods we used to conceive our twins are going to be very effective in our making of a daughter. One way or another, I don’t believe there Is anything in the world who pull me away from your side once we reunite - not with how much I miss you already;
I look forward to your next letters, and for everything you have to tell me.
I miss you my Penelope, and I love you.
Your most devoted husband,
Alfred.
17th of April, 1816
My Penelope
I write to you once again while I still wait for the letter with the announcement. At this point, I’m probably becoming terribly boring, but I do long for the news of our children’s arrival.
There has been yet another delay in the ship that is meant to carry us up to the Arctic and the crew is growing restless as they wait here. It almost feels like an omen. Or maybe it is a blessing, for it means I’ll remain where I am, where news might still reach me before we depart.
I did receive some lovely news, however, though not the one I most desire. Captain Rogers, whom you may recall from my previous letters, has received an express just this morning — a letter announcing the birth of his first grandchild, a healthy little girl they named Catherine, after his late wife. I watched him as he read it, the joy and relief spreading across his face, and I admit it made me ache with longing to receive my own such letter. He held it up proudly, showing it to the rest of the crew, and for a moment I envied him. But I reminded myself that soon — very soon — it will be my turn to hold that precious news in my hands.
I think of you constantly, imagining what it must be like for you now. Was birth as expected? Was the doctor kind and professional with you? Were you accompanied – I very much hope you didn’t spend such moment alone. I wonder about our children, what they look like, if they are strong and healthy as little Catherine. Are they boys? Girls? One of each? My mind races with questions and it is agony not to know. I trust that you are well cared for, but I long to hear your voice, to know how you are recovering and hear the stories of your days.
Have you already chosen godparents for our little ones? I confess that I had so many ideas in my head for such matters before I left. You know the expedition overtook everything in my mind. Now, I find myself curious and eager to hear your thoughts. Whoever you choose, I know they will be fortunate to hold such a special place in the lives of our children.
The preparations here continue, though there is little left to be done except wait for the ship to be ready. We have loaded most of our provisions and the men are in good spirits, despite the delays. The weather has been somewhat unpredictable, but we are hopeful that the conditions will be more favourable by the time we depart. I can feel the excitement building in the crew as we prepare to embark on the final leg of this journey, but my heart remains with you.
I must remain optimistic that the next letter I receive will bring me the news I have been waiting for. Until then, my love, I will continue to write, and I will continue to hope that you and our children are safe, healthy, and surrounded by love.
Your most devoted husband,
Alfred.
29th of June, 1816
My Alfred
Yesterday, our boys have turned four months old. It feels like just yesterday I was watching them in the bassinets in front of me, freshly born, taking their first nap. And now they keep growing strong. To celebrate this little milestone, I am sending you an illustration of them along with this letter. Sir Henry finally had time to complete it, and I hope it brings you joy to see how much they’ve changed since their christening. Freddie’s cheeks have grown even rounder, and Bertie is just getting hair! It’s very light, like a lemon, so I imagine it’ll grow to resemble your hair soon enough.
I hope to hear from you soon. Your letters usually arrive around the end or the beginning of the month, and each one is a treasure I eagerly await. The thought that your words are on their way always warms my heart.
Lady Bridgerton’s Masquerade ball also happened at the end of the last week. It was a grand affair, as you can imagine.
Mama insisted on the four of us wearing the most ridiculous of ideas — she wanted all of us to attend dressed as various fruits! Can you picture it? The absurdity of it all! Needless to say, I refused, though I’m certain she was disappointed. Instead, I attended as Penelope from the Odyssey, which felt rather fitting, considering how much I miss you. I was draped in white and gold and even had a headpiece. Eloise found it amusing that I found an occasion to finally relate my name to its sake.
It’s not so creative, but it is best than to dress up as an overrippen citrus fruit.
Oh other news, the weather is still dreadful. I do not understand what is wrong, and the only people speaking of it probably know less than me.
I imagine the letter I’m receiving soon is your reaction to the boys’ birth and christening and I can’t help feeling a little anxious about it. Nearly all of their godparents are people I grew up surrounded by, in a way. Featheringtons and Bridgertons, along with Mrs Selby and Lady Danbury.
I know they aren’t people you don’t know most of them, but I assure you they are good people. Wonderful friends and members of society. I truly hope you enjoy their friendships as well when you return.
I hope that when we have our third child, you’ll be able to be part of choosing their godparents. After reading your letters about hoping one of our boys was a girl, I’ve been starting to hope we have a daughter next time. I’m certain Freddie and Bertie will be the most protective big brothers. I’ll wait patiently.
Please, take care of yourself and be safe. We are all waiting for you patiently, and we love you dearly.
With all my love,
Penelope.