Thomas
The second installment in my "headcannon of how the future bridgerton's turn out'. This time it's Thomas' turn!
1846
Penelope jerked awake to a loud bang that echoed through the room. Disoriented, she turned to find the side of her bed empty. A low throb of panic shot through her as she struggled to get out of bed. Colin rarely got out of bed in the middle of the night, and judging by the blinding darkness they were hours away from sunrise. And then she remembered, she’d gone to bed early and he’d still been in his study, nursing a glass of scotch mumbling that he’d join her soon.
It was obvious he’d never made it to bed that night. Her panic increased ten fold as she hastily pulled her robe over her, intent on seeking him out. As soon as she was out of their chambers her ears picked up on hushed whispers and an angered shout from Colin. Hurrying, she raced down the stairs and moved towards his study, noticing the faint light of a candle and recognized the second voice that loudly shouted.
“Father!”
Thomas, it was Thomas. And as Penelope inched closer and caught sight of Colin through the small crack in the massive door, she almost gasped out loud. His shoulders tense, his hair in disarray and his face etched in controlled rage, Colin looked nothing like the man she’d known for three decades at this moment. He was angry, and an angry Colin was a rarity indeed.
The first time she remembered seeing him angry was the day of their engagement, and the other, only a few years ago when Agatha, Georgina, Penelope (Eloise’s daughter) and Charlotte had decided to escape from Aubrey Hall and visit the town fair on its outskirts that they had been explicitly forbidden from attending. Despite Aggie and Lottie’s vehement demands and suggestions to have Miles or Charles or god forbid even Edmund chaperone them. Anthony had put his foot down, and that was that. Of course, the girls hadn’t cared one bit for Anthony’s monarchy and ran away in the middle of tea time.
It had taken Anthony, Colin, Benedict and Sir Phillip five hours to find the girls in the massive town fair. That was the last time Penelope had seen Colin this angry - terribly, furiously angry at his first born. When they’d finally arrived back late at night with the girls in tow, Penelope was certain his precious Aggie had taken years off his life with her little escapade. Thankfully, the usually cheeky girl had the sense to simply lower her eyes and nod at her feet in the hour long lecture that followed.
And now, Colin seemed angrier than she’d ever seen before. She couldn’t for the life of her think what Thomas had done to earn such ire. Deciding that interrupting them would do no good, she simply leaned against the heavy wood door and listened in.
Colin shook his head and grunted heavily. He could feel Thomas’ stare on his back as he walked to the fireplace and poured himself another glass of Scotch. He ignored the shocked “Father” from Thomas as he downed the liquid in one go and poured himself another.
At five and fifty Colin rarely had more than one drink a night, he was well aware of the effects it had on him as he got older. Even in his youth he’d rarely over-indulged, that was always Anthony’s style. But today, Thomas had seen him gulp down two large glasses of Kilmartin Scotch, unaware of the two his father had already drank while waiting for Thomas to come home.
“Father, you're being unreasonable.” Thomas scoffed, walking towards him and pouring himself a glass as well. “I was barely out that late, and truly…”
Colin let out an angered huff and moved towards his desk again, standing behind it and ignoring the bewildered look on his son’s face.
Thomas, twenty, was the spitting image of his father. Colin would admit being vain enough to know that in his youth he’d been pleasing to look at, enough women had told him that. Penelope still told him how handsome he was, but he knew she was biased - she’d always been biased when it came to him. And sometimes when the light hit his hair just right, when Thomas said something cheeky and grinned, and his green-eyes sparkled with mirth Penelope would be struck anew, unable to find words for a few seconds, at just how remarkably similar Thomas was to a young Colin.
And Colin knew that was probably one of the reasons she’d let the boy get away with blue murder. But, this, this he couldn’t tolerate.
Even more so because Thomas was so like him.
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