CHAPTER THREE.
a visit to the countess.

.·:·.⟐.·:·.

1806.

     "SO, IF I'M UNDERSTANDING THIS CORRECTLY..." Winifred massages her temple tiredly, "you have been in contact with this man for over a year?"

     "More or less, yes," Madeline replies curtly.

     "And that man just so happens to be the future Earl of Colchester?"

     "Yes..."

     "And he's the one who gave you that pianoforte?"

     Slightly dreamily, Madeline smiles to herself, "Well, I can't think of who else it could have been..."

     "Oh, you are in big trouble..." Winifred warns her, in a slightly foreboding tone, which might take on more meaning if they weren't sat gossiping in their nightgowns. The two sisters have to speak in hushed whispers in the room that they share, in the middle of the night when they should be asleep.

     The floodgates were opened earlier this week, when an anonymous gift was sent to Heyworth House — an incredibly expensive pianoforte. It didn't take a genius to conclude that the gift was for Madeline, based on the fact that she had always been a maestro at playing the instrument, let alone the emotional reaction which she failed to mask. The mystery has been weighing on the Seymours for the rest of the week since then. But tonight, when they were in their nightgowns and their hair was braided for bed, Madeline decided to tell Winifred the truth, deeming her the most trustworthy to keep her secret and advise her. Being seen in such a way by her older sister did make her feel fleetingly good... although, now she knows the truth, Winifred wishes she had never asked.

     Because, as it turned out, the pianoforte had been sent by the Earl of Colchester's son, Silas Osborne — young, wealthy, globe-trotting, and most of all, a first-class rake. Everyone vaguely aware of society knew it, and he made no efforts to hide it. And yet, according to Madeline, their correspondence over the last year paints them as some kind of star-crossed lovers.

     "So... hang on– when did you even meet him?" Winifred grapples to understand the revelation.

     "When Mama took me to Bath, last summer," Madeline tells her. "He had just returned from his travels in Europe, and we just met by chance on multiple occasions during my stay. But we spoke a little bit, tried to know one another better, and there was really something there. Unfortunately, I had to go home before anything more could become of it... until—"

     "Wait, is that– don't tell me that's why you asked to go to London for the summer?!"

     All her sister can do is nod. There is a strange look in her eyes, and a breathlessness in her voice like Winifred has never seen before. Madeline looks so... alive. Winifred is baffled. This future earl must truly be making her happy — not that it makes her any less sceptical, of course. And a love match, no less! She will have to see it before she believes it.

     "Winifred, you have to understand... it's different for me," Madeline confesses, her emotions tightly-packed like they might explode at any moment. "I have to set an example for you all. At least, that's what I was always told. But I'm... I'm not sure that I have it in me. I should be more responsible, more of a leader, but instead I'm... this. If you were the oldest, you would be a shining beacon of example—"

     "Oh, you know that's not true—"

     "Alright, maybe I'm wrong!" Suddenly something flickers in Madeline's eyes; a doting mischief, which spreads to her lips in a teasing smile. "... Though perhaps you are right. I know there is a particular person you've been unable to tear yourself away from since he arrived in Hertfordshire."

     "I don't know what you're talking about," Winifred says quickly, hugging her knees to her chest and blushing. "There is nothing between Joseph and I."

     "Did I mention a name?"

     Madeline tilts her head at her sister, as if she's fooling no-one — she can't even use his first name in private without her insides feeling like a cage of butterflies. "I saw you two tonight, at the ball. And I'm telling you, sister, the way that boy was looking at you... I think many young girls our age would be fortunate if they could ever be looked at in that way."

     She is transported back to the town hall of a few hours earlier. Winifred remembers Joseph asking her to dance and, feeling lightheaded, she recalls saying yes. Then when they were there, it was magnetic. Their hands touched for the first time... his hands were softer to the touch than she expected, slightly pink around the knuckles against his pale complexion in the heated room. They were trembling slightly. At first, Winifred thought he wanted to get away from her, but as they danced, neither of them could take their eyes off the other. It was surreal — as though the room dissolved around them, and they were not buried in a crowd of other couples, but it was just them in an empty hall, dancing by themselves.

     Whatever the feeling was — the one where her heart leapt out of her chest, and after the nerves settled, she felt herself beaming from ear-to-ear — Winifred was quite certain, deep down, that it was reserved just for Joseph Erstwhile.

     Having watched her sister get lost in the memory, which is unlike her, Madeline smiles knowingly at her. "Then you see, don't you, Winifred? How it hurts to love someone from afar."

.·:·.⟐.·:·.

     THE winter had been longer than ever, but nevertheless, Winifred had endured it. As the ice outside has started to thaw, so has the fog that has been surrounding her mind since Joseph was gone. The new year brought a sense of restlessness to her — she realised just how much she wanted to be occupying herself with something. If this was to be her life now, she couldn't just sit around, could she?

It was timely, too, since she was now considered to be in half-mourning.

Winifred has always found the term strange. How can you only mourn someone by half? There is one aspect of it that she clings onto, which is the expectation that the widow no longer has to dress just in black — while still remaining somewhat modest, she could move onto certain lighter (but still somber) colours such as grey, violet, lavender, mauve or brown. Less garish jewellery could also be worn, although Winifred hardly wore any even before mourning.

Usually dressed in grey with a black shawl, not completely abandoning the colour she has become accustomed to, Winifred busies herself in various ways. Some of the errands are more straightforward — picking herbs from the garden, writing to family and friends more often — while others are more complex, and require the clearer mindset she has now. There are the finances to keep on top of after Joseph's death. Even if only by a small margin, being a widow gives Winifred a smidge more power in legal terms, although most of that power comes from good planning before she got married. Joseph left her nearly everything he had, along with his military commission and her own jointure. Still, she had no choice but to let go Joseph's old valet, who no longer had a man to serve... it only made his death feel more permanent.

All of it does bring up the age-old question she has been asking herself: What now? And this time, in a much more practical sense. She was raised to meet a respectable gentleman she could marry, and who would look after her in turn. No one worked on the assumption that he would die first — even if it was considered when heading into the marriage, since Joseph was a soldier, and being a soldier's wife was surely one that brought more uncertainty to what should be stability.

One morning in March, whilst Winifred is outside with Ellen picking herbs in the garden, the butler arrives with two letters in hand. "Letters for you, m'am," he says.

"Thank you," Winifred nods gratefully to him, as he turns and walks away. She swaps the bunch of thyme in her hands for the letters, already tucking into each letter. Reading the first one, she chuckles with a shake of her head.

"What is it, m'am?" Ellen asks curiously.

"It would seem Lettie is taking Bath by storm," she replies. "She is going to more balls and soirées in a mere few months, than I could handle in a single year."

Lettie describes Bath to her vividly — the pristine, neat layout of the classical city, the healing of 'taking the waters' which has benefitted the old dowager's health so very much. Then there are the balls in the elegant assembly rooms, sometimes attractive droves of thousands in the upper classes, where they dance and drink until the early morning.

Winifred turns the other letter in her hand, recognising the handwriting before she does the familiar seal. She unfolds Madeline's letter whilst she and Ellen walk back to the house, baskets full of rosemary, thyme and sage. Then she reads it twice over, taking in every word.

"Is your sister well, m'am?" asks Ellen again, pulling her cloak closer around her.

Winifred nods. "She's invited me to come and visit... says there's something important she wants to tell me."

At this, her maid seems intrigued, but tries not to appear too eager either. "Did she say what it was– er, m'am?"

"No..." Winifred frowns. She has never been a big fan of mysteries. If people just said what they meant, the world would be much easier to navigate, she thinks. But any scepticism is overridden by the fact that she has been missing Madeline — it must be coming up to a year since they last saw one another.

     Mysteries aside, what harm could a visit do?

.·:·.⟐.·:·.

     MADELINE, as a child, always daydreamed of a fairytale happy ending; Winifred remembers that quite clearly. Her older sister always led with her heart and let her mind follow quietly behind. As she got older, she seemed to have learned to balance the two a bit better, but she still got what she wanted. She married her 'prince charming', Silas Osborne — the Earl of Colchester — and in turn, became his countess...

     So it is no wonder that the Osbornes' home is such an eye-sore. It does not matter how many times Winifred visits their country home in Essex, her head still spins whenever Denham Hall is in sight over the horizon: towering marble pillars, the regal east and west wings that stretch out from either side, the immaculately-trimmed hedge gardens. The most magnificent feature is surely the giant rotunda in the heart of the building, its dome roof glistening under the sunlight.

There is a butler to greet Winifred when she leaves the carriage, one of the footmen rushing to help her out. She steps onto the path and smooths down her grey pelisse.

"Mrs. Erstwhile," the butler greets her.

"Good-afternoon, Hargreeves," says Winifred, and the butler seems delighted that she remembered his name. "Is my sister here?"

"The countess is practicing her pianoforte at the moment, but I am quite sure it was to occupy herself whilst waiting for you. This way, please, Mrs. Erstwhile."

Trailing behind the butler, Winifred walks up the steps into the grandeur of Denham Hall. Immediately inside are more giant pillars, with ornate patterns on the floor and lavish mezzanines that border the giant paintings hung in the foyer. The biggest, most central painting is that of the Earl and Countess of Colchester themselves, commissioned for their engagement — Madeline seated in a pale pink gown with her hands folded on her lap, her skin like fine porcelain in the oil paint, while Silas stands next to the chair with one hand on the arm, broad-shouldered with sharply drawn features. The two of them are so much more alive in person.

     Winifred remembers that she and Joseph also had a painting of themselves when they were engaged, although it was much more relaxed — there was a pastoral background, and even in their neutral expressions, you could see their happiness as she held onto his hand.

Then again, she thinks to herself, marrying him didn't come with all the extra pressures of this life.

     Even as they walk through the corridors, lined with bookshelves and small alcoves with statues inside, Winifred wouldn't trade the way she has been living for this grandeur. She isn't sure what Madeline makes of it all, either.

     The closer they get to the drawing room, the clearer the melodies from the pianoforte become. They are like a beacon of warmth through the sometimes impersonal corridors of this giant home. Around her, the staff are buzzing back and forth like bees in a hive, much more plentiful than Winifred's own small handful, and much busier. The butler finally opens the door to the drawing room, revealing Madeline sat at her pianoforte — her fingers dance imaginatively across the keys, with the ease and joy they always have, her deep-set brown eyes relaxed. She isn't concentrating, it is more like being carried off in a daydream.

     The butler waits for her to finish, then clears his throat. "Mrs. Erstwhile to see you, my lady."

Madeline turns so abruptly on her piano stool, Winifred thought she would fall off. The grins that spread across both of their faces upon seeing each other is instant — only the younger sister's is slightly more hesitant, suspicious of what this visit is about exactly. She barely utters a thank you to the butler before flying across the room to embrace her tightly.

"Oh, Winifred..." she whispers into her shoulder. "It's been so long."

"Far too long," Winifred agrees, her hand rubbing Madeline's back.

Her connection with her older sister has always been different to the one with her two younger ones. Perhaps due to their ages, the four of them seemed to split off into pairs, which they mostly stuck with if they were all together — Madeline and Winifred were the eldest, and also happened to be more quiet and thoughtful, while Abigail and Jemima were younger and somehow shared in common an energetic spirit.

"Right, now before I get carried away, you've been on a long journey," Madeline steps back, still holding her sister's hands in hers. "Would you like anything? Tea? Or perhaps something to eat? Dinner will be a while yet."

"Just some tea might be nice, thank you... what were you playing? I don't recognise it."

Stroking the piano, she sheepishly adds, "I suppose I've been working on something more original."

"You have? It sounds brilliant, I wouldn't have been able to tell!"

"Perhaps you should bring your violin next time, and we can duet together... you know, just like we used to do. Have you played recently?"

"No, I haven't..." Winifred suddenly remembers. It's strange, how she seems to slowly be re-discovering the things she used to love after the mist of grief that has been consuming her. Not that it has disappeared, by any means, but she is slowly starting to see things clearer. Playing the violin was one of these passions — she and Madeline, on the piano, used to play together to guests when they were growing up. They did not always agree on things, but when they did that, they were in complete harmony.

Soon, they are sat next to the fireplace together, sharing a pot of tea and catching up on each other's lives. More Madeline's life, since Winifred has little to say about the months that have recently passed, but she happily listens to the latest stories about the children.

"Aunt Winifred!"

A little boy with a sleek mop of inky hair comes rushing in, straight towards Winifred. She immediately shifts around in her seat and turns all of her attention to him. "What's this? No, no, you cannot possibly be Adrian," she shakes her head decisively. "My nephew is only this tall—"

"It's me, Aunt Winifred!" Adrian insists with a giggle.

"Come here, you..." She holds out her arms, and he wraps his smaller ones around her. It is like an instant cure to any bad mood she could have been in. When she pulls back, she can hardly believe how much he has grown. "How old are you now, Adrian?"

"I turned six last week."

"Six?!"

She exclaims, and he beams at her, but Winifred is also startled by how much he is growing. Without any children herself, her nieces and nephews are the closest thing she has to watch over. Just seeing him walk and talk like this bewilders her. It feels like only yesterday he could merely lie on his back, and she and Joseph were taking it in turns to hold him—

Just like that, it hits her all again. She suddenly feels a chill.

"Oh, they're all coming now..." Madeline chuckles.

Surely enough, her daughter, Camille — four years-old and with curly, light brown hair — comes galloping into the room. She tugs lovingly on Winifred's dress and coaxes her into a hug. Then finally, following suit in stomping steps with his nanny in tow, the two year-old Lucian makes his way over to his aunt. Afterwards, Winifred sits back and watches how Madeline interacts with them, completely in tune with their needs and listening to their every word.

"Mama, can I show Auntie Winny-fred my new– my new dollies? Please, please, please?" Camille kicks her legs eagerly over the sofa, toppling into her mother's ribs.

"Maybe later, darling," Madeline tells her as she props her upright once more. "Your aunt is rather tired right now."

"Can you show me after dinner?" Winifred asks her niece.

"Awh... alright, then."

Camille hops off the seat, Adrian following in tow while the nanny takes back Lucian once more. Staring after Camille in particular, Winifred chuckles: "She's going to quite a handful when she is older."

Madeline smiles. "She isn't too bad, actually. She can behave rather well when we are out and about. It's Lucian who seems like the real rebel... you'll understand what I mean during dinner. Although with Camille, I suppose it's different, as the daughter. Sometimes when I am in London, I find myself comparing all the mothers and their daughters to us... which reminds me—"

"Afternoon!" comes the booming voice of Silas Osborne, enthusiastic and charismatic as always. His riding boots click loudly against the floor as he walks into the room, a top hat balanced on his hip. When she first met him, Winifred cannot say they hit it off immediately — in fact, most of the Seymours and Osbornes were equally opposed to the match. But clearly, love conquered all. Their relationship has improved significantly over the years since they've been married, Winifred now considering the earl much more of a friend.

     Silas bends down and gives his wife a 'Hello' kiss. Once he sees Winifred, he stops in his tracks, bowing his head slightly. "It's good to see you, Winifred, how are you?"

     "I'm... doing better, thank you, Silas," she replies, slightly strained; Madeline seems to notices and flinches sadly at her reaction.

     "Good, good," Silas apparently doesn't notice, squeezing his wife's shoulder. "Well, I'm sorry I cannot stay for longer, but I have some business to attend to. I shall see you both at dinner?"

     "Can't you stay for just a minute?" Madeline asks.

     "Afraid not. Later, my sweet."

     With a kiss on the top of her hand, Silas advances down the hallway again, leaving his wife to let out a slightly dejected sigh on the chaise. Noting this, Winifred studies her suspiciously. "Everything alright?"

     "Yes, it's just that we don't have as much time together anymore... there have been a lot of family affairs to sort out on his side, as of late."

     "Ah..."

     Winifred figures she should not try and unpack all of that, so a silence falls between them. She finds it a perfect opportunity to ask the question that has been bugging her. "Mad, why am I here? Other than to catch up on all we've missed out on? You mentioned something in your letter... something you wished to tell me...

     A flicker of recognition shoots through Madeline's eyes, setting down her teacup and saucer with a loud clatter. "Oh, yes! That... well, I don't think we will get much peace and quiet in here, and the weather is not too chilly, so why don't we take a turn about the gardens while we talk?"

     No complaints there, Winifred thinks, sure that her sister knows about her fondness for the fresh air. So they head out into the stunning gardens of Denham Hall — immaculately trimmed hedges, trickling fountains with water lilies floating on the surface, stone sculptures of angels gathering moss. The flower beds are filled with fuchsias and chrysanthemums, the buds of everything ready to burst on the cusp of spring. Madeline is friendly with all of the gardeners, greeting them a good afternoon and commenting on their good work.

     "It'll be a shame that I shall miss most of the flowering this spring," Madeline remarks casually, her arm linked through Winifred's. "We will be heading to London in a couple of weeks."

     Winifred blinks at her. "Is this your subtle segue into the conversation we're about to have?"

     "If you would let me tell you in my own time!"

     "Alright, go on, then."

     With an impatient sigh, Madeline rushes to the point. "Do you have any plans this spring?"

     "That is still a rather broad question, Mad," Winifred points out.

     "For instance, easing yourself back into social activities? And I'm not just talking about visiting me, or going back home..." Ah. Now that question is more open-ended. Madeline seems to sense this, because she tries to ease the question a little bit. "I know that you hate interference in your routine, which I do not doubt that you have now, but... I just... I worry about you. In that house, all alone. And I know you, Winifred, and historically you tend to suffer in silence."

     "I'm not suffering," is her knee-jerk reaction. "I am very well occupied. I have my staff, the gardens I can attend to, I can go for walks around the village..."

     However, now that she says it out loud, Winifred cannot ignore her restlessness anymore. She is grasping for something to properly occupy herself with. Otherwise, she just sits around and her thoughts catch up with her — she has done enough of that for now.

     Sensing that she has softened, Madeline carefully returns to the subject. "Do you remember that we have a house in Grosvenor Square? Like I told you, we will be leaving for London very soon, just in time for when the social season begins there. However, we will not be going alone... I thought we could bring Abigail and Jemima along, so that they could experience the benefits of the marriage mart there."

     Before she goes any further, she notices the cynical glare she gets from Winifred.

     "Now before you give me that look," says Madeline, "let me explain my idea in its entirety. You know Mama is very insistent on them finding a husband as soon as possible, one who will look after them and provide for them. There are plenty of eligible bachelors in the ton who would be more than suitable for them. Not that it should matter, but think if they could have a comfortable life, and even titles!"

     "I can bet that half of those men are too busy indulging in their obscene pocket money, titles and land, to even be concerned about providing for a wife," Winifred counters suspiciously.

     Her sister shakes her head. "Now, sister, not all of them are rakes. Even Silas was quite... erm, active, when I first met him. And even if they are, that does not rule them out as bad matches. I know plenty of good families in that circle. Take the Bridgertons, for instance! From what I have known of them, they have been raised with the right values in mind when looking for a match."

     "Alright... then what about money?"

     "Silas and I will be sponsoring them for every ball, soirée, you name it. We have more than enough funds for it. He has also given his word, he is more than happy to help and chaperone when he can."

     Winifred has to admit, the more Madeline speaks of the idea, the more well thought-out it sounds. If their sisters could meet someone suitable in that world, there stood a very good chance that it would look after them very well for the rest of their lives. Madeline's life now is a shining beacon of example. While none of the sisters have ever been wholly keen on their mother's match-making attempts... this could be one way to at least make the most of it.

     "It sounds... doable."

     "But?"

     "Where do I come into this?" Winifred asks sceptically. She feels like her sister is leaving out a crucial bit of information...

     And she is right. Madeline swallows thickly. "Right. Well, obviously Mama and I can act as chaperones, but she cannot stay in London all the time. Silas is often occupied with his business. And you know Papa cannot travel so far at the moment, with his knees and whatnot. Therefore..." she trails off, gesturing pointedly to her sister with a hopeful smile. 

     It takes a few seconds for the penny to drop. When it finally does, Winifred draws back from her sister's arm slightly. She wants her to be chaperone to her sisters.

     "Me? You want me to come to London with you?"

     "Yes!" Madeline cheers.

     "No. Absolutely not."

     Just as quickly as her sister's joy came about, it drains away. "Oh, but consider the possibilities! Our sisters will need all the support they can get — and you, dear Winifred, are the most sensible person I know. You, more than any of us, would know exactly what sort of match our sisters deserve."

     "Pfft—"

     "I also believe it could benefit you. This could be good for you, trying something new and going someplace different for a while, to get away from things. Refresh your mind. Broaden your horizons." Madeline, staring at her, adds: "If nothing else... I miss you."

     "Well, that really sold the point..." she mumbles under her breath.

     "Winifred, please just consider it. You do not have to accept, but can you at least think about it?"

     "I don't know..." Winifred shakes her head stubbornly. This all seems like quite a stretch. What use would she be? Although, perhaps it would give her something to do. If it helps her sisters, then it certainly is productive. And the last thing Winifred would want is for either of them to end up in a bad match — she knows what the right match can do for a person, and she would wish that for anyone.

     Besides, she thinks, if Madeline had it her way, there would be little to no pragmatics involved.

     Looking back at her sister's pleading look, she can hardly deny her entirely.

     "... I'll think about it," Winifred finally settles for.

     "Very well then." Beaming, Madeline links arms with her again, as they keep strolling through the gardens.

     Noticing how upbeat her sister is, she reminds her: "I haven't agreed to it, you know."

     "I know... not yet, anyway."

.·:·.⟐.·:·.

A U T H O R ' S
N O T E

—

Dearest readers...

Surprise! Another chapter came sooner rather than later, I don't know what came over me. I must admit, I'm getting rather impatient with myself, I just want to write more scenes with the Bridgertons, but until then there has just been a necessity to introduce Winifred and the side characters a bit. Now, I am pleased to tell you that in the next chapter, we are AT LAST meeting the Bridgerton family and getting into the plot of season 2!

This chapter felt short but sweet, but I wanted to make sure Madeline got a bit of her own spotlight. She has only appeared in flashbacks or being mentioned by other characters until now, but Madeline is essentially Winifred's initial connection to the ton. She can shed some light on that world and has connections (and of course, there is Silas too, who is also important in that sense).

Anyway, some exciting news from today which spurred me to publish this chapter early: THE RELEASE DATE(S) FOR SEASON 3!!! Part One on May 16th, and Part Two on June 13th. I have mixed feelings. Honestly, I hoped it would've been a bit sooner, like Valentine's Day (the vibes would've been perfect) but I am also excited for this summer to be the summer of Polin. I. Am. So. Ready. Hoping to get Act One more or less finished by the time season 3 premieres, so it can help me during the wait until then... EEEK!!!

As always, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Please leave a comment and feedback if you have the time, it's very appreciated.

Yours truly,
— starryeyedturtle

PUBLISHED: 12/12/2023