we dwell with peculiar interest on the little incidents

by threefundamentaltruths

Summary:

Miscellaneous drabbles that go with the bridgerton missing scenes.

Drabble the First: Wherein Colin argues with Cook about his favorite jam.

Drabble the Second: “You want to play?” Colin repeats very slowly, as if his wife’s just announced that she wishes to leave him to go live with her mother again rather than play a simple lawn game.

Drabble the Third: “Did you know,” Michael murmurs to his sister-in-law, “that when Francesca tried to rile me about my impending downfall at the hands of London’s matchmaking mamas and their darling daughters, she thought to pair me off with you?”

Drabble the Fourth: Wherein Penelope enjoys Colin's favorite jam a bit too enthusiastically.

Drabble the Fifth: Wherein a suitor calls upon Mrs. Bridgerton.

Drabble the Sixth: Wherein the suitor's called is explained.

Notes:

Title from a letter from Alexander Hamilton to Angelica Schuyler Church.

It’s my headcanon that Francesca regularly gifts her family Kilmartin raspberry jam and they’re all obsessed with it, but especially Colin (of course).

You can find me on Tumblr at your3fundamentaltruths and on Twitter at your3truths.

Update for any new readers stumbling across this: this was written long before the introduction of Michaela on the show (and is more book-based than show-based) so features Michael.

Chapter 1: for your own good

Summary:

Wherein Colin argues with Cook. Takes place between the last chapter of Romancing Mister Bridgerton and the epilogue.

“Mr. Bridgerton, I am doing this for your own good,” Cook says sternly.

“You’re starving me for my own good?” Colin demands dramatically.

“Mr. Bridgerton, I am doing this for your own good,” Cook says sternly.

 

“You’re starving me for my own good?” Colin demands dramatically.

 

“Starving you, sir?” Cook scoffs. “I know for a fact that I sent a plateful of perfectly good butter biscuits up with your tea not five minutes ago. I expect it is sitting on your desk even now, given how quickly you stormed down here.”

 

“But they don’t have the right jam,” he whines.

 

“Are you saying my jam isn’t good enough, sir?” Cook asks in a dangerously soft voice.

 

“Of course not,” he says, giving her just the sort of smile he’d have directed at an opera singer in his bachelor days. “It’s just that I wanted the Kilmartin raspberry,” he continues meltingly.

 

She shakes her finger at him warningly. “You’re not fooling me.”

 

“But –”

 

“No! And what’s more, you’ll thank me for it in the morning.”

 

“But –”

 

“I am saving it for Mrs. Bridgerton and that’s that,” Cook says firmly, tone brooking no argument.

 

“Aren’t I the one paying you?” he mutters.

 

“Yes,” she replies, ears as sharp as ever, “but are you really such a cur as to deny your wife the one thing she truly wishes to eat right now?”

 

He swears under his breath. “Surely she wouldn’t mind sharing a little – isn’t that what marriage is all about?”

 

“There’s hardly any of the Kilmartin jam left and I assure you that you do not want to know what will happen should there be none left next time Mrs. Bridgeton craves it.”

 

He shudders.

 

“Write to the countess and ask her to send down more,” Cook commands. “Nothing else for it. Until then –” She shrugs. “You will have to make do with mine.”

 

He sighs deeply.

 

“If you stop being so petulant about it, I will send up egg sandwiches,” she promises.

 

“With the –”

 

Cook nods.

 

Excellent. “Well, all right then,” he finally surrenders.

 

It’s times like these he’s reminded how wise he was to have hired someone who worked in his family’s kitchens for years before entering his employment.

 

“Good boy,” Cook praises, not quite suppressing a smile as he walks out of her kitchen.

 

(Yes, her kitchen. He knows better than to think it’s his, for heaven’s sake.)