Colin Bridgerton stood before the great mirror in his brother's drawing room, a subtle but triumphant smile curling the edges of his lips. It was not the smile of the boy he once had been, full of mischief and adventure, but the refined, knowing smile of a man returned from far-off lands, weathered by experience yet made all the more charming by the glimmer of wit in his eyes. He adjusted his collar with a practiced hand, the linen crisp against his sun-kissed skin, and observed—most attentively, of course—how the contours of his face had matured into something he rather thought would make any painter swoon.

"Well," he mused aloud, running a finger thoughtfully over the golden clasp of his waistcoat, "I suppose there's not much left of the boy who left these shores, is there?"

Indeed, Colin had come back from his travels feeling as if the very earth had shifted beneath him, reshaping his soul into a form altogether unfamiliar but delightfully superior. His eyes sparkled as he considered how the women of the ton now gazed upon him—no longer as the mischievous young Bridgerton but as something far grander. It was a marvel, really, how a few months of adventure, dashed with a smattering of danger and the exotic, had made him into the object of every whispered conversation at soirées. "There he is," they would murmur behind their fans, cheeks flushed and eyes wide. "The very picture of a man who has seen things."

Colin chuckled to himself, the sound light as air, though it did not quite reach his brother Anthony, who sat by the window with the solemnity of one who had never forgotten the weight of responsibility placed upon his shoulders. Anthony had been watching Colin's preening with the patience one reserves for children, though his expression remained decidedly unreadable. Anthony, Viscount Bridgerton, the dutiful head of the family, and a man married to the ever-lovely Kate, was not one for idle fancies—at least, not anymore. His eyes, steady as stone, followed Colin with something between amusement and the same kind of disapproval one might offer a cat who has just upset a vase.

"I trust your reflection has offered you all the praise you need," Anthony said, his voice a mix of dry humor and fraternal authority.

Colin turned from the mirror, his smile widening as he clasped his hands behind his back. "Oh, but it has," he said, striding across the room as if the very floor beneath him had grown used to his elegant gait. "And I must say, Anthony, that I feel as though I am an entirely new man. Travel has a way of—well—elevating the soul, if you understand my meaning."

Anthony did not rise from his chair, though the faint arch of his brow conveyed all the response necessary. "I'm sure the elevation of your soul is precisely what occupies the minds of all the ladies fawning over you."

Colin grinned, ignoring the jab. "It's not my fault that I am admired. Nor is it a crime to accept admiration when it is so freely given. But really, Anthony, do lighten up. Not everything must be so serious all the time. Just because you've got the whole of the Bridgerton legacy resting on your shoulders doesn't mean you can't enjoy a little flattery now and again."

At this, Anthony rose from his seat, the slow and deliberate motion of a man far too accustomed to keeping his temper in check. His eyes, so dark and sharp they might as well have been forged in iron, locked onto Colin with the kind of intensity that only a brother could properly appreciate. "Perhaps you've forgotten, Colin," Anthony said, his tone clipped and precise, "that the duties of this family don't stop simply because you've returned with a tan and a tale or two to tell at dinner parties."

Colin's grin faltered for a fraction of a second, but only just. He was not one to let Anthony's heavy-handed responsibilities cast a shadow on his newly acquired glow. After all, was it not a brother's duty to remind the other of the joys of life beyond their ancestral walls? He placed a hand over his heart in mock solemnity.

"Dear Anthony," Colin began, his voice lilting with dramatic flair, "you wound me. It seems you've forgotten that I've returned with far more than a tan and a few stories. I bring with me the knowledge of far-off places, of lands and seas you can only dream of." His eyes gleamed, as if the adventures he hinted at were still fresh in his mind. "The colors of the sunsets in Greece, the streets of Constantinople, the vineyards of Italy... Oh, you have no idea the wonders I've seen."

Anthony folded his arms, the picture of unimpressed authority. "And have any of these wonders taught you the importance of being reliable? Or are we still indulging in grand tales to cover the fact that you've been drifting aimlessly?"

Colin's eyes flashed, though he kept his tone light, almost teasing. "Drifting aimlessly? Hardly. I've been gathering experience, wisdom, charm—skills that, I daresay, are just as valuable as your ledgers and estate matters. Not everyone's purpose in life is to wear the mantle of Viscount, Anthony."

Anthony stepped closer, the measured pace of a man whose patience was running thin, but not quite broken. "And yet, here you are. Back under the roof you left behind without so much as a thought, still living under the shadow of a family name you benefit from but seem unwilling to contribute to."

Colin's heart thumped a little harder in his chest, not because of Anthony's words—he had grown used to the weight of his brother's judgment—but because of the unmistakable truth nestled within them. His travels had indeed been a grand escape, but returning home had pulled him back into the world he had tried to outrun. A world where he was not just Colin, the adventurer, but Colin Bridgerton, the third son of a powerful family with expectations pressing down on him.

But even so, Colin had changed. He could feel it, a new strength simmering beneath his charming exterior. The women of the ton, their eyes wide with admiration whenever he entered a room, knew it. The faint murmur of his name at every gathering was a testament to it. He was no longer the boy who had left in search of something he could not name. He was a man now, and it was time his family recognized it.

Taking a breath, Colin straightened his posture, his voice steady but still laced with his trademark wit. "Perhaps," he said, "I've contributed more than you realize. Or perhaps, brother, you've forgotten how to enjoy life outside the weight of your duties."

Anthony's expression didn't change, though there was something flickering behind his eyes—something that Colin, ever the observant one, did not miss. "Being head of this family isn't about enjoyment, Colin," Anthony said, his voice low, firm. "It's about ensuring that everything stays in order. That our name remains respected, that our responsibilities are fulfilled. While you've been off gallivanting through Europe, I've been doing exactly that."

"And a fine job you've done," Colin replied quickly, though his tone remained light. "I wouldn't dream of undermining your position as the family's pillar of strength and sensibility. But surely even you must see that there's more to life than maintaining order."

Anthony's jaw tightened, and for a moment, the air between them seemed to still. The weight of unspoken thoughts—of frustrations long buried—hung heavily in the space. Colin could feel it. The growing tension that had always existed between them, simmering beneath the surface of brotherly affection, now threatening to boil over.

Before Anthony could respond, the door to the drawing room creaked open, and a familiar voice drifted in—soft, measured, and full of the grace befitting her position.

"Am I interrupting, or is this yet another of your famous sibling quarrels?"

It was Kate, of course, stepping into the room with her usual air of calm confidence, her eyes flicking between the two brothers with the slightest hint of amusement. She had long since learned to manage the Bridgerton men, particularly her husband, whose temper could run hot when it came to matters of family duty.

Colin, ever the charmer, immediately broke into a grin. "Kate! Your timing is impeccable as always."

Kate smiled warmly, though her attention was fixed on Anthony, her gaze softening ever so slightly. "What's happened now?" she asked, her voice light, though she clearly sensed the underlying tension.

"Nothing of consequence," Anthony said, though the sharpness in his tone betrayed him. "Just reminding Colin of his place in this family."

"Ah, yes," Kate said, her eyes twinkling with just a hint of mischief. "That old argument."

Colin's grin broadened as he made a flourishing gesture toward Kate. "You see, Kate, Anthony insists on keeping things so terribly dull. But perhaps you might remind him that life isn't all estate matters and formal dinners."

Kate tilted her head, regarding Colin with the same fondness one might reserve for a mischievous child. "Oh, Colin, you know I would never take sides between you two. Besides, I'm sure Anthony has his reasons."

Anthony gave a small, approving nod, though his shoulders had visibly relaxed with Kate's presence. She had always had a way of grounding him, of softening the edges of his constant vigilance.

Colin, however, was not one to be deterred. He clapped his hands together, the sound echoing in the room with the same infectious energy that had once spurred his siblings into countless adventures. "Reasons, yes, of course. I'm sure they're terribly practical, as always. But what of passion, Kate? What of excitement? Why, just the other night at Lady Danbury's ball, I found myself surrounded by no fewer than six—six, mind you—ladies all vying for my attention!"

Kate raised an eyebrow, half in amusement, half in mild disbelief. "Six, you say?"

"Six," Colin repeated with a dramatic flourish, clearly relishing in his tale. "All of them, I assure you, were quite taken with me. It was rather overwhelming, if I'm honest. But I managed, as I always do, with grace and poise."

Anthony's lips tightened, though it was clear he was making a valiant effort to remain composed. "And this is what you call a contribution to the family name? Being the subject of gossip at every gathering?"

Colin turned to his brother, undeterred by the scolding tone. "Gossip? No, no, Anthony, you misunderstand. It's not just idle chatter. It's admiration. People are talking about the Bridgerton name because of me, because of how I've transformed since my travels. Why, just the other day, someone referred to me as the 'most eligible bachelor' in all of London."

Anthony, his patience now visibly fraying, took a slow step toward Colin, his gaze darkening. "And what good is that to this family, Colin? What good are fawning ladies if they don't bring stability to the Bridgerton name? You think your charm and stories are enough to maintain the responsibilities we have?"

Kate, sensing the impending storm, stepped between them, her expression gently exasperated. "All right, enough of this. You're both far too stubborn to see each other's side at the moment. Colin, you've just returned—give yourself time to settle in before flaunting your newfound popularity all over town. And Anthony," she added, turning to her husband with a knowing smile, "try to remember that not everything has to be about duty. Colin's right, in a way. A little excitement won't bring the Bridgerton name crumbling down."

Anthony's expression softened slightly, though his stern gaze remained fixed on Colin. "I understand that, Kate, but it's not excitement that I'm worried about. It's—"

But he stopped himself. Colin could see the battle raging in his brother's eyes, the constant push and pull between his role as Viscount and the brother who, once upon a time, had joined in the adventures and mischief with the rest of them. Anthony's role had changed, of course, but there were moments, however fleeting, when Colin could see glimpses of the old Anthony—the one who had been less weighed down by the burden of expectation.

Colin sighed, his bravado ebbing away as the tension in the room shifted. "Look, Anthony, I didn't come back just to be a nuisance. I know I've been gone for a while—maybe too long—but I'm back now. I'm trying to figure out what my place is in all of this."

For a moment, Anthony said nothing, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied Colin. Then, with a weary sigh, he stepped back, his stance relaxing. "Your place, Colin, has always been here," he said, his tone softer, more measured. "But being part of this family means more than just charming the ton. It means understanding what's at stake, what we're trying to build."

Colin nodded, his expression more serious than it had been since the beginning of their conversation. "I understand that. I do. And I'm ready to contribute in my own way."

Anthony looked at his younger brother for a long moment, the silence between them filled with unspoken words. Finally, he gave a small nod, as though accepting a truce—for now.

"Well," Kate said with a bright smile, clearly relieved that the worst of the argument had passed, "now that's settled, how about we all go and have some tea before this becomes even more dramatic than it already is?"

Colin grinned, his usual lightness returning. "Ah, tea. The solution to all of life's problems."

Anthony gave a small shake of his head, though there was the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Let's hope so," he muttered.

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Colin's lips quirked into a faint smile. "You sound like you've aged a hundred years in the last few minutes."

Anthony chuckled, a low, warm sound that seemed to lighten the mood in the room. "Sometimes it feels that way."

The moment lingered between them, the quiet, unspoken bond of brothers who had long since learned to navigate the weight of their shared history. There were still things left unsaid, of course, things that neither of them were quite ready to confront. But for now, there was a sense of peace, however fleeting, that settled over them.

Colin, ever the one to break a serious moment with levity, cleared his throat and straightened in his chair. "Well, if that's settled, perhaps we can turn our attention to more important matters. Like breakfast. I don't know about you, but all this talk of responsibility has left me absolutely famished."