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Assistant: Title: A Timeless Match
        Author: m_luthien m_luthien 
        Chapter: 4/15 
        Summary: The year is 1814 and Anthony Bridgerton declares his plans to marry the diamond of the season. However, his carefully ordered world is thrown into chaos when unexpected visitors from the year 1830 arrive, each with startling knowledge of his life and his supposed destiny. Their mission? To ensure that he marries Penelope Featherington, a match that, according to them, will secure not only his own happiness but the future of his family.At first, Anthony is skeptical—Penelope, his sister’s closest friend (and wasn't she in love with his brother?), is not someone he has ever considered as his bride. But as these time-traveling interlopers reveal glimpses of a happy future, Anthony is forced to confront his own fears and long-held assumptions about marriage and love.*Pen/Anthony HEA - If you do not like this ship, just skip*
            
            Elijah Bridgerton is inexplicably transported to the year 1814 after his mother asks him to seek help as she goes into labor. As Elijah navigates this strange version of the past, he overhears his father, Anthony Bridgerton, announcing plans to marry the "diamond" of the season—a union that Elijah quickly learns will not involve his mother, Penelope.
        Contents: Chapter 4: Time stands still
    

    

        
          
          
            Anthony barely has time to process the disaster at the races before the day takes another unexpected turn.
          
        

      
        
          Our favorite father-son duo is back and there's a surprise waiting for them. Enjoy!
            
            (See the end of the chapter for  more notes.)
            
      
  

  
  
    
    
  
      
  

  
    This was a complete disaster,
  
   Anthony thought, silently berating himself for ever entertaining the notion of meddling, time-traveling sons.

  “Well, that was a disaster,” Elijah said, materializing Anthony’s thoughts and as he strolled up to him after watching Young Penelope hurriedly put distance between herself and Anthony.

  “I don’t want to hear it, especially not from you,” Anthony snapped. “Let’s go home. And the sooner we send you back where you came from, the better.”

  “Are you sure sending me home is a good idea? Because I—”

  “Elijah, stop.” Anthony interjected sharply, his patience hanging by a thread.

  “If you’d just listen to me, I could be a lot more helpful,” Elijah countered.

  Anthony scoffed. “I listened to you! I shaved that ridiculous 
  
    dead raccoon
  
   off my face, didn’t I?”

  Elijah crossed his arms, unfazed. “Mama always says the pages of the book ought to be more interesting than the cover if you want to keep her attention. You should’ve asked her about the horse.”

  Anthony let out a disbelieving laugh. “How was I supposed to know she knew about horses?”

  “By
  
     asking 
  
  her, like I did? Must I spell everything out for you?” Elijah retorted with a dramatic roll of his eyes.

  Anthony rubbed his temples. “I know you think you’re helping, but you’re not,” he said, his voice tinged with defeat.

  Elijah smirked, undeterred. “So… you didn’t like Mama’s hair down?”

  Anthony raised an incredulous brow. “That was on purpose?”

  “Of course it was,” Elijah replied with a cheeky grin.

  Anthony struggled to maintain his stern expression. Her untamed red curls were mesmerizing, cascading like flames in the sunlight. The way the light danced on them made them appear as though they were ablaze, and for a fleeting moment, Anthony thought he wouldn't mind being consumed by that fire.

  He hated to admit it, but it had been an unexpectedly smooth move by his son. And yes, he did like it—a lot—when her hair came down. So much, in fact, that for the first time a rogue thought, one he wasn’t particularly proud of, crossed his mind about whether the drapes matched the carpet.

  Maybe keeping Elijah around a little longer wouldn’t be such a terrible idea after all.
---
  When they arrived home, Elijah dashed off to join Gregory and Hyacinth in their games, leaving Anthony free to retreat to his room. He craved the solace of his bed, the only place where he could properly unravel after the chaotic day. As he strolled down the hallway, relishing the prospect of quiet, a sudden, sharp shout shattered the stillness.

  “Anthony!”

  Alarmed, he quickened his pace, striding toward the source of the voice. He flung open the door to his bedchamber, only to be met with an utterly surreal sight—a heavily pregnant Penelope Featherington perched in the middle of his bed, clearly in the throes of labor.

  Her hands cradled her swollen belly, her breath coming in measured but strained intervals. Her simple white muslin dress clung gently to her frame, and a muted blue silk robe hung loosely over her shoulders. Her long red hair was woven into a side braid, leaving her graceful neck and collarbone exposed. From where he stood, Anthony was struck by her natural beauty—free of the pomp and finery that often adorned her, she appeared achingly human, vulnerable yet radiant.

  He took in her delicate features, appreciating her lines and contours without the distractions of intrinsic gowns or meticulously created hairstyles. The woman in his bed was plain and simple to the untrained naked eye, but to him, an appreciator of the womanly form, she was 
  
    exquisite
  
  —raw, real, and entirely captivating.

  “Why are you just standing there? Help!” Older Penelope barked, her tone firm enough to snap him from his reverie.

  Anthony was almost certain that Penelope had no idea she wasn’t in her reality or that he wasn’t her husband. However, with seven younger siblings under his belt, he had learned one crucial rule: never argue with a woman in labor. Resigned to the situation, he removed his jacket and approached her cautiously.

  As he neared, her eyes fluttered open for the first time, locking onto him.

  “Anthony, is that you?” she asked, her voice laced with confusion, her mind foggy from the exertion of labor.

  Before he could reply, another contraction wracked her body, and she cried out in pain. Instinctively, he wanted to reach for her, to offer some form of comfort, but something held him back. It felt profoundly wrong to touch her without her knowing he was not her husband.

  “I’m going to fetch a doctor,” he announced, trying to keep his voice steady.

  “You’re not going anywhere,” she countered, her tone resolute.

  “I—”

  “I need my husband with me.”

  Anthony hesitated, then finally admitted, “I’m not your husband, Ms. Featherington.” His voice wavered slightly as if the words were difficult to say aloud.

  Penelope’s eyes widened, and for a moment, indignation flashed across her face. Was he attempting to test her patience during such a critical moment? If only she could get out of bed, she might have smacked some sense into him. But then something shifted. A strange chill ran through her, and as she looked into his eyes, the truth crystallized.

  This Anthony was younger—much younger than her husband. Sixteen years younger, to be precise, and the resemblance to the man she married years ago was uncanny. She didn’t have time to make sense of the impossibility before her, though—the baby was coming.

  “It’s 
  
    Lady Bridgerton,
  
  ” she corrected firmly, her tone brooking no argument. “I know you’re not my husband, but right now, you’re the closest thing to him I have. So, you’ll simply have to do.”

  Anthony was stunned by her commanding presence. This strong, determined woman bore some resemblance to the sharp-tongued young lady he had met at the races. It wasn’t so hard to imagine her growing into this formidable figure.

  “I want to help,” he began cautiously, “but I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. You need more help than I can offer.”

  Penelope’s jaw tightened as she fought through another wave of pain. “If I’m here in your chambers, then I assume the younger version of me isn’t married either. Do you really think it’s wise to summon someone from outside to witness me giving birth?” 

  Anthony blinked, taken aback by her clear-headed reasoning. Even in agony, her logic remained sharper than Anthony’s, apparently. “You make a good point,” he oddly admitted. “What do you suggest?”

  
    This was new,
  
   he thought. Anthony was rarely one to solicit advice. Through gritted teeth, she managed, “Call your mother. She’s done this a time or two—or eight.” A faint, pained smile played on her lips, disarming Anthony for a brief moment. “And Mrs. Wilson. She’s loyal and capable. She helped deliver Felicity at Aubrey Hall when the doctor was stranded on a country road and didn’t arrive until three days later.”

  “Felicity?” Anthony echoed, intrigued despite himself.

  “Yes,” Penelope said, her smile softening. “She’s our eldest daughter.”

  Anthony’s brows lifted. “So Eli has an older sister. Poor girl.” He smirked, attempting humor to lighten the tension.

  Penelope’s amusement quickly gave way to alarm. “How do you know about Eli?”

  Anthony hesitated but then replied, “He came looking for help... and found me.”

  ---

  Several moments later, the doors burst open, and Violet Bridgerton swept into the room, Mrs. Wilson following close behind, both ready to assist. Violet froze in astonishment for a brief moment as she took in the sight of Penelope in labor on Anthony’s bed. Setting down the pile of towels she was carrying, she quickly composed herself and moved to Penelope’s side, her maternal instincts taking over.

  “My dear, how are you feeling?” Violet asked gently, her hand brushing against Penelope’s face in a soothing gesture.

  “As well as can be expected,” Penelope replied with a tired but warm smile. “Though I feel much better now that you’re here.”

  “You’re going to be fine,” Violet reassured her with quiet determination.

  Before Penelope could respond, the doors swung open again, and Elijah came charging into the room, his face lighting up as he spotted her.

  “Mama! I missed you!” he exclaimed, throwing his arms around her.

  Penelope winced as pain shot through her, and Anthony appeared a moment later, looking alarmed. “Elijah, I told you to wait outside!” he scolded. “You can’t just storm into the room during childbirth!”

  The room went still as everyone turned to look at Anthony in surprise. Elijah lowered his gaze, embarrassed, but Penelope reached out to lift his chin.

  “I missed you too, my darling boy,” she said softly, her thumb brushing tenderly against his cheek. Turning her gaze to Anthony, she offered a warm smile, knowing that a touch of kindness and appreciation might ease his evident frustration. “Anthony, thank you for looking after Eli.”

  Elijah, however, was quick to interject. “Actually, I’ve been looking after 
  
    him,
  
   Mama. He’s quite helpless without you around.”

  Violet and Mrs. Wilson both stifled their laughter behind their hands. Anthony, for his part, had grown used to Elijah’s cheeky remarks, but hearing them directed at him in front of Penelope was a new experience.

  “Don’t be too hard on him, Eli,” Penelope chided with a knowing smile. “He’s right, though—you know better than to barge in like that. But it does my heart good to see you’re well. I was so worried about you.”

  “I’m glad you’re well too, Mama,” Elijah said earnestly.

  Penelope let out a sharp cry of pain, and Elijah instinctively took a step back.

  “Eli, dear,” Violet said, her tone both firm and kind, “go to the drawing room and wait with Gregory and Hyacinth. We’ll take excellent care of your mother. I promise.”

  Elijah hesitated, clearly reluctant to leave, but he nodded. Anthony stepped forward to guide him out, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

  Just as Anthony closed the door, Mrs. Wilson turned to Violet and announced, “She’s ready.”

  ---

  Anthony stood immoveable, his heart pounding as memories of Hyacinth’s perilous birth surged unbidden to the forefront of his mind. The fear, the helplessness, it was all so vivid. Yet, a quiet resolve gripped him—he needed to stay strong, to rise to this moment as his future self surely would have.

  “Anthony, stay by her side while I help Mrs. Wilson,” Violet instructed gently, her voice a soothing balm to his nerves.

  He nodded and moved to the side of the bed, waiting for some signal from Penelope that she wanted him closer. It wasn’t long before she reached out, gripping his hand with surprising strength as she braced herself to push. He sat beside her without hesitation, silently enduring as she crushed his hand and twisted his arm with every surge of effort.

  Moments later, a piercing cry filled the room. Relief and wonder washed over Anthony as Mrs. Wilson, with Violet’s assistance, wrapped the baby in soft fine linens.

  “It’s a beautiful girl, my lady,” Mrs. Wilson announced warmly, her deliberate use of Penelope’s future title ringing unexpectedly sweet to Anthony’s ears.

  “A girl…” Penelope murmured, her voice trembling with emotion. “Oh, please, let me hold her.”

  As Violet prepared to pass the baby to Penelope, Mrs. Wilson interjected. “Wait—there’s one more coming.”

  “One more?!” Anthony exclaimed, his voice rising an octave in shock. 
  
    Twins?
  
   She was giving birth to twins—
  
    their future
  
   twins, as far as he could tell, right here on his bed. His knees threatened to give out, but sheer pride kept him upright. Fainting twice in one day was simply not an option.

  He sat next to Penelope again and she started pushing one more time, her determination unwavering.. Soon another cry rang out. “This one is a boy, my lord,” Mrs. Wilson announced, her pointed glance at Anthony carrying more weight than he was ready to process.

  Penelope, her face damp with tears, managed a shaky laugh. “It seems you got your spare after all,” she quipped, her voice trembling with both exhaustion and joy as Violet handed her the baby girl first.

  Penelope looked down at her daughter, eyes filled with a warmth that seemed to illuminate the entire room. The tiny girl, swaddled in the softest linens, was even smaller than Felicity had been when she was born. It made sense, given the competition for space in her mother’s womb, but that realization did nothing to lessen the awe Penelope felt.

  Violet, holding the boy now swaddled snugly, approached Penelope again. “Do you think you could manage holding both at once?”

  “I… I can hold him,” Anthony blurted, his voice cracking slightly. He cleared his throat, glancing at Penelope with an uncertain expression. “If that’s alright with you.”

  “That would be alright,” she replied softly, her smile one of trust and quiet gratitude.

  Anthony’s hands trembled slightly as he took the tiny boy from Violet. The weight of the infant was light, yet the significance was overwhelming. For the first time, he allowed himself to feel the enormity of what had just happened. 

  “They are both perfect,” Violet declared with pride. “And you seem remarkably well, my dear.”

  Penelope nodded, her gaze fixed lovingly on her daughter. “Just tired. I can’t believe they’re here. That I’m here.”

  Penelope’s expression shifted as the weight of realization dawned on her. Her eyes grew wide, her hands tightening around her newborn as if holding on to the last thread of a dream. “Oh, I can’t be here. We can’t be here. We need to go back. Anthony must be losing his mind that we are not home, and—”

  “Breathe, calm down,” Anthony said, his voice low and steady, almost a whisper. He moved closer to her, leaning in with an attempt to anchor her to the present. “You just gave birth. I’m sure I… well, 
  
    your 
  
  Anthony can wait a little longer.”

  Penelope shot him a look, sharp and determined, “How long could you wait if you got home and your very expectant wife and only son were nowhere to be found?”

  Anthony blinked, caught off guard by her logic 
  
    yet again
  
  . She had a point, a very good one. The thought of his future self pacing the halls, eyes frantic and heart hammering as he realized Penelope and their children were missing, made Anthony’s chest tighten. 

  Of course, he would be worried. But the idea of letting them go now—of parting from Penelope and the new lives that had just entered his world, 
  
    hell,
  
   even Elijah—felt like a weight too heavy to bear.

  He didn’t want them to leave. 
  
    Not yet.
  

  He looked down at the tiny, swaddled boy in his arms and then at Penelope, who was cradling the girl close to her heart, her face a mix of exhaustion and disbelief. There was a moment, fleeting and fragile, where he almost wished for time to pause. For them to remain like this, in this shared space of warmth and wonder, just a little longer.
 
  
  

    
      
        
        
          *Timeline check-in: Elijah arrived in the future mid morning, the races were in the afternoon. So yes, when they came back home Penelope is still in labor but closer to delivery. (I was in labor for 30 hours my first pregnancy 😪)*Anthony before love was very rough around the edges, give him a bit of grace. He will get his act together.*Those who read my Christmas story "A Family for Christmas" were probably not as surprised with the twins arrival 😊'
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