Chapter Text
Newport
The house in Newport was too quiet. The quiet should have been appropriate, now that the season was over, but with Mrs. Russell still in residence two weeks after the ball, there was a wrongness to it. It wasn’t silence, not with the staff going about their work, but the halls echoed and the uncertainty in the air seemed to amplify every sound, and the spaces between the sounds filled with growing anxiety.
No noise came from Mrs. Russell’s room now. Maids and footmen reported sounds of crying and arguments for a few days after the ball, until the Duke and Duchess had left, at Mrs. Russell’s urging.
“You need to get back to England,” Bertha had insisted. “Before you…well, soon you won’t wish to travel.”
“But Mother, we were going to spend a few days in New York. Aren’t you going back to 61st street?”
“I…no. I think I’ll stay in Newport for a few days, to oversee closing the house for the season. But you should take some time in New York. You could see…anyone you wish to.”
“Won’t you come back? I’m sure business will calm down and Father will come home. Whatever you quarreled about, I’m sure it will blow over.”
Bertha forced a smile. “Of course. But there’s no need for you to stay. And Hector will be eager for you both to be back at Sidmuth, now that he knows he’s going to be a father.” Gladys had smiled, and the conversation turned to plans for the baby, and Bertha was able to smile at her child, who was going to have a child.
That was weeks ago. As the days went by, Bertha retreated into herself more and more, first rarely leaving her room, then often spending most of the day in bed. Mrs. Bruce, still serving as her lady’s maid, conspired with Mr. Borden to tempt her with her favorite dishes, but she only picked at her meals. The senior staff tried to quell speculation about what had happened between the Russells, and why Mrs. Russell was staying in Newport, but there was no denying the strangeness and uncertainty of the situation.
“But aren’t we ever going back to New York?” asked Mr Borden one evening as he, Mrs. Bruce, and Mr. Church shared nightcap in the kitchen.
“I don’t know,” said Mrs. Bruce. “She hasn’t said one way or the other. She hasn’t said much of anything since the Duke and Duchess left.”
“Apparently,” said Church, “Mr. Russell returned to his club, not the house. But if we are to return, I need to send word for the house to be reopened, and for this house to be closed.”
Mrs. Bruce nodded. “I know. But she hasn’t said. I tried to ask her about it this morning, but she just said that she didn’t know and pulled the covers over her head.”
“What happened?” Asked Mr Borden. “I thought things were getting better, now that Mr. Russell is recovering and the ball was a success.”
“I thought so too, but then Mr. Russell left the next morning…” Mrs. Bruce shook her head. “I just don’t know.”
“Well, until the mistress decides we should return to 61st Street, we must keep things running smoothly here,” said Church. “But I think I will send a skeleton staff back to New York, to make the transition easier when we do return. Then we just…wait and see.”
*
Bertha opened her bedroom window and leaned out. Unlike George’s room, with its terrible view of the drive and memories of her husband leaving her, her room faced the sea. It was late enough in the summer that even the nights were warm, and Bertha inhaled the briny smell of the air, so different from New York. But she couldn’t think about New York. Her mind shied away from that thought, as it did from most others these days. She had felt so much pain that morning that part of her thought she wouldn’t be able to feel anything again. It was as if her capacity for any thought or feeling had simply burned out, leaving her not broken, but empty.
A breeze came up brushed against her face like a caress. There are moments, my dear, when you are quite marvelous . The memory rose up and she held it for a moment, trying to remember what it felt like to be loved. Trying, at least, to make the memory of that love hurt her now. But there was nothing. There was only the emptiness. She went back to bed.
Chapter 2: Chapter 2
Summary:
Gladys talks with her father before leaving for England
Notes:
We’re sort of jumping around the timeline, and we’ll get back to Bertha in the next chapter, but I needed this exchange to happen!
Chapter Text
Two days after the ball
The knock on his office door surprised George. He was going through a mess of papers, finally making progress, if he could just—
“Father?”
George looked up, confused. “Gladys? I thought we were meeting at your hotel.” They were going to have a late lunch today, he remembered.
Gladys frowned. “Yes, we were supposed to. Two hours ago.”
George glanced at the clock. How had it gotten so late? “I didn’t realize…I’m sorry, dear.” He stood and came around his desk, hands outstretched. Gladys took his hands and kissed his cheek, but she was still frowning. “I am sorry. Come, I’ll take you to lunch. Or an early dinner?”
“Hector and I are having dinner at the hotel so we can have an early night. I came to tell you that we’ve moved up our departure. We’ll be leaving tomorrow.”
George raised his eyebrows. “Tomorrow? Why so soon? I thought you were staying for another week at least. And I’m sure your mother has some event our other she wants to drag you to.” He offered her a sympathetic smile, but it only made her frown deepen. Gladys stepped back and dropped his hands.
“Actually, Mother encouraged us to go. She thinks — and I agree — that it would be good to get back to Sidmuth. I would have told you yesterday, but you left without saying goodbye to me.”
“I’m sorry, I had a meeting—“
“It’s alright. But I do need to get back to England. So I can get ready for the baby.” She placed her hands over her stomach.
“The…the baby?” George was stunned, but then his face broke into a wide grin. “Oh, my dear.” He stepped forward and enfolded her in his arms. “Congratulations, my darling girl.” He kissed the top of her head, and she clung to him for a moment. “How are you feeling?” He pulled back and guided her to a chair, suddenly wanting her off her feet.
Gladys smiled indulgently. “I feel fine, I promise. I was very tired for the first few months, but that has mostly passed.” Her smile widened. “And Hector is thrilled.”
“Yes, Hector.” George sat in the chair next to her. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.” He reached out and took her hand. “I am so sorry for the part I played in your marriage. I should have stopped it, but I went along with your mother and dragged you down that aisle…I may never forgive myself. But can you forgive me?”
“Oh, Father.” Gladys squeezed his hand. “You didn’t drag me. I may not have enjoyed my wedding, or how it happened, but I’m coming to realize that a wedding is not a marriage. Hector is kind, and I’m getting to know Sidmuth better, the farms and the people, and everything the estate means to the county. And now the baby…I have a real life there. I may have enjoyed my wedding to Billy Carlton more, but I’m not sure the marriage would have been any good. He couldn’t even work up the nerve to ask for my hand. But Hector stood up to his sister for me, with a bit of help from Mother, and I can see a real future with him. I’m finally seeing what Mother saw for me, why she pushed so hard for it.”
“She never should have forced you into it,” he growled. “And I never should have let her.” His vehemence startled her, but she shrugged.
“Maybe not. But it has happened, and it didn’t end in disaster. And I’ve forgiven Mother. And you.” She smiled at him, but he didn’t smile back.
“That’s good of you, but I’m not sure I can forgive her.”
Gladys’s smile faded. “What do you mean?”
“I can’t forgive what she did to you. I know I allowed it, enabled it, paid for it, but I was so used to giving in to her when it came to raising you children and managing society issues, and she took advantage of that. And she hurt you so badly, and she—“
“Father!” Gladys stood. “I told you, I forgive her. And I forgive you. If you are angry at Mother, I suppose that is something for the two of you to work out, but please don’t use me as an excuse for resentment. You’re going to be grandparents. And you’re still my parents. I love you both.” George stood to face her, frowning. “Please don’t quarrel with Mother on my behalf. I don’t want to be angry with her any longer, especially now that I’m going to be a mother, too.”
“Well. I’m sure you will be an excellent Mother.” He signed. “As for your mother and me…That’s not anything for you to worry about, especially not now.” He forced a smile. “I’m sure everything will work out.”
Gladys wasn’t fooled by the smile, but she wanted to believe him. “Very well. I’m sure you can take care of it.” She glanced at the clock. “I should get back to the hotel. I want to lie down before dinner.”
“Of course, of course. Get all the rest you can.” He walked her to the door. “Are you sure you don’t want to go out to dinner, now that this your last night? We could invite your brother, perhaps Miss Brook?”
Gladys shook her head. “I think a quiet night is best. And I’ll leave letters for Larry and Marian.” She smiled up at him, her best daddy’s girl smile. “And perhaps you could write to Mother?”
He smiled down at her, his indulgent father smile. “My darling girl.” He kissed her cheek. “Safe travel. And give my best to Hector.” They exchanged farewells and kisses and a final embrace before Gladys left the office.
George went back to his desk and, with a deep breath, dove back into his work. He did not write to his wife.
Chapter 3: Chapter 3
Summary:
Bertha leaves for England
Notes:
I can’t promise this rate of posting will continue, but for now, I’m just rolling along…Hope you enjoy the ride!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Chapter 3
One month after the ball
Mrs. Bruce moved briskly down the hall with Mrs. Russell’s dinner tray. The letter from England was propped against the wine glass. She could only hope it would help lure the mistress out of her eerie, persistent quiet.
“I brought your dinner ma’am“ said Mrs. Bruce as she entered the bedroom. Bertha was sitting by the window, staring out at the sea, already in her dressing gown. But at least she was out of bed.
“Thank you, Mrs. Bruce, you can leave it anywhere,” said Bertha without turning her head.
Mrs. Bruce set the tray on a table near Bertha’s elbow. “And there’s a letter from England, ma’am.”
Bertha finally looked at her. “From England? From the Duchess?”
Mrs. Bruce smiled. It was the most animation she had seen from the other woman in weeks. “I believe so, ma’am. It looks like Miss Gladys — I mean, Her Grace’s handwriting.”
Bertha picked up the letter. “Thank you, Mrs. Bruce.” Mrs. Bruce nodded and slipped out of the room.
*
Gladys’s letter pulled Bertha out of her stupor, at least a little. She had to read it twice to retain all the pertinent information, since her mind still felt sluggish, but Gladys’s chatty stories about the crossing and settling back in to life at Sidmuth finally grabbed her attention, tethering her back to the world.
… but Hector promises she will only stay for a few days before going back to London. I rather wish I could ask Sarah for help, but I know she would only try to take over and tell me all my ideas are silly or bad for the baby. But there really is so much to do! I wish you could come back, but I know you were just here…
That finally brought her back to herself. Gladys needed her. Gladys wanted her there. No one wanted her here or in New York — don’t think about that — but her baby wanted her in England, to help prepare for her first grandchild, and Bertha would go. She would need to pack. And send the staff back to 61st Street. And eat. She was suddenly ravenous.
*
George liked to keep cash on hand, both in New York and Newport. He rarely used it, but there was always a good amount in the safes in each of his offices. Or there had been. George made sure he knew the combinations to all the safes. She had always taken pride in that, in his trust of her, but now…she spun the lock. The combination to this safe was their wedding anniversary. She had thought it so romantic when he told her the combination he had set, but now it stung. At least the pain was better than the emptiness of the past month. Bertha took everything out of the Newport safe, a little over $3,000. She hadn’t expected so much, but she took it all anyway. She didn’t imagine George would cut her off financially, even if he had cut her off in every other way, but she didn’t want to take any chances. She stuffed the money in her reticule and left the office.
*
“Please tell Mr. Borden that dinner was excellent,” said Bertha as Mrs. Bruce helped her change into her nightgown. She had been getting dressed again in the last few days, and it felt good to return to at least some of her routine.
“I’ll let him know, ma’am. I’m sure he’ll be pleased.”
“I hope he knows that my lack of appetite lately is no reflection on his food. I’ve simply been…tired.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m glad to see you’re feeling more yourself, if you don’t mind me saying.”
“I am feeling better. And I’m looking forward to seeing the Duchess. Speaking of the journey, has there been any luck finding a maid?”
“Yes, ma’am, I meant to tell you. Mr. Church and I interviewed a Miss Carter today who seems to be a good fit. She worked for a Mrs. Goodwin here in Newport. Mrs. Goodwin had health issues that prevented her from going back and forth to New York, and she and her husband settled her. Miss Carter worked with her for nearly ten years and has excellent reference. And I managed to speak to some of the other staff at the Goodwin’s, and they all seemed to respect her.”
Bertha nodded. “She sounds like a good candidate, and I certainly can’t travel alone. Let her know that I will take her on trial for a month, if she’s willing to leave for England shortly.”
“Yes, ma’am. Before Mrs. Goodwin fell ill, she apparently traveled regularly with her husband, and Miss Carter had no concerns about leaving the country.”
“Excellent. She sounds ideal. Thank you, Mrs. Bruce. And please thank Church for me as well.”
“Our pleasure, ma’am.”
Bertha walked over to her desk and picked up an envelope. “Please ask Church to give this to Mr. Russell when you all return to 61st Street. It isn’t urgent.”
“Yes, ma’am. Is there anything else you need?”
“No, that’s all. Good night, Mrs. Bruce.”
“Goodnight, ma’am.”
*
One week later
George -
I am going to England to help Gladys prepare for the baby.
Bertha
George read it again, as if more words would suddenly appear. But the single sentence seemed to be the sum total of what his wife had chosen to tell him about her plan to leave the country. George had snapped at Church when he first read it, enraged that it had taken him so long to be informed. Church, unflappable as always, merely raised his eyebrows.
“I’m sorry, sir, she said the letter wasn’t urgent. We assumed Mrs. Russell had informed you of her plans.”
George ground his teeth. “Not urgent. Of course. When did she leave?”
“Last Tuesday, sir, on the Liberty.”
George nodded, suddenly deflated, and dismissed Church. She would nearly be there by now. She had crossed an ocean, and he had no idea. Selfish woman. Willful, selfish, thoughtless…he poured himself a drink.
Notes:
$3,000 then is about $100k today. Suck it, George.
Chapter 4
Summary:
Bertha arrives in England.
Notes:
FYI This is sort of on the M/E border, rating-wise.
Chapter Text
Arrived Southampton. Bertha
There was nothing more. George balled up the telegram and threw it across the office.
*
“Mother!” Gladys stepped forward to embrace her mother as she stepped down from the carriage. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
Bertha beamed. “It’s wonderful to see you. You look well.”
“I feel well.” Gladys smiled and looped her arm through Bertha’s. “Hector is out with Mr. Forester, but he promised to be back in time for dinner. They’re inspecting the fence along the north end of the property…” Gladys continued to chatter as they made their way inside. Bertha let the sound wash over her, soothing after the cruel words and silences that had filled so much of her life recently. It was odd, lovely but odd, to have Gladys so eager to spend time with her, to share things with her. Bertha promised herself again that she wouldn’t jeopardize this new relationship she was building with her daughter.
“And how was the crossing?”
“Uneventful, no bad weather. And Miss Carter seems to be working out.”
“Oh, I am glad. I hope she gets along with Adelheid — I mean, Weber.”
“How is Adelheid doing now that she’s back here?”
“It seems to be working better this time. Without Sarah here, it’s all much easier, and she’s settling in with the rest of the staff.”
“Good.” Bertha smiled at her daughter. “You do look remarkably well. How is the baby?”
“We’re both very well. But how are you? You look a little…tired.”
Bertha laughed. “Just what every woman wants to hear.”
Gladys grinned. “I didn’t mean it like that, Mother.”
“I know. And the truth is, I am tired. Perhaps I’ll lie down before dinner. Am I in the same room?”
“Actually, I’ve put you in the Blue Room. It’s a little smaller than the King’s Room, but it’s closer to mine.” Gladys hesitated. “I hope that’s alright?”
Bertha smiled. “I would love to be closer to you.”
*
It was just the three of them for dinner, cozy and comfortable. Bertha watched Hector and Gladys carefully and was pleased to see that they did seem to be getting along well. Hector talked about his rounds with Mr. Forester, and Bertha described some of the people she had met on the crossing. She hadn’t really socialized much, but there were enough people on board that she had collected a couple anecdotes. It let her skirt the issue of George and Larry.
“They both send their love, of course, but they’re so busy with the railroad expansion.”
“Of course,” said Hector. “I do admire both Mr. Russells. Men of vision.”
Bertha smiled politely. “Yes, indeed. But Gladys, tell me more about the candidates for nanny...”
*
Bertha went to bed early, pleading exhaustion from her travels. It was nearly true. She was tired, but her mind also buzzed with too many thoughts, and she couldn’t seem to relax. If she were home, she could go to George’s room and…but no. That wasn’t an option any more, even if she were back in New York. She rolled over and squeezed her eyes shut. What a difference from last year, from her coup with Hector and the splendid Newport season.
She remembered the dinner she had hosted for Hector and how well it had gone. How proud George had been of her. How he had kissed her hand and led her up to bed…
George dismissed Andre and undressed her himself, less expert than her maid not but inexperienced. He kissed the back of her neck before pulling the pins and tiara from her hair. When she was down to her chemise, her clothes strewn across the floor, she turned in his arms and kissed him, at the same time pushing off his jacket and tugging at his bow tie. Between the two of them, they made it into bed, his naked body covering hers. He kissed her tenderly, deeply, stroking his hand down her body. She opened her mouth and her legs to his touch. Their pace was languid rather than passionate, both tired but still eager for each other. George kissed and caressed her until she grew wet and eager, arching against his fingers and stroking her tongue along his. He entered her slowly, letting her feel every inch of him, and she rocked up to meet him. Bracing himself on his forearms, he looked down at her as he moved in and out of her with long, slow strokes that sent waves of pleasure rolling over her again and again.
“Look at me,” he whispered. She managed to collect herself enough to open her eyes and look up at him. “You feel so good around me. Make me feel so good, my love.”
“George,” she groaned, squeezing around him and making his rhythm stutter. “Love you. So good. So much. Love…”
“My love…” He thrust harder, knowing he wouldn’t last much longer and wanting to bring her with him. “Perfect. You’re so perfect.”
“George!” Her whole body tightened around him and then relaxed against the bed as he moved off her. She turned to follow him and rested her head on his shoulder. “I love you.”
“Love you, my darling.”
Bertha whimpered as she came. Her hand and her memories were a poor substitute for a flesh and blood lover, but at least she was more relaxed. And she was in England now, where she was needed. Where she was wanted. She could do this. She could live without him if she had to. For the first time since leaving New York, she didn’t cry herself to sleep.
Chapter 5
Summary:
George sleeps alone. Bertha, Gladys, and Hector attend a dinner party at the neighboring estate.
Notes:
Note rating change. Skip the italics if you’re not interested in the naughty bits.
Chapter Text
“May I stay with you tonight?”
“You have only to ask.” She stretched out her arm to him, beckoning him to her bed.
He bent over and kissed her deeply, her hands framing his face. He pressed her back against the pillows until her impatient hands began to push at his robe and tug at his shirt. He pulled back but brought her with him until she was kneeling on the bed facing him. He let his robe fall to the floor and then grabbed her nightgown, pulling it up and off in one quick movement. Even after all these years, the sight of her naked body sent a thrill through him. He wanted to stop and stare, but her hands went to his shirt and tugged it open, pushing it off his shoulders. He kissed her again, pushing her back against her pillows and pushing down his pants. The feel of her thighs at his waste, her breast under his hand, her mouth on his, almost undid him. He moved to enter her, but a small hand on his shoulder brought him up short. Was she pushing him away?
“Bertha?” he asked as he sat up, but she smiled and moved to sit up and move over him. “Ah, I see.” He settled back agains the pillows as she straddled him, his hands going at once to her hips.
Bertha reached between her legs to guider him to her entrance and then lowered herself slowly, torturously slow, onto him. She hummed with pleasure as he filled her, and he squeezed her thighs and then slid his hands up to her breasts. She grabbed his wrists, holding him to her, as if he had any idea of not touching her. She began to rock, moving her hips in some magical pattern that made him groan. She leaned forward and put her hands on his chest, her nails digging in slightly. His hands fell to her hips again, holding her but letting her set the pace and the angle, letting her take whatever she wanted from him. He flexed his hips up and she gasped.
“George!” She quickened her pace, her breaths now gasps and sighs.
“That’s it, my love, take what you want. I’ll give you anything you want.” He stroked along her sides and thrust up again and she cried out as she came, and he followed her over the cliff.
George groaned as he came into his hand. He had given her everything. He had tested his strength against the alderman and won. He had been strong. His eyes dropped shut, but just before he fell asleep, a little voice in the back of his mind whispered, “She made you strong.”
*
“Remind me who we’re dining with tonight,” said Bertha as she walked into Gladys’s room. Adelheid was just making the final adjustments to Gladys’s lilac gown, which complemented Bertha’s silver. Bertha wondered idly if Adelheid — she really must start thinking of her as Weber — had coordinated it with Carter.
“The St. Jameses. Their estate is just north of ours. Thank you, Adel— Weber.” Gladys moved to the door and took her mother’s arm as they made their way downstairs. “Peter and Eleanor St. James, Earl and Countess of Selwyn. They’re about yours and father’s age. He’s an ambassador and was serving in Paris until recently, but the Countess wanted to come home for her daughter’s debut in the coming season.”
“I can understand that.”
Gladys grinned. “Of course. And she’s American, the Countess. Hector has mentioned that at least three times.” Her smiled turned fond, and Bertha returned it.
“But are you sure you and Hector don’t want to dine with them alone? Won’t I unbalance the table?”
“Not at all. The Countess’s brother is visiting, apparently, so we’ll six for dinner.”
Bertha nodded, pushing aside the pang she felt at having a stranger at dinner rather than George. “Well, it was kind of her to invite me.”
They met Hector in the main hall and he escorted them out to the carriage. He assisted both women into their seats instead of leaving it to the footman, taking special care with his wife. Bertha smiled to herself and Gladys rolled her eyes but smiled too, and their cheery party set off from Sidmuth.
The Selwyn residence wasn’t as large Sidmuth Castle but still stood stately and impressive at the end of a long drive. The butler ushered them inside, where two men and a woman waited to greet them. Hector smiled.
“St. James, good to have you back on home soil,” he said to the older man. “My lady.” He kissed the Countess’s hand. “And may I present my wife, Gladys, the Duchess of Buckingham. And her mother, Mrs. George Russell from New York.”
The Earl and Countess greeted Gladys warmly and then turned to Bertha. The Countess’s eyes met hers, and her polite social smile froze and then faded into shock.
“Birdie?”
Chapter Text
Chapter 6
Bertha stared. She couldn’t help it. What on earth was she doing here? The Countess recovered herself first.
“I do apologize, I was just so surprised. But it is Birdie — Bertha O’Brian? Or, Mrs. Russell, I should say.”
Bertha blinked, still trying to collect herself. “Yes, I — that is, I was Bertha O’Brian. And…Ellie? I mean, Lady St. James.”
The Countess smiled. “I can’t believe we both made our way here. It seems so…unlikely.” She raised her eyebrows on the last word, and Bertha chuckled, understanding the joke but still a bit uneasy.
“My dear?” The Earl, like the rest, had been watching the exchange with interest. “Will you introduce us to your…friend?”
“Yes, of course. Birdie — Mrs. Russell — and I were at school together in Boston, a lifetime ago. Mrs. Russell, may I present my husband, Peter St. James, Earl of Selwyn.”
The Earl bowed over Bertha’s hand. “Delighted to meet you, Mrs. Russell. I’m eager to hear about your exploits with my wife.”
“Are you so sure there were exploits?” asked Gladys, smiling but wary of a possible slight to her mother.
“My dear duchess, with my wife, there are always exploits.” They all laughed, even as the Countess pulled a face at her husband.
She turned to the other man behind her. “And this is my brother-in-law, Colonel Thomas St. James.”
He was about Bertha’s age, with dark hair and eyes, but clean shaven. She shoved away thoughts of other dark heads and smiled back. “A pleasure to meet you, Colonel.”
He bowed and smiled a really very charming smile. “The pleasure is all mine, Mrs. Russell, I assure you.”
“Let us bring our guests inside, my dear,” said Peter.
“Yes, of course.” Ignoring precedence entirely, Eleanor looped her arm through Bertha’s and led the way further into the house, leaving the rest of the company to follow.
*
“We met in Washington,” said Eleanor over dinner. The six of them had finished the formal introductions in the drawing room, though Bertha could see that Eleanor wasn’t much for standing on ceremony, even as a countess. At dinner, conversation flowed easily around the table, and Bertha had successfully deflected a question about George by asking Eleanor how she had ended up an English Countess. “Peter was part of a diplomatic delegation to the States, and we met at a reception at the White House.” Bertha raised her eyebrows, impressed.
“What she fails to mention,” said Peter, “is that she had been brought there specifically to be introduced to Viscount Blackwell, who was also in the delegation.”
Eleanor smiled. “My mother was convinced she was going to make the match of the season between us. Unfortunately, Blackwell is a boor, and she had to settle for an Earl who was added to the party at the last minute.” She shot Bertha a grin.
“Your mother liked me,” protested Peter.
“Oh, yes, you would’ve been her first choice if she had known about you,” said Eleanor easily. “It was a strong mark against you, actually, but eventually I managed to forgive you for making my mother happy.” They all laughed again.
“Very good of you, my dear.” Peter saluted his wife with his wine glass. Gladys caught her mother’s eye. There was amusement there, a joke shared rather than pain or resentment, and Bertha’s heart swelled.
Bertha relished the ease and informality of the gathering, more relaxed than she had been in months. Eleanor hadn’t mentioned anything about the specifics of her history in Boston, and Bertha was fairly certain that she wouldn’t, at least not during her own dinner party. The Eleanor she remembered was mischievous but fiercely loyal, and Bertha just hoped that their old alliance would hold.
Chapter 7
Summary:
Bertha settles in to life in England
Chapter Text
“Tell me more about how you two know each other,” said Gladys when the three ladies had settled into the drawing room after dinner, having left the men to their port and cigars.
Eleanor smiled. “We went to school together, as I said. My family traveled around quite a bit when I was younger, but we stayed in Boston for a few years, so I was rather settled in to that horrid school when your mother arrived. But we got along right away.” Her smile turned wicked. “Nothing like a common enemy.”
Bertha returned the smile. “Mary Ryan. Awful girl.”
“What made her so awful?” asked Gladys.
“She was a bully who wasn’t pretty or rich enough to put on the airs that she did,” said Eleanor with a sniff.
Bertha laughed. “Eleanor!”
“What? It’s true. Always picking on people and then running crying to the teachers when anyone stood up to her. Such a tattle tale.”
“Yes. Though, to be fair, she never set anyone on fire.”
“I still maintain that she set her own hair on fire. And no one was ever able to prove otherwise.” Gladys’s eyes were wide as saucers, and Eleanor laughed. “Well, I may have been a bit of a hellion. But she really was awful. She tried to blame her hair on me, but there were no witnesses.” She glanced at Bertha. “At least, none that were tattlers.”
Bertha shrugged. “Honestly, I didn’t know what she was complaining about. The shorter hair suited her.”
“Mother!” The three women laughed and the conversation shifted to other topics. Bertha was glad of it, though Eleanor hadn’t so much as alluded to the fact that Bertha had been a charity pupil who was only accepted because her mother was a seamstress did sewing and mending for the school. Bertha preferred not to think about those days, though Eleanor had been a bright spot. But they had only overlapped at school for about six months before Eleanor’s family moved to Washington and Bertha was left to fend for herself again. She liked to think that her life hadn’t really began until she met George. And now that life — but she pushed the thought away to focus on what Eleanor was saying.
“…host a ball every autumn, to benefit the local orphanage. I would so love for both of you to come. I’ve decided on a masquerade theme.”
“That sounds lovely,” said Gladys, “but I’m not sure…I may be showing by then.”
“Showing…” Eleanor glanced at Bertha’s, whose beaming smile was all the confirmation she needed. “Oh, my dear, congratulations! What wonderful news. Hector must be thrilled.”
“Oh, yes, we’re both so excited. But he’s mentioned more than once that he doesn’t want me to overdo things.”
Eleanor rolled her eyes. “As if men know anything about it. I’ll give you the name of the midwife who delivered all three of my children.”
“Not a doctor?” asked Bertha.
Eleanor made a face. “No. I wanted a woman who really understood what I was going through. Peter wasn’t thrilled with the idea the first time, so he had a doctor standing by, but there was no need. After Henry — my eldest — was born and we both came through the ordeal safely, Peter let me have my way with George and Charlotte.”
“I hope I get to meet them while I’m here,” said Bertha.
“Oh yes, Charlotte has been staying with Peter’s aunt in London while we were traveling, and George and Henry are at school, but they’ll all be back soon, certainly in time for the ball. And speaking of which,” she turned back to Gladys, “if you aren’t feeling up to it, of course I understand, but please don’t let anyone else put you off. Dancing is good exercise, which is good for the baby. And we can arrange a costume that will hide the little one.”
Gladys glanced at her mother, automatically seeking her approval. “Well, I do love dancing…”
“If you feel up to it, certainly you should attend,” said Bertha.
“And you too, Birdie,” said Eleanor. “We’re going to have a marvelous time!”
*
A few weeks into her visit and Bertha had to admit that, for the most part, she was having a marvelous time. The thought of George still ached, and worse at night, but the month she had spent mourning her marriage in Newport, and his utter lack of communication, made it easier for her to put him out of her mind. Gladys and the baby were a marvelous distraction, and Eleanor was proving to be every bit as loyal and mischievous as Bertha remembered. The Countess introduced her as her “dearest childhood friend from America” to the nobles and local gentry in her social circle, of whom Eleanor was clearly a leader. Everyone welcomed Bertha easily with Eleanor to champion her, and it was so different from her experience in New York that the acceptance rather shocked her at first. It had been a long time since she felt she had a champion of any kind.
Peter and Thomas, whom everyone called Tommy, were good company, too, and got along well with Hector. It was clear that Hector looked up to both men, and he encouraged Gladys’s friendship with the St. Jameses. The six of them had dinner together frequently, and Bertha found herself slipping into the easy familiarity that Eleanor encouraged. By their second dinner, they were all on a first name basis, and they called back and forth between the two houses regularly.
Bertha kept in touch with her friends in New York, too, particularly Aurora, to whom she confided her excitement and fear about Gladys’s upcoming delivery. To Mamie Fish, she made a point of relating her rekindled friendship with the Countess of Selwyn and her elite circle. She wrote to Marian, too, mostly just a friendly letter to show that Bertha would accept the girl if the engagement resumed. Her letter to Larry went unanswered, which stung, but she was able to keep up with him through the newspaper and his letters to Gladys.
Gladys was happy to share news she received from her father and Larry, though she was rather surprised that they didn’t write to Bertha themselves. She tried to bring it up with her mother once.
“They have both made it very clear how they feel about me. What would be the point in writing?” They were sitting in the morning room, Gladys reading a letter from Larry and Bertha composing one to Aurora.
“But surely, now that I’m settled, and there’s going to be a baby, there’s not need for the family to be split. I don’t want to have to choose sides.”
“Of course not. No one is asking you to choose. I’m certainly not. But I can’t force them to change their minds. Forcing things is what got me here.” She turned back to her letter.
“But if I’ve forgiven you — and I have — surely father can, too.”
Bertha shook her head, folding her letter. “The way he sees it, I forced him to hurt you. It made him feel weak, and men find that sort of thing unforgivable.” She sighed. “We were a love match at the start, but I can’t make him love me now.”
“Mother—“
“I need an envelope.” Bertha stood and hurried out of the room. Gladys didn’t bring it up again, but she resolved to write to her father. Her parents, for all their flaws, had been her guiding star when it came to marriage, and the thought of their happy marriage failing, of a love like theirs not surviving, was too terrible to accept. So she wouldn’t accept it. She was Bertha Russell’s daughter, and it was high time she took matters into her own hands.
Chapter 8
Summary:
In which George is fine, and Bertha learns to ride.
Notes:
Life has been LIFE lately, but I haven’t forgotten this fic! Do I know exactly where it’s going? No. Am I going to stop? Hell no.
Chapter Text
One month later
New York
George was fine. He certainly didn’t need Bertha. He was getting along very well without her. It may have been a bit awkward hosting dinners without her, but Miss Brook was a fine substitute, even if she didn’t have the same easy way of managing the conversation or organizing the staff or even knowing she was supposed to be acting as hostess until she arrived. But that was fine. And Larry was fine. George could ignore his concerned looks and awkward, oblique references to reaching out to Bertha.
“And when was the last time you wrote to your mother?” That put a stop to that. Because George was fine.
*
“How is your father?” Asked Miss Brook as she strolled with Larry through the park, Pumpkin in tow.
Larry frowned. “To be honest, I’m not entirely sure. Everything with the business is going well, and the copper mines are operational now, but he doesn’t seem…himself. I thought getting all that under control would be a relief, but…” He shook his head.
“He did seem a bit…preoccupied at dinner.”
Larry grimaced. “Yes, I owe you an apology for that. I had no idea he was intending for you to play hostess. Though, in retrospect, I’m not sure who else could have done it.”
“There’s no need to apologize. I was surprised, yes, but certainly not offended. I just wondered…have you heard from your mother recently?”
“She wrote to me when she first arrived in England. Gladys seems to be doing well.”
“But you haven’t heard from her since then?”
Larry looked away. “I may have neglected to reply to her letter.”
“Oh.” Marion raised her eyebrows. “Are things not better between you, then?”
“I don’t see how things could be alright between us when she sold off my sister to a virtual stranger and then tried to interfere in our engagement.”
“But since she withdrew her objection, I thought—“
“What do you mean, withdrew her objection?”
“After that awful night, when your father was shot, I came to see how he was recovering. She walked me out and told me not to give up on you. She said we could have a bright future together. And then when she made that deal with Oscar—“
“What deal?”
“Well, I didn’t know about it until later, but apparently, the reason he worked so hard to persuade me to attend your mother’s Newport ball was that she invited Mrs. Winterton, whom he wanted to see.”
Larry shook his head. “Still manipulating. Always moving people around like chess pieces.”
Marion shrugged. “Perhaps. But I did go to the ball. And I did accept when you asked me to go walking with you when we returned to the city.” She smiled at him. “Many times. It was easier, knowing your mother was not opposed. She said that, seeing me with your father that awful night, she knew I was no feeble debutant. That we could have a bright future, and I should fight for it. I suppose I wanted to be as brave as she thought I was.” She took a breath. “And I’m sorry if that upsets you, her talking to me, but I needed some courage then, and she helped me find it. I don’t pretend to understand everything that stands between the two of you, but I do know that this world is not easy on women, and your mother has had to overcome more than either of us. You think it has made her hard, but I just see a woman who knows what she wants and goes after it. I can’t help admiring her.”
They walked in silence for a few minutes, both lost in thought. Then Larry sighed. “I suppose I’ve been angry with her for so long now, I don’t know how to stop.”
Marion nodded. “Maybe start by admitting that, even if her methods leave something to be desired, she isn’t evil. And she does love her children. And your father.” Larry nodded. “And Larry?”
“Yes?”
“It’s just…” she hesitated.
“You can tell me anything, you know.”
“I just…I would give everything I have for five more minutes with either of my parents. I would hate to see you squander the time you have with yours.” Larry’s eyes softened at her admission, and he took her hand and kissed it in the middle of park, propriety be damned.
*
George downed his second whiskey and reached automatically for the bottle. His rooms at the Union Club were by no means as splendid as those on 61st Street, but at least there was less distance between his chair and the drinks cart. He had to drown out the voice in his head. That awful voice that cried out for Bertha, louder at night when he was alone, telling him to go to her. He drank the whiskey.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her. The memory of her taste lingered in his mouth. His hands itched to touch her. He poured another whiskey.
Gladys’s letter sat on his desk, mocking him, tempting him. She was her mother’s daughter after all. George smiled ruefully and shook his head. “To you, my dear.” He saluted the empty room, not sure which of them he meant. He downed his drink and poured another. He was fine.
*
Having spent most of her life in cities, Bertha had never learned to ride. When Tommy St. James heard that, he made it his mission to make a horsewoman out of her.
“We all ride, Mrs. Russell, and we simply can’t leave you behind. I would be more than happy to teach you.” Encouraged by Eleanor, she agreed, and Hector offered her a sweet but spritely mare from his stables.
Bertha took to riding like a duck to water. Controlling a powerful animal, moving in tandem, the feeling of freedom as they galloped across a filed…she loved it all. Tommy said she was a natural, and he and Eleanor came to ride out with her nearly every day. Peter and Hector were generally busy with their respective estates, and Gladys was slightly afraid of horses, so she was happy to acquiesce to Hector’s request that she not ride before the baby came. Tommy, Eleanor, and Bertha would tear across the adjoining estates, jumping low fences and picnicking when it was time to rest the horses.
The air was turning crisp as autumn came to the countryside, but it never deterred Bertha. She had ordered riding clothes, complete with a new hat and coat, and any day it didn’t rain, she waited impatiently for her friends, usually already in the saddle when they arrived.
On a late afternoon in early October, Tommy and Eleanor returned to Sidmuth with Bertha after their ride, planning to stay for dinner. Tommy offered Bertha his arm as they dismounted and made their way inside.
“I must say, Birdie, the food at Sidmuth has greatly improved since Gladys took over from Sarah. I’ve never been so well fed in my life.”
“Not much of a complement for my table,” said Eleanor, but she was grinning.
Tommy shrugged. “Convince your husband to hire a French chef, then.” Eleanor stuck out her tongue at him.
Bertha smiled. “Well, thank you, but I don’t think I can take credit. Monsieur Dubois was Gladys’s hire.”
“Now now, no false modesty. We all know that the good things happening at Sidmuth are your doing. We are merely the enraptured audience, admiring your direction.”
Bertha laughed, the sound echoing as they entered the castle. “Oh honestly, Tommy.” She blinked as her eyes adjusted to the dim light inside the hall.
And there stood George.
Chapter 9
Summary:
Bertha isn’t thrilled with the new houseguest.
Chapter Text
George looked terrible. That was Bertha’s first coherent thought upon seeing him. His hair and beard had grown out, but his face was thinner, with dark circles under his eyes. More than anything else, his unkempt appearance let her believe that he was really here. Even in her hurt and anger, she never imagined him as anything other than healthy and handsome. They stared at each other for several long moments.
Bertha recovered first. “George. What are you doing here?”
George frowned. “Gladys invited me.” He frowned at Tommy, and Bertha realized she was still holding his arm. “I had assumed I would be welcome.”
“It’s her home. She may invite whomever she wishes.” Somehow, her voice was steady, even cold, though her heart was pounding. She released Tommy’s arm but didn’t move away. Eleanor had come to stand on her other side so she was flanked by supporters, and gratitude calmed her nerves.
George’s eyes flicked to Eleanor and then turned to a glare as he focused on Tommy. “Won’t you introduce me to your…friends?” He practically spat the word.
Bertha wanted to roll her eyes, but she kept her face under control. “Certainly. Lady Eleanor St. James, Countess of Selwyn, and her brother-in-law, Colonel Thomas St. James. My husband, Mr. George Russell.” They exchanged nods, Eleanor every bit the frosty aristocrat and Tommy returning George’s stare coolly.
After an awkward pause, George said, “I would like a word with my wife. Alone. If you’ll excuse us.”
Tommy raised his eyebrows. “I rather think that’s up to her. Birdie?” He looked at Bertha. “Do you wish to speak with him?”
She could practically hear George’s teeth grinding, and she smiled faintly. Let him be frustrated. “I’m afraid we should go straight up to change. The Countess and Colonel are staying for dinner.”
“Bertha—“ George stepped forward, his face thunderous, and Tommy matched the move, putting himself slightly in front of Bertha.
“The lady doesn’t wish to speak to you.”
“She is my wife!” George shouted, taking another menacing step. Tommy stood his ground. “Get out of my way, you bas—“
“Father!” Gladys’s voice brought George up short, and they all looked over to where she was walking quickly out of the morning room. “I see you’ve met our friends.”
“I need a word with your mother,” said George, his voice still mostly a growl.
“And I was just saying, we need to go up to change,” said Bertha, raising her eyebrows at her daughter to prompt her support.
“Perhaps that would be best,” said Gladys, glancing between her parents. “We can all catch up over dinner.”
“Gladys—“ began George.
“You heard her,” said Bertha, and she breezed past him, that bastard Tommy keeping himself between George and his wife. The Countess shot him a disgusted glare as she passed, and suddenly he was alone in the hall with Gladys.
“What the devil is going on here?” he demanded.
*
“What in the world were you thinking?” Bertha asked as she paced her room. After placating her father and sending him up to dress, Gladys had come to see her mother. This was not going as she had planned. “Did you really invite him?”
“I did, I said he could come for the birth, but—“
“And you didn’t think to consult me?”
“I was going to tell you, but he arrived earlier than I thought. I wasn’t expecting him until next week, but apparently he caught an earlier boat. He arrived when you were out riding.”
“And now, what? We’re supposed to play the happy couple?”
“I just…I wanted both of you here. For the baby.” Gladys smoothed her hands over her now-visible bump. Bertha snorted. She knew what her daughter was doing and grudgingly admired the tactic, even if it wasn’t subtle.
“For the baby? Really?”
“And for me. I want things to be right between you two again. I want this baby to be part of a loving family, not one that’s splitting apart. And that’s never going to happen if you two aren’t even on the same continent.”
Bertha shook her head and sank into an armchair. “It’s not that simple. We were only a train ride apart and he had no interest in seeing me, or writing to me. He doesn’t want anything to do with me.”
“Oh, mother, I’m sure that’s not true.” Gladys sat down across from her. “He wouldn’t have come if he didn’t want to see you.”
“I think you underestimate what he is willing to put up with for your sake. And anyway, who says I want him?”
“You don’t mean that.”
Bertha shrugged. “Perhaps I do.” She signed. “I’m not sure I can explain how difficult the month I spent in Newport was, before your letter came. Your father…the things he said…and it wasn’t just in Newport. I hadn’t had a kind word from him in months before that.”
Gladys frowned. “I…I had no idea.”
“How could you? I didn’t want to burden you with it. I thought it would be better after I returned from England, after you and I reconciled, but it wasn’t. He didn’t want me anymore.”
“Mother—“
Bertha stood suddenly and moved to the bell-pull to ring for her maid. “I refuse to be the kind of woman who pines endlessly for a man who doesn’t want her. I endured months of his disdain, and months of silence, and that’s enough. I can endure a life without him.” She turned back to Gladys. “I can promise you civility at dinner, but no more.”
“I…alright.” Gladys knew better than to push her mother when she was in this mood. “I should change. You will come down for dinner?”
“Of course. He’s not going to drive me away.”
Gladys nodded and slipped out of the room. This might be more difficult than she thought.
Chapter Text
George had imagined a number of scenarios for his arrival in England, none of which prepared him for the reality of seeing Bertha again. He had imagined her cold and angry, ready to fight and then be done with it. Or perhaps sad and wan, eager to accept his forgiveness. What he had not imagined was her laughing, cheeks flushed and eyes sparking, on the arm of another man.Tommy she had said. And what had he called her? Birdie? What a ridiculous nickname. George had always called her Bertha, and just calling her by her given name would have been enough effrontery, but Birdie? It seemed even more informal — more intimate, whispered the voice in the back of his mind — than when they started calling the duke Hector. And now Tommy and Birdie were seated across from each other at dinner, and George wanted to throw something. And he wanted a real drink.
*
Gladys had taken her place across from Hector with some trepidation that evening, unsure how her parents would handle the situation. Her father arriving early had thrown off all her plans for revealing his visit to her mother and laying some groundwork for a reconciliation. Having her run into him in the front hall with Tommy and Eleanor had not been the plan.
His arrival had also unbalanced the numbers for her table. Normally, she sat across from Hector, flanked by Tommy and Peter, with Bertha and Eleanor on either side of her husband. They had grown so comfortable with the arrangement that Gladys caught herself thinking of her father as a single man in need of a dinner companion. But of course, that was Tommy. Her parents belonged with each other. Gladys had also shifted the normal seating to put Tommy across from her mother, in Peter’s usual place, so her father had Eleanor and Peter next to his place at the end of the table. It was not at all correct, according to precedence, but having her mother or Tommy next to George at dinner was the worse option.
Gladys caught Hector’s eye as they sat down, and he smiled encouragingly. She smiled back, a little more hesitant, but grateful at least for his support.
*
Bertha relaxed as dinner progressed. She had expected it to be terribly awkward, or even acrimonious, with George there, but she had underestimated her friends. The St. Jameses were always good company, and they outdid themselves that night. Eleanor and Tommy in particular were full of amusing stories, most of which referenced her time thus far in England, or inside jokes they had formed over the last few weeks, all of which left George out. Gladys tried to fill him in, but there was only so much she could do without completely interrupting the flow of conversation. It gave Bertha a great deal of satisfaction to see him so frustrated.
“I suppose you think this makes up for the apple you stole from me,” Tommy said to Bertha as he started on his tarte tatin.
Bertha grinned. “That apple was rightfully mine, and you know it.”
The group laughed, except for George. “Apple?” He asked, sharper than he intended.
Eleanor glanced at him. “Oh, just a silly joke. It wouldn’t interest you. But speaking of apples,” she turned away from George, “I was thinking about my harvest masquerade…” The six of them continued to talk and laugh, clearly very comfortable with each other, clearly not needing his involvement. George simply watched, trying to find his footing in this uncomfortable reality where Bertha was happy without him.
*
After the women went through, led by Gladys, the four men gathered around the end of the table as the port and cigars were passed. George took a large sip of the port, wishing it were whiskey.
“How is the business out west going?” asked Hector, while trying to calculate how little time they could spend in this awkward configuration before rejoining the ladies.
“Things in Morenci are progressing nicely, and the mining has begun.”
“Quite an accomplishment,” said Tommy, blowing out a ring of smoke, “for the younger Mr. Russell.” There was nothing improper about his words, but everyone heard the barb in them. Peter shot him a look, but having been briefed by his wife and told in no uncertain terms that they would be siding with Bertha, the earl didn’t interfere.
George nodded stiffly. “Yes, Larry has done quite well. And the Russell Consolidated Trust is stronger than ever, since I stabilized the bank.” That was, perhaps, a slight exaggeration, but he wasn’t going to back down to someone called Tommy who had spent so much of the evening smiling at his wife and, even worse, making her smile.
“Speaking of stability,” said Peter to Hector, before Tommy could goad George further, “I think I’ve found a good, steady mare for Bertha.”
“A mare?” Asked George.
“A female horse,” said Tommy, not trying to be helpful.
“I know that,” snapped George. He knew he was being baited, but he couldn’t help biting. “What does my wife” he emphasized the words “need with a horse?”
“Mrs. Russell has become quite the horsewoman,” said Hector quickly. Never comfortable with conflict, Hector reverted to familiar formalities. “She is, of course, welcome to continue riding Pearl, but she expressed interest in acquiring one of her own. Lord Selwyn is our local expert in horseflesh, and she asked for his advice.”
“We had planned to visit some nearby stables,” said Peter. “Perhaps you would like to join us.”
“If that’s what Birdie wants,” added Tommy, his gaze fixed on George.
“What my wife wants or not is none of your concern,” snapped George.
“I think you’ll find that all her friends here — and she has many — are very interested in her getting what she wants.”
“Perhaps,” interjected Peter, “we should rejoin the ladies. I’m sure they’ll be happy to tell us what they want.”
“Yes, yes, quite,” said Hector, rising hastily. Let the ladies sort this out.
*
Bertha wasn’t quite sure how Eleanor managed it, but somehow, the two of them ended up a little apart from the rest of the group after the men rejoined them. Gladys and Hector were talking to George, who looked irritated, and Peter appeared to be saying something serious to Tommy, who was beginning to sulk.
“I wonder what happened in the dining room after we left,” said Bertha.
Eleanor shrugged. “Not much, I should think. They weren’t there for that long. And regardless, Peter and Tommy are on your side. And I’m sure Gladys has Hector well in hand.”
Bertha smiled. “I appreciate that. I just wish…”
“Wish what?”
“I wish I knew what he was doing here. I suppose he could have come for the baby, but we’re still months away from the birth.”
Eleanor snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous. He came for you, not the baby. The birth may be what he and Gladys are using as a pretext to get him here, but that’s not why he came.”
“I suppose. But I can’t help worrying that, if he’s here, it means he finally made up his mind about…about a divorce.”
“Men don’t cross oceans to get a divorce. You don’t expend that kind of time and effort on something you mean to throw away. The real question is, do you want him back?”
Bertha sighed. “A few months ago, I would have said yes, without hesitation.” She glanced around the room to make sure no one was listening, but the others were still engrossed in whatever conversations, or arguments, they were having. She lowered her voice anyway. “It felt like I was dying — literally slipping away from life — when he left me in Newport. I can’t go through that again. And being here with Gladys, and with you, has made me realize that, if I had to, I could make a life without him.”
“Of course you could. You’d be brilliant. You are brilliant. But setting aside your ability to survive, because you are a survivor, what do you want from him? We could support you through a divorce scandal if you want to be rid of him. Or help you with a revenge plot if you want him to suffer. Or simply throw things at his head until he realizes what an ass he’s been and comes crawling back.” Bertha laughed. “But you have to decide what you want, Birdie. We’re on your side, but you have to give the marching orders.”
Bertha nodded. “Whatever happens, I’m so thankful we found each other again. I haven’t had a friend like you since…well, you.”
“Yes, well, that’s not surprising. I am uniquely wonderful.”
Bertha laughed. “And modest.”
“Modesty is overrated.” The friends laughed and continued to chat. Across the room, George’s watched them with a scowl.
*
“Thank you, Carter, that will be all,” said Bertha after her maid helped her into her robe. “I think I’ll read for a while.” She moved to sit by the fire.
“Very good, Mrs. Russell. Good night.”
“Good night.”
As Carter moved toward the door, it opened suddenly, and George nearly crashed into the maid.
“Oh! Excuse me, sir.” But she didn’t move out of the way. Miss Carter had become familiar with the Russell’s marital strife from the duchess’s maid, and she was firmly on Mrs. Russell’s side. Though an exacting employer, Carter found Mrs. Russell to be fair and reasonable, an intelligent and energetic woman who paid well and wasn’t rude. The combination was a rare find, and Carter was going to keep this position as long as she could.
“George! What on earth are you doing?” Demanded Bertha, rising from the chair and pulling her robe tighter.
“We need to talk,” he said, peering at her over Carter’s head. He tried to maneuver around her, but the maid still didn’t move.
Carter glanced back at Bertha and raised her eyebrows. “Ma’am?”
“It’s alright Carter. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Carter glanced between the Russells. “Yes, ma’am. Just ring if you need anything. Anything at all.”
“Mrs. Russell will be fine,” said George, shepherding the maid out and closing the door behind her. “Bertha—“
“I don’t know what you think you—“
“We need to talk.”
Bertha felt anger rising and clung to it like a lifeline. “Oh, really? Now? After walking out on me, after months of silence, now, all of a sudden, we need to talk?”
“Yes, damn it! I want—“ He stepped toward her, and she refused to back up.
“Oh, you know what you want now? You were so uncertain before.” She swallowed and straightened her back. “Have you come to ask for a divorce?”
“I— What? No.”
“Then what do you want?”
“I don’t know!”
Bertha threw up her hands. “Then what are you doing here?”
“I just…I want…Goddamn it, Bertha!” And he grabbed her by the arms and kissed her. She let him for a moment, too surprised at first to react and then too lost in the sensation. He tasted strange and familiar at the same time, George but not George. It had been so long since he had kissed her, before Newport, certainly, before the shooting…she had almost lost him, and then he chose to leave her… She shoved him away.
“No.”
“Bertha…” He reached for her, but she stepped back.
“No. You can’t just drop me and pick me back up whenever you like. You can’t just show up here and expect…what? Expect to find me pining for you? Just staring out the window like some tragic, pathetic heroine just waiting for you to decide you can tolerate me again?” It hit a little too close to what George had, in fact been thinking, perhaps even hoping.
“And what have you been up to? Not pining for me, clearly. Not missing me at all, from what I can tell.”
“If you’re talking about Colonel St. James—“
“Don’t you mean Tommy?”
“Oh, for God’s sake—“
“I have a right to know—“
“A right? A right!”
“YOU ARE MY WIFE!” Bertha flinched at his thunderous voice, and he regretted it at once. “Bertha…” He took a step toward her but she backed up, putting the armchair between them. Hiding from him, he realized, and a cold knot formed in his stomach. “I—“
“Get out.”
“Bertha—“
“No. Not now. Not tonight.” She sighed, suddenly exhausted. “Please, just…go.” George stared at her for a long moment before turning and slipping out of the room, closing the door softly behind him. Bertha made it back around the armchair before her knees gave out and the tears started.
Notes:
I almost named the horse Aurora, but Bertha riding Aurora is a different story… ;)
Chapter 11
Summary:
Bertha and George actually talk.
Chapter Text
Bertha woke the next morning with a headache. She hadn’t realized she had any more tears left to cry for that man, but she had been wrong. Everything was wrong, unsettled and uprooted just as she had been starting to find her footing. Damn him. She pulled herself together enough to get to bed and managed to sleep out of pure exhaustion, but it seemed no time at all had passed before sunlight was sneaking in around the edge of her curtains. Bertha winced at the bright light as she sat up. It was a glorious autumn day, and she wanted nothing to do with it. But she couldn’t let what happened in Newport happen here. She was stronger now, and he wouldn’t pull her under again. She rang for breakfast. A few minutes later, there was a soft knock, and Carter entered with her tray.
“Good morning, ma’am.” She moved quietly and efficiently, setting down the tray and opening the curtains fully.
“Thank you, Carter,” she said as the maid settled the tray over her lap. “Is Her Grace awake yet?”
“I believe so, ma’am. Her maid was brining up her tray just behind me. And this arrived for you.” She pulled a letter from her pocket and handed it to Bertha. It was a note from Tommy, reiterating the offer for him and Peter to take her to see some horses that afternoon. He added that she should not hesitate to write if her plans changed or she needed anything at all, unknowingly echoing Carter’s words from the night before. Bertha smiled as she buttered her toast. Her head was already feeling better. She was surrounded by allies, soldiers of all ranks in her little army, and she started drawing up a battle plan.
*
George woke with a headache. He had drunk too much wine the night before, perhaps, but this wasn’t just a hangover. He felt wrung out, as if he hadn’t slept at all, though he was pretty sure he managed at least a couple hours, and the cold knot in his stomach from the night before hadn’t dissipated. He sat up and scrubbed his hand over his face.
He had never seen Bertha afraid of him. Angry, of course, contrite on occasion, even shocked, but never afraid. She had never pushed him away, never felt the need to hide behind furniture. Had she really believed he would hurt her? Perhaps you did, said the irritating voice in the back of his mind. It was becoming louder and louder lately. He hadn’t planned to grab her, to kiss her, but he had been so angry and she had been so beautiful in the firelight, and the thought of losing her to some English prick named Tommy…He hated it. Hated seeing her move away from him, hated seeing the flash of fear on her face before she hid it with anger. Hated, most of all, knowing it was his fault.
Things would have to go differently today. He would find a way to talk with her, calmly this time, and it would be alright. He would make it alright.
*
They didn’t see each other until that afternoon. Bertha was already out by the time George made his way downstairs, and at luncheon, her maid informed him that she was “resting.” George gritted his teeth and wrote her a note, which he gave to Carter. That woman seemed to be everywhere.
Bertha, Would you join me for a walk in the garden at 2 o’clock?
Bertha raised her eyebrows as she read. This was an unexpected maneuver, but she was curious enough to accept. Right at 2, she came down the stairs to find him waiting for her in the hall. George watched her with a neutral expression, hiding his nerves. He had almost expected her to refuse, but Bertha had been confounding his expectations for a long time. As he watched her coming down the stairs, he realized how long it had been since he had watched her descend her magnificent staircase on 61st Street or watched her move toward him across a crowded ball room. He realized with a start that much of his dark mood in the last few months could be attributed to missing her. The realization was as shocking as it was obvious. He cleared his throat as she approached.
“Thank you for coming.”
Bertha nodded, a little wary. “You wanted to see the gardens?”
He couldn’t possibly care less about the gardens, but he nodded. “Yes, Gladys mentioned how much she enjoys walking in them. I thought you could show me?”
“This way.” Bertha led the way through the house, out the back into the grounds. The flowers were gone now, but the leaves were changing into a riot of fiery autumn foliage that she loved. The air was crisp but the sun still offered some warmth. It would have been a perfectly lovely afternoon except for the tension and uncertainty between them.
“I…” began George, but he trailed off. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been this nervous, and Bertha didn’t seem inclined to assist with the conversation. But she continued to walk next to him, so he took a breath and tried again. “I wanted to apologize. For last night. I didn’t intend…I hope you’re not…are you alright?”
Bertha sighed. “You didn’t leave any bruises, if that’s what you’re asking.” She wouldn’t say he hadn’t hurt her.
George winced. “Still, I’m sorry. It was not my intention to…I truly just wanted to talk.”
“And have you decided what you want to talk about?”
“I…Bertha, we cannot continue like this.”
“Oh no? Well, perhaps not. But since I didn’t create the situation, I don’t see how I can alter it.”
George gritted his teeth. Did she have to make this so difficult? “I never asked you to leave. I just wanted some time.”
“Yes, so you said. To decide how you feel about me. If you can stand to stay married to a woman as selfish and ambitious and heartless as I am.”
“I never said—“
“I supposed that really is the question. Our marriage, the technicality of it. You stopped sharing your life with me months ago.”
“It was difficult to get a word in edgewise when all the talk was of dukes and dowries and forced engagements.”
Bertha shook her head. “This, still? I didn’t marry her off to an ogre. Hector is a nice young man, in addition to being a duke, which I knew before I ever introduced I’m to Gladys.”
“You would have introduced her to him regardless.”
“Oh yes, of course, because I’m the ogre. It was all for me, for my selfish ambition. It had nothing to do with creating a good life for her. Ensuring that none of the Mrs. Astors of the world could ever look down on her. Guaranteeing her a great position, and for her children, and their children. I’m a monster.”
“But what of her happiness? What about what she wanted? I just never understood why that couldn’t be part of it.”
“And you really think she would have been happy with Billy Carlton? The boy who couldn’t muster up the courage to ask for her hand and then broke things off with her because he was so intimidated by you?”
“He—what?”
“He was the one who broke off their engagement, the night Hector arrived in New York. He told her he was meant to be a tiny cog in the machine of industry or some nonsense, and he couldn’t keep up with men like you and Morgan. You think that little boy would have made her happy?”
“Well, but—“
“Or maybe you regret Archie Baldwin? The one who courted an inexperienced girl who wasn’t even out and was then so easy to buy off? You’d prefer to have him for a son in law over Hector?”
“You can’t even—“ George took a breath. He wanted to stay calm, but she was making it difficult. “I don’t disagree that things appear to be working out with Hector. He isn’t a cruel man, and he seems to care for her. And she’s genuinely excited about the baby.”
“Exactly, and—“
“But you can’t have known it would turn out like this. Bertha, admit it, you couldn’t have known she’d be happy here.”
Bertha sighed. She wanted to keep her temper in check, but he was making it so difficult. “Did I know with certainty that they would fall in love and live happily ever after? No. But I bet on her having a happier life as the Duchess of Buckingham than as Mrs. Nobody, even if I had to push her through an unhappy wedding to get her there.”
George stopped under a large maple tree, its leaves creating a golden canopy over them. “She cried, Bertha,” he said softly. “I could hear her crying under her veil as I walked her down the aisle. I know she’s happy now, but I may never forgive myself for that day.”
“Unless you can blame me.”
“Alright, yes, maybe I blamed you to relieve some of my own guilt. But the fact that you couldn’t see how unhappy she was—“
“No, I just saw past that!” She wouldn’t give him an inch.
“You got lucky with Hector. Just admit it. You’d have forced her to marry him regardless.”
“I would not have forced her to marry a monster. Do you truly believe I would do that to my daughter?”
George rubbed his eyes. “Perhaps not. But you at least wouldn’t have considered him if he had the same character but no title.”
Bertha sighed. “Perhaps not. I wanted a position for her, the most secure, most powerful position I could get. Because that is the only way for her to be safe.” Bertha turned and walked on, not to get away from him, but because she needed to move. George fell into step beside her. “You don’t understand, not really, how vulnerable women are. What if she ended up with some like Mr. Astor? Or Charles Fane? Or Billy Carlton. That might be worst of all. Mediocre men always blame the people around them for their failures, are most likely to strike out at those who are weaker so they can feel powerful. Even if there hadn’t been a duke available, I wouldn’t have let her marry Billy Carlton.”
“I must say, he didn’t impress me at Aurora’s party.”
“Exactly.” They walked on in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the unusual sensation of being in agreement after so long. Bertha took a breath. She could give a little. “But I do regret that it was so hard for her. I wish she could have enjoyed the engagement and the wedding. Believe it or not, her unhappiness has never been my goal.”
“I know.”
Bertha glanced over at him. He looked deep in thought, but not angry. “I’d like to go back to the house. I’m supposed to go to Eleanor for tea, and I need to change, and then they’re all coming here for dinner. But we still have more to discuss, I think. Perhaps we could walk again tomorrow?”
George smiled. “Yes. Yes, I would like that.”
*
George was in the hall before a few minutes before 2 o’clock the next day. He had spent the morning working, answering letters that had been waiting for him when he arrived and a handful of cables. Larry seemed to have things well in hand, but he wanted to read the reports and review the contracts and generally keep his hand in. But now, he waited in the hall like an over-eager young suitor.
Though they hadn’t been alone again since yesterday, there was an obvious thaw between them, and the others picked up on it immediately. Lady Selwyn had gone so far as to direct and civil comment to him at dinner. After their talk yesterday, George was certain they were on the path to reconciliation. It had helped to hear her say she had noticed Gladys’s misery, that she had cared. And she made a good argument for pushing their daughter into becoming a duchess. While they might never fully see eye to eye about her methods, he could at least see that she had reasons beyond her own ambition. Perhaps he should have seen that all along. He was ready to forgive her now, and things would soon be back to normal. He was sure of it.
Notes:
English field maples turn golden in the fall is a thing I know now.
Chapter Text
The sky was gray that afternoon and threatening rain, but they went out into the gardens anyway. Bertha enjoyed walking around the estate, reveling in the grandeur. George walked beside her in silence for several minutes as they made their way down the aisle of manicured hedges that led away from the castle.
“How was your ride?” She had been out with Tommy and Eleanor again that morning, and he was determined to be unbothered by the amount of time she was spending with that man. At least Eleanor had been there, too.
“Very nice. And Peter wants to show me some more horses in the next day or so.”
George nodded. “You should have your own saddle, too, I suppose.”
Bertha glanced at him. “Yes, I suppose so. I’ve been borrowing one from Sidmuth, but it would be nice to have one of my own, if I’m to have my own horse.”
“Of course.”
The walked on in silence again, but it was becoming more companionable and less tense. If he did buy her a saddle, it would be the first gift he had bought her in months, since before Gladys’s wedding. He technically paid for everything, of course, but general expenses for the household or her wardrobe didn’t really count as gifts. The fact that he had mentioned the saddle himself, had practically offered to get it for her, made her heart thump happily. She was still wary of this detente, but perhaps they were finally moving back toward each other.
They found themselves under the golden maple again, the colors somewhat muted by the gray sky.
Bertha took a deep breath. “So. Have you decided what you want?”
George nodded and took her hands. “I want you to come home.”
Bertha’s heart swelled, but she hesitated. “But Gladys…”
“After the birth, if you wish to stay. But I want you do come back.”
“Are you sure? You want me? All of me?”
“Yes.” He lifted her hands and kissed them. “And I promise, I won’t continue to bring up Gladys’s marriage. I forgive you.”
The warmth that had been spreading through her died suddenly, replaced by ice rushing through her veins. “You forgive me,” she said flatly.
“I do. I thought about what you said yesterday and, while I may not agree with your methods, I understand what you were trying to do. And I’m glad it turned out well for Gladys. She does seem happy.”
He still sounded surprised when he said that, as if he had expected their daughter to be miserable. As if she had intended for Gladys to be unhappy forever, as if happiness was not the result of a well-ordered life. A life she had ordered well. She pulled her hands back.
“And what of my forgiveness?”
“What do you mean?”
Bertha turned away, looking back toward the house. “Do you have any idea what it was like for me after you left Newport? Not knowing if you were planning to divorce me? Having no word for weeks?” Bertha forced herself to breathe in and out slowly. She refused to cry. “I couldn’t…I could barely…there were days when I didn’t even bother to dress. If Gladys hadn’t written asking me to come…I’m not sure what would have happened.” She hated admitting this, hated remembering it, but she wanted him to feel it, too, some fraction of the pain he had inflicted.
“Bertha—“ He took a step toward her, but she backed away.
“And we both know it didn’t start in Newport. You had barely spoken to me in months expect to push me way, belittle my work and leave me out of yours, and blame me for Gladys’s misery. Even when I came here and set things right, set her up to succeed as a Duchess. Even when you so clearly needed help. You didn’t want me. You didn’t want my council or my comfort, and the one time you did ask, you all but called me a whore for being the charming hostess you asked for!” She was shouting now, but she didn’t care. Let anyone hear. A damn had burst inside of her, a wound reopening and spilling out in front of him. “You became like every other husband with a frivolous wife whose social concerns were silly indulgences rather than an integral part of your success. I helped build Russell Consolidated as much as you did, and you know it, and yet you shoved me away because you could! Because I’m just a woman, and you were angry at yourself, but thank God you had a wife to blame.” The furious, painful tears were coming, and she couldn’t stop them. “You were the foundation of my world, George, you and our marriage, and I trusted you when you said you loved all of me, even the selfish, ambitious parts, because they matched yours. Because you loved me. And then you ripped that away and left me with nothing.” She took a shaky breath and wiped angrily at her tears. “You threw me away, so I came here to help Gladys, because she actually wanted me, needed me. And now you show up and say you forgive me and expect me to come home? Go to hell, George.” She turned to walk away.
“Bertha, wait!” He sprang forward and grabbed her arm, but she yanked it away.
“You made me learn that I could live without you. It was a lesson I never wanted, but I learned it anyway. When you were shot, I begged you to stay with me, begged God not to take you, and then as soon as you recovered, you chose to leave me anyway. How am I supposed to trust that you won’t do that again? If I can’t rely on your love, how can I trust your forgiveness? How am I supposed to forgive you?” She turned and moved away from him. “Don’t follow me.”
*
He couldn’t have followed even if she would have allowed it. He was rooted to the ground as firmly as the maple tree, watching her storm away from him, moving swiftly until she turned a corner around one of the endless hedges and disappeared from sight. Her words had stunned him. He had spent so much of the last few months being angry with her, stewing over it and drinking about it, that he hadn’t given any thought to her situation, to her being alone in Newport — being left alone, he realized. He had heard she hand’t returned to 61st street, but he assumed she had just been pouting, taking a pet by the sea. And then she had left for England with barely a word, and his anger rekindled. He thought their talk yesterday was the beginning of a reconciliation, that his forgiving her was all that was required. He was a fool.
He rubbed his hand over his face as he finally moved, making his way back to the house. His mind was reeling from her revelations, from the anger and, what was so much worse, the deep pain she had shown him. Pain you caused. He hadn’t meant that he didn’t want her. He was angry about the marriage, and the near-loss of his business, about being nearly killed, damn it! But he had just wanted some time to clear his head. Hadn’t he? It was hard to remember now. The strain of the last months, dealing with righting the business and managing the new mines…and doing it without her. Looking back, it was clear how much harder it had been to conduct business from his club, without his wife or the staff she ran, the home she had made for him.
But he had been right to be angry after Gladys’s wedding. Hadn’t he? She was crying, and he still walked her down the aisle. He had promised her a love match, and he had broken his word. It had been Bertha’s plan, Bertha’s maneuvering, but he could have stopped it. At any point, he could have refused to pay the dowery and gotten rid of the duke, but he hadn’t. He hated himself for that, and it was so easy to blame it all on Bertha. They each deserved a share of the blame, but he wanted her to bear it all.
You were the foundation of my world…You threw me away…I could live without you.
His heart clenched, and he quickened his steps. She would be able to live without him, he was sure of that. But he was also sure that he couldn’t live without her. He had to get her back.
He was almost back to the house when the skies opened up and a furious torrent of rain crashed over him before he made it inside.
“Is Mrs. Russell in her room?” he asked the butler as he handed over his dripping hat and coat.
The butler raised one elegant eyebrow. “Mrs. Russell has not returned, sir. I thought she was with you.” A deafening clap of thunder seemed to shake the ancient stone of the castle as George ran back to the door.
“Bertha!”
Notes:
Of course Sidmuth has a hedge maze I don’t make the rules
Chapter Text
Bertha had just come to the hedge maze when the rain started. Wonderful. She’d be drenched by the time she got back to the house, but there was a gazebo in the center, and she thought she remembered the route to get there. She ran into the maze. The ground was muddy from the rain, and she turned her ankle taking a corner. Just wonderful.
It only took her a few minutes to get to the center, but she was still soaked to the bone by the time she made it to the relative shelter of the gazebo. The open sides allowed the rain to blow in, but at least the roof kept the worst of it at bay. She was suddenly exhausted after the run and the confrontation with George, and her ankle was sore, so she sat on the floor in the very center, as far from the rain as possible, and wrapped her arms around herself. At least she was wearing her new coat, though it was probably ruined now. She shivered. Perhaps the rain would pass soon. Perhaps someone would find her. Perhaps she should close her eyes for just a moment…
*
“Bertha!” George yanked the door open and nearly collided with Tommy St. James.
“Mr. Russell!”
”Out of my way!”
”What’s going on?” That was Eleanor’s voice.
“We were walking…I thought she came back…she’s out there!” He pushed passed them.
“El, order a hot bath for her, she’ll need it when she gets back,” said Tommy before hurrying after George. “Where did you see her last?”
”I don’t need your help. Stay away from my wife!”
Tommy grabbed his arm. “We can cover more ground with two people, you ass. Where were you walking?” George hesitated. “For God’s sake, man, if she’s out in this storm she could be hurt. This isn’t about you and your foolish pride. Tell me!”
George swallowed. He was right. If she was hurt… “That big maple tree, out past the hedges.”
Tommy nodded. “You go that way, I’ll check the other side of the garden.” They both took off running into the rain.
*
Bertha was cold and tired. She leaned against one of the benches in the gazebo, her eyes still closed. How long was this rain going to go on? She shivered and curled in on herself, but the movement hurt her ankle. Was this how she was going to live from now on? Cold and alone and in pain…but she was too tired to think about it, too wet and cold and tired…
*
Tommy realized where she’d gone as soon as he saw the edge of the maze. The gazebo was the closest shelter, and he and Eleanor had picnicked there with her several times, sometimes with Gladys, when the weather was fine. He hoped she remembered the route. He checked a couple of the dead ends on the way to the center, but she wasn’t there, so at least she hadn’t gotten lost. He rounded the corner to the center clearing and his heart clenched.
Bertha was lying on the floor of the gazebo, soaked and shivering and not entirely conscious. He knelt next to her. “Birdie! Bertha, wake up!” She groaned and murmured something but didn’t open her eyes. Damn it. He wrapped his arms around her and hauled her up until he could hook one arm under her legs and lift her. He was going to get her back to the house, and then he was going to murder George Russell.
*
”Birdie!” Eleanor was waiting in the hall with Bertha’s made when Tommy carried her in. The maid draped a blanket over her. “Oh, you poor thing. Let’s get her upstairs. We have to get her out of these wet clothes.” The three of them moved to the stairs as the door opened again.
“Bertha!” George rushed toward them, but Eleanor held up a hand.
“She needs a hot bath and dry clothes. I suggest you arrange the same for yourself.”
“Is she—“
”I don’t know.” Eleanor was glaring at him, but the anguish on his face softened her slightly. “We need to get everyone dry and warm and then send for a doctor. You’ll be no good to her if you catch your death.” She turned and led the way upstairs, Tommy still carrying Bertha. George stared up at them, feeling utterly helpless.
“Sir? Perhaps I could have your valet meet you in your room.”
George managed to pull himself together. “Yes, thank you. And please send for a doctor and let me know as soon as he arrives.”
”Of course, sir.”
George made his way upstairs, suddenly aware that he was drenched and freezing. But that didn’t matter. Only Bertha mattered. She would be alright. She had to be alright.
*
Bertha was awake by the time they made it to her room. Coming in out of the rain had helped, but she was terribly cold, and her ankle was throbbing. She felt weak and tired, and was willing to let the others take charge.
“Put her here,” said Eleanor, gesturing to the armchair by the fireplace. “Carter, is the bath ready?”
“Yes, ma’am, we just need to get her out of these wet clothes.”
Tommy placed her gently in the char. “I’ll leave you ladies to it, unless there’s anything else I can do?”
”No, you’ve been brilliant,” said Eleanor, poking at the fire. “Go get yourself dry, and make sure a doctor is on the way.” Tommy nodded and left, eager to get out of his wet things now that he had safely delivered his friend.
Eleanor helped Carter get Bertha out of her soaking velvet coat and helped her stand so Carter could undo the fastening of her dress. Holding her friend’s hands, Eleanor noticed she was leaning slightly to the right, favoring her left foot.
“Are you hurt, B?”
Bertha frowned. “My ankle…”
Eleanor nodded. “We’ll have the doctor look at it when he gets here. Can you make it to the bath?”
Bertha nodded. “I’m cold.” She sounded like a small, frightened child.
”I know, darling, but we’ll get you warm. Go with Carter.” Having gotten her down to her chemise and stocking, Carter led Bertha into the bathroom where a steaming tub was waiting. Eleanor rang for a maid and ordered tea and soup and a hot water bottle. She was just about to return to her own room when Gladys entered.
“Is everything alright? I heard a commotion, and my maid said that mother was missing—“
”Everything is going to be fine.” Eleanor took the younger woman’s hands. “Your mother got caught in the storm, but Tommy found her and brought her back.”
Gladys frowned. “But what about father? They went out together for a walk.”
Eleanor led her to the settee. ”I’m not sure what happened. Tommy and I arrived as your father was going out to look for her. They must have gotten separated, or he came back early.” She managed to keep her anger at George out of her voice, but only just. “Your mother hurt her ankle, and of course she got cold from the rain, but Carter has her in a bath. We’ve sent for a doctor, but just as a precaution. I sent your father to bathe and change as well.” She patted Gladys’s hand. “Now, what would you like? Tommy and I can stay to help, or we can return home and be out of the way. I can send word to Peter not to come for dinner if you prefer.”
”Oh, no, I…that is, if you don’t mind, it might be good to have company tonight.” She wasn’t sure what had happened between her parents, but she didn’t want to mediate alone. Hector, though a dear in many ways, would be no help if they were fighting. He would just leave them to it. Eleanor and Tommy, though certainly biased toward her mother, could help handle her while Gladys managed George.
Eleanor smiled. “It’s no trouble at all, if you’re sure we won’t be in the way.”
“No, you’d be very welcome. And perhaps you’d like to stay the night, if the storm continues.” She frowned. “But perhaps we shouldn’t ask Peter to travel in this weather?”
“Peter will be fine. It’s not far, and with any luck the worst of it will pass in an hour or so.”
Gladys nodded. “Well, thank you. I appreciate all your help, truly.”
”Of course, my dear. Why don’t you go rest. I’ll see to your mother and make sure she’s alright. We can all reconvene at dinner.” She ushered Gladys out of the door and went back to the settee to wait for Bertha.
A few minutes later, Carter and Bertha reemerged from the bathroom, Bertha bundled into a robe and leaning on Carter’s arm.
“How’s your ankle?” Asked Eleanor, as Bertha settled on the settee next to her. Carter busied herself with turning down the bed and preparing the room for the night.
“Sore, but not to bad. I don’t think it’s broken.”
“Good. The doctor can tell us for sure, but I think you’d know if it were broken. But probably best to stay off it. I ordered a try for you, and Tommy, Peter, and I will stay the night. I’ve spoken to Gladys about it. She came to check on you, but I said you were fine and sent her off to rest.”
Bertha nodded. “Thank you.” She looked over at Carter. “And thank you, Carter, that will be all.” Carter nodded and slipped out.
“Now,” said Eleanor, once the door closed, “do you want to tell me what happened? And tell me what you would like us to do with George.”
*
Gladys found George fidgeting in the drawing room when she came down for dinner. The doctor had come and gone, pronouncing Bertha’s ankle strained but not broken and advising her to rest it for a few days. It meant no riding, which hadn’t pleased her, but at least it would take less time to heal than a break or sprain. She didn’t have a fever, but the doctor approved of her taking a tray in her room.
“Just keep her warm and make her rest, and she should be fine in a day or so,” he told the assembled friends and family.
George’s relief had been immense, but so had his guilt. Bertha’s maid wouldn’t let him in to see her, claiming she was resting, and he could tell from the sidelong glances, and outright glares from Eleanor, that everyone blamed him for what had happened. He blamed himself.
”How is she?” He asked Gladys as soon as she came in.
“Alright. Resting, and Eleanor ordered a try for dinner. She seemed a bit tired, but I’m sure a good night sleep will fix most of it. The real trick will be to get her to stay in bed tomorrow.” George smiled slightly, but it was faint and short-lived. “Father…what happened? Why did you…why was she alone out there?”
George shook his head, understanding what she meant. “I didn’t leave her. We…we quarreled, and she said she wanted to be alone. I thought she had come back to the house.” He signed. “I should have followed her, but she was so angry, and I…” He trailed off, staring into the fire.
”What did you quarrel about? I thought things were improving between the two of you.”
”I thought so, too, but…She told me about Newport. After I left. About what the past few months have been like for her. I…I had no idea. I thought she was simply angry and punishing me by staying away and then leaving for England, but…I didn’t know.” He looked up at Gladys, and the desperation in his face startled her. “I swear, I didn’t know it was so bad.”
Gladys nodded. “I know. I know you didn’t realize.” She hesitated, but decided to push on. She was a duchess, and Bertha Russell’s daughter, and she could tell him what he needed to hear. “But I asked you before I left not to use me as an excuse to be angry with her. I asked you to write to her.”
George nodded, all the fight gone from him. “I know. I should have listened to you. I should have listened to both of you.”
”She told me a little of what happened after the ball, how it was for her. Not all of it, I’m sure, but some. I’ve never seen her so…fragile. She was too thin when she arrived, and Carter told Adelheide she wasn’t sleeping well. It’s gotten better, particularly since we’ve all become friends with the St. Jameses, but…” She trailed off. There was no need to say more. She could see from the pained expression on her father’s face that he was finally coming to understand the pain he had caused. “But I’m glad you’re here. I’m glad you’re both here.” She put a hand on his arm. “I still believe this can be mended.” She smiled faintly. “She wouldn’t be so angry with you if she didn’t still care.”
George huffed a laugh. “I suppose not.” He smiled at his daughter. “It’s going to be alright. I’m going to make it alright.”
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