Chapter Six
James
“She isn’t that bad,” MissBertram insists, glaring at Lady Gwen as they sit smushed on the opposite carriage bench. They’re
both in simple work dresses with aprons, ready for a shift at the Foundling Hospital.
James, fidgeting in his stiff suit, isn’t entirely sure how he ended up escorting them today, nor how he got roped into speaking
with the head physician, Dr.Holting, for the Medical Act standing committee. Now he’s trapped in his carriage with his cousin
and her stepsister, who have been having a row that he’s desperately been trying to follow since he picked them up. Neither
has made any comment about his abrupt retreat from the Steton tea at the top of the week, not that there’s been a break in
the argument to do so.
“My apologies—please, remind me, what is the situation with Lady Ashmond?” James asks, wanting to make at least some effort
to add to the conversation. Both women turn to look at him, their frustration cascading around the carriage. “If... you
don’t mind explaining.”
“Lady Ashmond is the former wife of Lord Ashmond,” MissBertram says, nudging Lady Gwen before she can get a word out. “They
divorced six months ago.”
“And she’s your supervisor at the hospital?” James asks, glancing between them. You could cut the tension with a knife, though he doesn’t totally understand why.
“She oversees all the volunteers, yes,” MissBertram says stiffly.
“And keeps coming by to see how Beth is every single time,” Lady Gwen adds. “Hovering.”
“Which is kind of her, given I’m the reason she got divorced in the first place,” MissBertram exclaims.
“Beg pardon?” James asks. How could his cousin—sweet, calm, lovely MissBertram—have broken up a marriage?
“Lord Montson is Lady Ashmond’s son,” Lady Gwen says slowly, as if he isn’t actually listening.
“Right,” he says. “I know, but I don’t under—”
MissBertram sighs. “Ending my engagement to Lord Montson rather precipitated Lady Ashmond filing for a divorce,” she explains.
“Ah,” he says, struggling to follow. “Well, um, it’s nice that she’s being polite, I suppose, then? Is she otherwise a good
manager?”
Lady Gwen opens her mouth and MissBertram elbows her. “Surprisingly, yes. She’s very dedicated to the work and seems to enjoy
it. Perhaps over time we shall get to know her better.”
“I don’t see why we should even bot—”
“Do shut it, would you?” MissBertram says, looking over at Lady Gwen, who glowers back before staring moodily out the window.
They ride in an uncomfortable silence for a while. James had heard rumors of Miss Bertram’s rather abrupt refusal to marry Lord Montson, just a day before the wedding. Everything about the previous season confuses him, and no one seems to want to discuss it directly—the engagement between Miss Bertram and Lord Montson, his stepfather’s handling of Lady Havenfort’s marriage settlement before James came of age, the way in which James, and his stepfather by proxy, took ownership of the Demeroven townhouse—it’s all a little hazy.
“Cousin, I wonder if I might impose upon you to discuss—” James starts, hoping perhaps this might be his chance to set the
record straight.
But the carriage trundles through the redbrick arch of the Foundling Hospital’s courtyard, heading for the tall, three-story
maternity wing before he can finish the thought.
MissBertram looks across the carriage, but James shakes his head, giving her a false easy smile. He would hardly know what
to ask exactly, anyway.
They pull to a stop on the left side of the courtyard, where a cluster of children run about, playing games, tossing balls,
and getting fresh air. Lady Gwen and MissBertram hop out before he can even think of helping them, not looking at each other.
Lady Gwen heads straight for a pack of children, who all beam up at her, inviting her into their game immediately.
“She can be a right brat, but she’s very good with them,” MissBertram tells him once he’s closed the carriage door.
She offers her arm and he takes it, allowing her to lead him through the double doors into the maternity wing. “I believe
you’ll head up to the second floor to find Dr.Holting,” she says, gesturing to a broad staircase with windows that overlook
the courtyard. “And we’ll see you for boating tomorrow with Mr.Mason, yes?”
James forces himself to smile and squeeze her hand, even though the very thought of Bobby Mason turns his stomach to ice.
He lets her walk away, watching as she heads for another set of double doors further down the hall. A tall, willowy woman
in a voluminous white gown and a green apron steps out and immediately takes MissBertram’s arm.
“MissBertram, do come in. Little Martha has been asking for you. Come this way.”
James watches the doors swing shut behind them and stands there at the bottom of the stairs, unsure of how to react to all
of it. To his cousin and her stepsister’s charged argument, Miss Bertram’s history with the Ashmond family—to the strange
sense of remove that envelops him as he turns slowly and climbs the stairs.
He should know more about his cousin and her life, about the events of the previous season that everyone seems to allude to
but never fully discuss. Why didn’t he ever ask his stepfather about his cousin and aunt? Was he so wrapped up in his own
impending misery that it never occurred to him to check on the only other family he has left?
Even Bobby Mason has a better relationship with MissBertram than he does. But he’s not going to think about Bobby Mason today.
He’s not going to think about the way that cracked, crestfallen look on Mason’s face pounded against his chest. He’s not going
to think about the way he felt every ounce the pillock he’s always worried he is as he fled the Steton tea.
He has parliament work to do. Important things to accomplish, even if he didn’t volunteer for the duty. So he heads up the
stairs, trying to banish all thoughts of Mason, of Lord Havenfort, of his cousin and her mother. And of the way that he feels
disconnected from all of them, despite their constant and unnerving forced proximity.
***
“Did you have a good time boating with your cousin today, dearest?” his mother asks, forcing him to look up from his steak
across the overlarge mahogany table the next evening.
“Um, yes,” he says slowly, grimacing a smile for his mother.
She looks tired, swimming in her ill-fitting gray gown. Not one of those she’s had altered so far this season, though she’s yet to attend any formal events. He would have just taken his meal in the kitchen, but he had the misfortune to return home just as his mother and stepfather were sitting down for one of their sullen dinners. Now Stepfather’s at the head of the table, as usual.
“If you’re wasting time courting, you may as well find some women who might actually marry you,” Stepfather grumbles around
a full mouth.
“My cousin and Lady Gwen introduced me to some of their friends,” James says quickly, hoping to stall any talk of courting
before his mother can get going on all her plans to have lovely young ladies over for dinner.
“Havenfort’s family will do you no favors. You ought to be chumming up to the conservative lords, poaching their daughters.
We’ll need a good dowry to buy another townhouse.”
And now he wants another townhouse, not just a different one. London is only sharpening his stepfather’s ambitions, and it makes James’ chest tight.
“How is Lady Havenfort?” his mother asks.
“She’s—” James starts.
“I heard from Lord Constance today that he’s making excellent inroads with the railroad companies. You might consider partnering
up with him to help improve the legislation for land acquisition. Put us in good stead to get investment stock,” Stepfather
says loudly, launching into a long rant about railroad stocks, plans, and the expansion in America.
James’ mother’s eyes lose what little sparkle they had when dinner began, and she looks down at her food, leaving James to
hum at intervals for his stepfather. His whole day has been conversations taking place around him, not with him. Why should
he imagine it would be any different at home?
It bothers him, this newfound unease with being ignored. In the country, he was fine living his own life, avoiding his stepfather and mother as much as possible while making himself useful as best he could in Epworth. But the way his cousin and Lady Gwen talked around him while they boated today seemed somehow pointed, and it’s eating at him.
It’s not only MissBertram and Lady Gwen who seem indifferent to James, either. The way Lord Mason and Lord Havenfort discuss
so much in his presence but rarely actually engage him in conversation about the Medical Act speaks volumes. Though perhaps
the information he gathered yesterday at the hospital could help with that.
The only person who has actively tried to engage him is Bobby Mason, and James has gone and chased him off. He didn’t bother to show for their boating
outing, and James can’t quite blame him. All he’s managed to do is insult the man. But he can’t seem to help it.
He knows, logically, that Mason is only trying to find something for them to have in common, but the way he’s been prying
into James’ secrets, trying to get him to admit to things in plain daylight that he’s only ever told other men in the dark
of night (if they spoke at all)... He doesn’t want to feel so exposed every time they talk, raw and strangely wanting.
With Raverson roaming around, he can’t risk becoming vulnerable or honest about... anything. Raverson knows too much already;
James can’t give him more ammunition. He’s sure Mason will give up eventually and let him be.
“You wouldn’t believe what some of the men on Havenfort’s side get up to. Squiring their mistresses about with abandon—” Stepfather
says.
James blinks over at him, unsure of how they got from railroads to adultery. If a public mistress is a bridge too far for his stepfather, what would he think of James frequenting clubs like D’Vere?
No, Mason’s cavalier attitude about his persuasion, his penchant for discussing things in public, for trying to be open and
honest in a ton that would shun him for far less than buggery—Mason is not the person to befriend. Much less... anything
else. Better to let him think James is a lout than to court misfortune.
Not that Bobby Mason would ever want anything else with James. He has better options. And they can’t get through a single
conversation anyway. More importantly, James isn’t interested. It was a schoolboy fancy of his, nothing more. The real Bobby
Mason isn’t someone to pine after. No matter how much those fleeting moments of détente with Mason tug at his youthful crush,
James knows there can be nothing between him and Bobby Mason.
“Not hungry, Viscount? Stuffed yourself with free food with Havenfort’s daughter? Is she trying to woo you into making a donation
to that damn hospital?” Stepfather asks.
James shakes his head. “No, no. Just there for parliament. You know I—” He pauses, forcing a bland smile onto his face. “You
know we discuss all the Demeroven donations.”
Stepfather grunts and goes back to his rant about... racehorses?
James can’t keep living like this. At least in Epworth he could escape into the countryside—take solace in his own silence.
There, silence was golden, peaceful, and restorative. But more of these dinners, more of the meetings, more of the courting
activities with everyone talking around him but not to him... Bobby Mason might not be the friend he should have, but James
needs to renew his search to find someone he can talk to—someone, anyone, who will talk to him in return.