Chapter Nine
Bobby
“You shouldn’t be in here,” Beth says, looking at him over the hand towel she has pressed to her face.
Bobby lets the door to the women’s water closet swing shut behind him and rummages in his pocket for his handkerchief, but
comes up empty. “And leave you in here to cry alone?”
Beth rolls her watery eyes, blowing out a breath to try and calm down. Bobby plunks himself down on one of the overstuffed
poufs that are, for some reason, just in the middle of the room. There’s much more to the outer chamber here than there is
in the men’s water closet.
The walls are a deep pink and made of what looks like crushed velvet. There’s gold-tassel trim along the molding, and the
wash basins are set beneath a row of mirrors lit with gaslights. The whole room is a tad hazy, but inviting.
“It’s all right to be mad, you know,” Bobby says, watching as Beth tries to shake her tears away, flapping the towel in her
hand.
“I don’t want to give him the satisfaction,” Beth says tightly. She then raises the towel and blows her nose with a sound
like a foghorn.
“Then give me the satisfaction of listening to you rail against him, and we’ll go out and be all prim, proper, and disgustingly
stiff-upper-lip about it,” Bobby entices.
If she keeps bottling it all up inside, someday she’ll explode, and he doesn’t want to see her hurt, or see her have to live with having hurt someone else. On top of that, he needs to hear that it’s hurt her too, otherwise he’ll feel irrational and oversensitive. James bloody Demeroven is an unmitigated, pompous arse.
“I would be angrier if he wasn’t right,” Beth says, meeting his eyes with a look of such exhaustion that he instantly rises
from the pouf to wrap her in a hug.
Beth presses her forehead into his shoulder with a huff and he stares at their reflection in the mirror.
“Are you angry?” she asks.
“Yes,” he says instantly.
“But?”
Bobby sighs. She’s not wrong. Demeroven’s comment bites not simply because it was a wretched thing to say, but more because
it’s annoyingly true. His and Beth’s fathers were lazy, thoughtless men, who threw their money at everything but their families,
and ascribed to the most power-hungry, self-serving of politics.
And they both treated their children like utter filth.
Still. “He shouldn’t have said anything,” Bobby asserts.
“Bobby.”
“Especially to a lady.”
“I’m not a lady,” Beth says, pulling back to look up at him.
“Sure you are. Best lady I know,” he says, releasing her to wipe away her tears. “And even if the arse is entirely right,
and Albie’s done more for my family since my father died than my father managed in two decades, and he’s managing even with
Meredith trapped away in the country, it’s still wrong for your cousin to treat you that way.”
“It’s wrong for him to treat us both that way,” Beth agrees, squeezing his hands before stepping back from him.
He watches as she shuffles close to the mirror to tend to her lightly melted makeup. “You’re right,” he says. “And I’m sorry you have to deal with him so much.”
Beth turns to regard him, lip between her teeth. “I wish I was only angry at him.”
Bobby blinks. He lowers himself down to the overstuffed pouf again, settling in for a good talk. As much as he knows Beth
loves Gwen and Uncle Dashiell, the circumstances of her arrangement must make it difficult to talk about the time before—those
awful months when Beth was set to marry Lord Montson so she and Cordelia would have somewhere to live.
“I find I’m angrier with my father than I... thought I was,” Beth admits.
“Me too,” Bobby hears himself say.
“Watching James take his seat, I—I didn’t think it would be this hard. His attitude notwithstanding.”
“He’s certainly not making it easier,” Bobby agrees.
“And I’m happy, you know?” Beth says, her smile brittle, but clear. “So happy with Gwen. And my mother and Dashiell are so
in love, and the baby—” She breaks off to swipe at her eyes again. “Damn.”
“I feel kind of helpless,” Bobby says, offering her a sad smile, hoping that somehow baring his own broken soul might make
her feel less guilty for her completely understandable emotional upheaval.
“You do?” Beth wonders.
“Albie’s doing all this work—all these important things—and I’m attending teas and pretending to look for a wife.”
“Not trying too hard, are you?” Beth asks with a little laugh.
Bobby smiles, mission accomplished. “I wish there was something I could do that meant something. And then there’s Demeroven, and he’s such a—” He pauses, not wanting to malign the man too much in front of Beth. There is some language that’s unfit even for her ears.
“Yes, he is,” Beth says, raising a brow, a look she’s learned from Gwen.
Bobby sighs and fiddles with his signet ring. “Why do you keep letting Uncle Dashiell invite him to things?” he asks in lieu
of getting up to face the literal music that seeps in under the door.
“I don’t have much choice, do I?” Beth asks, adjusting her skirts. “But I am sorry he was cruel to you.”
“You do not need to apologize on his behalf. His actions are not your responsibility,” Bobby says, standing up to mark his
point.
“I know,” Beth says, waving him off. “Still, perhaps it was wrong of Gwen and me to insist you try and get along with him,”
she adds, her eyes going distant for a moment. “Maybe we were wrong to think he might be different from my father and his
stepfather.”
“You’re different,” Bobby says, forcing some cheer into his voice. She may have asked him to help, but Uncle Dashiell is the
one who laid down the decree. “You’re the best Demeroven-turned-Bertram I know. Don’t tell Gwen.”
Beth laughs. “Thank you. But I’m not the one with the legacy. He is, and it just—” She searches for a moment but doesn’t seem
to find the words. “I’ll meet you back in the box,” she says instead, squeezing his arm.
She walks past him and out the door. It swings shut behind her and Bobby stands there in the middle of the women’s water closet,
feeling deeply adrift.
Demeroven’s right. Albie will repair the family legacy. And Bobby? Bobby will simply... exist. Leaving no legacy behind, nothing of value or substance. His only meaningful contribution could be children—little spares of spares who could someday inherit if something terrible happened to Albie and his family.
But if he has children, he wants to have children for them—to give them the life and love that he and Albie never got. But
how could he do that if he couldn’t be the right husband to their mother?
And if he can’t even bear children, how can he ever be more than a man who “wouldn’t understand” what true responsibility
is in Demeroven’s eyes?
Bobby stares at his reflection in the hanging mirror. Wallowing in the ladies’ water closet isn’t going to get him anywhere,
other than in a potential run-in with the authorities. With a sigh, Bobby straightens up and pushes through the door back
into the dim corridor off the box seats. He hesitates, wondering if perhaps he should just set up camp here and wait out the
rest of the performance.
But then, if he doesn’t go back, will Demeroven think less of him for it? Think he’s won, again, in this bizarre battle of
painful family histories?
“The tenor is off pitch, don’t you think?”
Bobby jumps, a hand to his heart. Lord Raverson seems to appear out of the darkness. He grins slyly, looking Bobby up and
down, and Bobby struggles to regain the little poise he has.
“He is,” Bobby agrees, though he honestly has no idea. “On your way for a smoke?”
Raverson shrugs and steps up to him, placing a hand against the wall behind Bobby so they’re close enough to speak at a whisper.
He supposes it’s not the most indecent of poses, but surely more intimate than two men would normally be in such a setting.
The fact that they’ve been as intimate as, well, as Bobby’s been with anyone in a good long time stirs hot in his stomach. Flashes of that night a week ago in Prince’s pantry fill Bobby’s mind. He feels his cheeks flushing as Raverson continues to peruse his figure.
“Did I see you come out of the women’s water closet?”
Bobby swallows a slightly strangled laugh. “My cousin’s stepsister, ah, needed to talk.”
“Oh, are we thinking of trying to cross the family trees? I didn’t think you were so inclined,” Raverson says, his eyes seeming
to sharpen.
“What? No. MissBertram is a dear friend. She was upset. It was nothing untoward, I assure you.”
Bobby doesn’t know which unsettles him more: the idea that anyone might think he was trying to seduce Beth, or that Raverson
might have gotten the wrong impression about who Bobby would like to have trying to seduce him. But he really can’t think
about much beyond the way Raverson’s biting at his lip.
“Would you like to be a little untoward tonight?” Raverson asks, his voice a husky whisper.
And though he knows it’s beyond foolish to consider, given where they are and who’s waiting for him, Bobby finds himself agreeing.
A few minutes of hungry kisses and a good grope with Raverson sounds infinitely more appealing than sitting beside sodding
Demeroven or pretending his cousin and Beth aren’t upset.
So he lets Raverson lead him past the water closets and into a curtained alcove against the wall behind the box seats. Raverson
pulls the curtain around them, plunging them into complete darkness. And then it’s all lips and tongue and firm, squeezing,
broad hands. Raverson hitches him up so he’s straddling the man’s thigh, his back flush to the wall.
He grinds down on Raverson, nearly whimpering. All his pent-up frustration surges through his body in an intense arousal that makes him feel like he’s sixteen again. Bobby bucks against Raverson as his hand starts to work the buttons of Bobby’s pants. He bites back a curse.
Then someone stumbles into Raverson’s back.
Raverson’s knee drops, and they cleave apart. The curtain wrenches back and Bobby feels his throat constrict, terror coursing
through him. He’s about to be sent to jail. His family—sitting not twenty yards away—is about to be disgraced. Albie will
never recover the Mason name—
Uncle Dashiell blinks at them in the dim lamplight. Backlit by the gas lamps, he strikes an imposing, dour figure, and Bobby
feels himself shrinking down, in multiple ways, horror giving way to keen embarrassment.
“Ah, Lord Havenfort,” Raverson says, straightening his lapels and stepping around Uncle Dashiell, out into the hallway like
nothing’s happened. “How good to see you.”
“Raverson,” Uncle Dashiell says, glancing from Raverson to Bobby and back.
Bobby ducks out of the alcove as well, adjusting his jacket to hide the evidence of what must be a horribly shocking discovery
for his uncle.
“I was just coming to collect Demeroven,” Uncle Dashiell says after a beat of the loudest silence Bobby thinks he’s ever heard.
He knows there’s still an opera going on, but he can’t seem to hear it.
“Of course, of course,” Raverson says smoothly.
“I was... going to ask if you would see the girls home, Robert,” Uncle Dashiell continues, eyeing Raverson before looking
to Bobby. “But if you are otherwise—”
“I would be happy to see the ladies home, my lord,” Raverson cuts in.
Uncle Dashiell looks back at him and Bobby tries to see a way out of this situation that doesn’t mean his banishment from the family.
“For a small price, of course,” Raverson continues, flashing Uncle Dashiell that winning smile. “All nice and respectable.
Keep the rumors at bay.”
“The—” Bobby starts, something heavy and frantic settling in his gut.
“You’ve heard the rumors, haven’t you, sir?” Raverson asks, ignoring Bobby. “About Mason here, and Demeroven, come to think
of it. I wouldn’t want any of that chatter to tarnish your daughter and stepdaughter, given what they’re already up against.”
Bobby stares, his mouth hanging open. Uncle Dashiell slips a hand into his pocket and retrieves a stack of bills without even
blinking. He counts a few off and hands them over to Raverson.
“Your silence would be most appreciated, though the girls will get home without your assistance, thank you, Raverson. Good
evening.”
Raverson dips his head in a bow as he pockets the money. “Good evening, Lord Havenfort. Mason, it’s been a pleasure,” he adds,
winking at Bobby before he turns and saunters away.
Bobby stares after him, horrified. Was this his plan, the entire time? Did he come here simply to trap Bobby, to use him as
a means of blackmail? To humiliate him and take his uncle for a ride? Is Bobby so naive, so starved for affection, that he didn’t see a con man right in front of him?
Good God, he let the man— The man’s seen him—
“Have you completely lost your common sense?” Uncle Dashiell asks, his voice like a muted whipcrack.
Bobby nearly jumps. He’s seldom seen his uncle this angry, staring at Bobby like he’s never seen him before.
“I—” Bobby rasps, trying to find some excuse to defend his irredeemable loss of sense.
“You are in public. What if I hadn’t stumbled onto the two of you? What if it had been one of the other lords? Or worse, one
of the ladies? Do you have any idea how much money, let alone political capital, your brother and I would have to use to get
you out of prison? You’d never recover. We’d never recover.”
“I know,” Bobby says, his voice cracking.
“Do you have any idea how hard your brother is working, right now, to salvage your family name? How hard we are both working
to make sure there is something for his children—for your future children—to live on, and be proud of?”
“I know,” Bobby says, a little louder, stronger.
He knows how hard Albie’s working. Of course he knows. It’s like he’s lost his brother as well—like he’s disappeared and left
only a husk of himself behind.
“You’ve a poor way of showing it,” Uncle Dashiell says, a bite to his cold words that makes Bobby flinch.
“I didn’t mean to—”
“What, did you fall down onto his mouth?” Uncle Dashiell asks.
Bobby bristles. “It was just—”
“Stupid,” Uncle Dashiell supplies.
It was stupid. It was reckless, and irresponsible. But it was just—it was just— “You wouldn’t be acting this way if you’d
caught Albie with Meredith,” he says, a strange hurt surging up his throat.
“If I had caught Albert with Lady Mason before their engagement, I would have dragged him outside and shouted until his ears rang, and then he would have proposed to her on the spot,” Uncle Dashiell says, his face still that stone mask, shoulders tense. “But that would be the end of it. Your indiscretion here could cost all of us our livelihoods, let alone our reputations.”
“But it’s fine when Gwen does it?” Bobby hears himself say.
He clamps his lips shut and glances around. He needs to stop digging this hole before he reaches the other side of the earth.
But how can his uncle act this way when—
“My daughter is protected, Beth is protected, and you know it is not in any way the same. Do not try and slander them to save
your own skin.”
“I didn’t say there was anything wrong with it!” Bobby snaps. “But if you’re willing to accept her, why am I— Why won’t you—”
To his horror, his throat is starting to tighten, his eyes stinging.
“Because I do not want to see you thrown in prison,” Uncle Dashiell hisses back. “I do not care with whom you get your pleasure,
though I suggest you take better care not to find yourself in dark corners with young men so eager to extort your relatives.”
Bobby curls his hands into fists. He is not going to cry, not here, not now, not in front of the uncle he’s already disappointed.
“You must keep your activities private, for all our sakes,” Uncle Dashiell says, staring him down until Bobby manages to nod.
“Now, can I trust you to see the girls home?”
“Yes, sir,” Bobby whispers, struggling to breathe through his nose without sniffling.
Uncle Dashiell steps around him to head toward their box. Bobby stares at the empty corridor, trying to keep from letting
his shoulders shake, his breath rattling.
“Robert.”
Bobby sucks in air and turns to find his uncle right behind him. Uncle Dashiell places both hands on his shoulders and Bobby lets out a very quiet sob.
“It isn’t fair. You’re right. And I am sorry this is the world you must live in. When we are both less emotional, we can discuss
this.”
“Okay,” Bobby mumbles.
“Go get yourself cleaned up,” Uncle Dashiell says, squeezing his shoulders before releasing him to walk over to his box.
Bobby nearly throws himself into the men’s water closet, unable to face seeing Demeroven off to do important work—off to impress
his uncle after Bobby has so disgraced him.
He stumbles to the water basin and stares down at the water. What if his father was just the prelude and it’s Bobby who’s
finally going to sink the Mason name, and bring Albie, Gwen, and Beth down with him?