Chapter Twenty-Seven
Bobby
Bobby rolls his neck as he stands on the Havenfort doorstep. Spending the past week sitting up nights with Albie, researching
and finalizing documents for the Medical Act while also going through their father’s ledgers from the past ten years, has
left him with a permanent twinge in his neck and a dull ache at the base of his skull.
It’s been good—refreshing, actually—to work with Albie. He feels like they’re finding a rhythm. The subtle distance between
them is totally gone. And with Meredith finally in residence, the house feels like a home for the first time all season.
Better still, the constant, steady work has kept him so busy he’s had no time to dwell on that heart-wrenching conversation
at the banquet. None at all. Nor can he spare even a moment of daylight to think about the pain in James’ eyes, or the way
it feels like someone is permanently sitting on his chest.
The door to the Havenfort townhouse opens and MissWilson peeks out at him. “Oh, Miss Bertram will be pleased,” she says,
beckoning him in. “And Mrs.Stelm has about twelve different types of cakes all made up. Mrs.Gilpe went to market, but she’ll
want to see you as well.”
“How are you, MissWilson?” Bobby asks, hoping he’s not blushing.
He loves Mr. Tilty and their staff, but nowhere is as comfortable or frankly full of feminine affection as the Havenfort home. It’s always like walking into a strong hug.
“I’m well, I’m well. Though I must say, Lord Demeroven’s chef took me for a good portion of what I’m worth at our game of
whist last night.”
Bobby’s heart stutters at the mention of James, but he pushes through. “I’m sure you’ll take him back. James says he gets
gossipy if you get him tipsy.”
“Can always count on you, Mr.Mason,” she says, leading him up to the sitting room.
He’s kept his days so busy that he can only focus on the ache in his broken heart when he tries to sleep. And then the great
expanse of his bed and the loss of heat from wrapping James in his arms comes back to him, and he tosses and turns until sunrise.
He’s mostly running off tea.
“I’ll bring treats in a few,” MissWilson says as she opens the sitting room door. Then she’s gone in a blink, off to continue
whatever business his arrival interrupted.
He shakes his head and steps into the sitting room. Beth sits in a rocking chair scooched close to the fire, wearing a well-loved
green morning gown he thinks might be Gwen’s. She keeps a steady rock and smiles down at her little brother, murmuring to
him. It’s a lovely picture and he almost doesn’t want to intrude.
“Oh, there’s Cousin Bobby,” Beth says, looking up to smile at him.
He pads over to lean down and greet Beth with a kiss to her cheek. He strokes a finger along Frederic’s little cherubic cheek
too, and the baby smiles.
Beth juts her chin for him to sit in an armchair opposite her rocker. Bobby does as told, plopping down into the worn blue chair. The heat from the fire engulfs him immediately and he stretches, content to sit with Beth as long as she wants company.
“How are you?” he asks.
“Fine,” Beth says, looking back down at Frederic. “We’re just fine, aren’t we?” she asks the baby.
But this close, there’s a tightness to her eyes. And Gwen isn’t here. “Beth,” Bobby says.
“I’m fine,” Beth insists, still looking down at her brother.
Bobby rises and quickly plucks baby Frederic from Beth’s arms, ignoring her huff of protest. He sinks back down into his armchair,
the warm bundle of sleeping baby tucked to his chest.
“Spill,” he says, staring Beth down.
Without her brother to focus on, Beth squirms. “Everything’s really fine.”
Bobby just waits, rocking slightly to keep Frederic dozing. Beth sighs and slouches in her chair, her face finally losing
that fake look of calm to expose an exhausted young woman.
“It’s just hard, you know?” she says.
“What is?” He can think of many difficult things they’re all facing now that they’re back at home. And a few he’s patently
not facing as well.
“Being back. It’s just—being at your manor was so... free,” Beth admits. “Like a place out of time.”
“Yeah,” Bobby agrees, swallowing against a sudden lump in his throat.
It certainly felt that way to him. But he’s never stopped to think about what his cousin and Beth really go through. He only
ever thinks they’re lucky, safe and secure under Uncle Dashiell’s roof, with their own quarters and lives.
But of course it’s not really like that. They aren’t married, and outside of this house, they’re nothing but friends. Worse, they’re technically stepsisters, an uncomfortable label on a relationship that is as real as any marriage.
He’s been drowning in his own unhappiness and never stopped to think that Beth and Gwen are living an equally difficult reality.
“It’s just hard, to come back and attend teas and dinners and not be...” Beth trails off, shrugging, her eyes stuck on
baby Frederic in his arms.
It bubbles up in his brain, the image of Beth holding Frederic—the yearning look on her face now. “Beth, do you want children?”
he asks.
Beth blinks and then meets his eyes. “I...” she starts, her hands twisting together. “Maybe,” she admits, shoulders falling,
that exhaustion looking heavy across her shoulders.
“And Gwen?” he wonders.
Beth’s face crumples. “Maybe,” she whispers. “But—”
“It would be a sacrifice,” Bobby agrees, seeing the bigger picture. He’s been so distracted by his own problems he never even
thought to ask .
“Even if one of us thought we could do it—could marry someone and do... everything necessary to have children—I don’t think
the other one would survive it. I don’t want anyone but Gwen,” she finishes, her voice hoarse, eyes shiny.
And he’s gone and made her cry. “Beth,” he starts, no idea how to truly comfort her through this.
Beth shakes her head and wipes at her eyes. “But I have Gwen, and my mother and Frederic and Dashiell. I’m happy, really,”
she adds, taking in what must be the distress on his face. “I’m just wistful, sometimes. He’s really something,” she says,
looking back at Frederic.
Bobby follows her gaze and stares down at his little cousin. He’s angelic, asleep like this. And so warm and soft, and there’s a faint smell that’s mildly intoxicating. What must it be like to have a little person of your very own to cuddle all day, and raise, and be proud of, and support?
“Do you want children, Bobby?” Beth asks.
Bobby slowly brings his eyes up to find her watching him knowingly. They haven’t talked about the luncheon, nor that final
day at the manor. He hasn’t wanted to burden Beth or Gwen. Hasn’t wanted to rip open his heart for them to see.
But maybe he should, given everything he’s been ignoring about Beth’s life. Maybe it would make her feel seen, and comforted,
and like there’s someone she can talk to, rather than bottling it all up. And it might make him feel better, like maybe he
can sit still for a moment without the weight of it all crushing down on him.
“I’d love to have a family,” he admits softly, stroking his thumb along the edge of Frederic’s blanket. “But like you, I don’t
think I could make the necessary sacrifice. I don’t think I’d be happy.”
“If you could, though,” Beth says, bringing his eyes back up to hers. “And the world was a different place—a better place—is
there someone you’d want a family with?” Beth smiles encouragingly.
“If I could have what you and Gwen have? What Albie and Meredith have? What your mother and Uncle Dashiell have? Yes,” he
admits.
“Anyone in particular?” she presses.
And even though the very thought of James makes his chest hurt, he can’t help but mildly enjoy her teasing. “Maybe,” he hedges, watching as she giggles, delighted. “But the world isn’t a better place. I don’t think it will ever be a better place enough for him to want to risk it,” he says, letting his gaze drift to the fire.
He wants to be so angry with James. But after seeing him at the luncheon, as broken and hurting as Bobby himself feels, he
can’t be. Because the world is a terrible place. All the things James is afraid of are valid. Bobby sees now that what they
had at the manor was just a fairy tale.
Maybe that’s what hurts more than anything else. Bobby was willing to believe until the world came for them, and James wasn’t.
Maybe he’s better off, running before he could get burned.
He can’t be mad at James, but the hurt is still there, burrowed behind his breastbone.
“What if it could be?”
Bobby blinks and looks across at Beth. “What?”
“What if the world could be a better place? What if we could make it a better place, for all of us?”
“I don’t follow,” he says, watching as Beth glances toward the hall and huffs.
“Gwen and I had planned to corner you together, but there hasn’t been time and I think if I wait for her...”
“What?” Bobby prompts.
Beth sighs. “Look, we—we had this idea, back at the beginning of the season, and we kind of gave up on it when it seemed like
you and James couldn’t stand the sight of one another. We were planning to tell you both in the carriage ride home, but then
James left. But I think—if you really want this, then—”
“Beth!” Bobby exclaims. “Please, what are you talking about?”
“We thought maybe you and James would fall in love, and then James would marry Gwen, and you would marry me, and we’d all go live up in the country and be... happy...” She trails off, eyes wide at what must be the slack-jawed expression on his face.
“You knew ?” he blurts. Frederic startles in his arms, blinking up at him in reproach. “Sorry, sorry,” he mumbles to the baby, rocking
side to side as he brings his eyes back up to Beth. “You knew ?” he asks, quieter but with no less consternation.
Beth blushes. “We suspected. But we’d never have pushed if it seemed like either of you didn’t want—and we stopped, I swear
we stopped after that horrible night at the opera.”
“You were trying to trap us into marriage?” Bobby asks, dumbfounded.
“Into false marriage!” Beth insists. “You’d live with James, and I’d live with Gwen, and we’d all have the perfect cover,
all the time, and it would be like it was—”
“At the manor,” he finishes, the whole convoluted mess of it landing solidly in his mind while he bounces the baby.
Beth and Gwen inviting them on outings. Beth and Gwen forcing them to team up at tea-time sports. Beth and Gwen pestering
Uncle Dashiell into inviting James to events. All the times he and James were at each other’s throats, his cousin and Beth
were waiting on the sidelines, hoping they’d fall in love so they could be happily in love and—
“Fuck, that’s brilliant,” he mutters.
“It is, isn’t it?” Beth asks, leaning back in her rocking chair, a self-satisfied smile spreading over her cheeks.
Bobby glances down at baby Frederic. “But... God, Beth, I love you, and if I have to marry someone, you’d be my only choice,
but I don’t know that I could—”
“No, no, oh, Lord, no,” Beth says, sitting up straight so quickly she nearly topples out of the rocking chair. “No, I...
It’s almost a perfect plan, heirs and babies notwithstanding.”
“Right,” he says, looking back at the baby. “Right.”
“And you don’t have to. I just—I thought I’d tell you, because if you do want to—if you think it could work, maybe it would be right for James too.”
Bobby worries at his lip, looking down at baby Frederic, who snuffles an adorable baby snort.
Wouldn’t it be perfect? The perfect disguise, the perfect charade. And the four of them, in the country, together, forever.
In love, and friendship, and family. If they’d just avoided Lady Harrington finding them debauched in the hedges, maybe they
could have learned about this together, saved everyone so much pain.
“Why didn’t you just say something?” he asks, looking back up at Beth.
She smiles sadly. “It wasn’t until we saw you together at the Mason manor that we even thought it might really work and then—I
guess we were scared. We didn’t know how you really felt about him, whether you would want him forever . And we wouldn’t want you to be miserable just so we’d be happy. I think we both worried you would do it just to see us smile.”
Bobby feels his heart break and mend and ache all at once. “You really are the best, you know? Both of you.”
“The feeling’s mutual,” Beth says, smiling, her eyes a little watery. “And it’s totally up to you. We can all just stay friends.
That’s lovely too.”
Bobby rolls it over in his mind. “Gwen would be happy with James? In name only, but you know, at functions and parties and—”
“Did you see what a team they make at everything? She’d be delighted. And when she’s being too high-strung, we can toss them
together and go on a nice long walk, just the two of us.”
Bobby laughs. “James really can go on about boats and fencing.”
“So give him to Gwen, she loves all of it.”
A strange, tentative hope creeps into his chest. It would be perfect. More than perfect. It would be a way out of an impossible
situation—a way to have the happiness and safety he and James have wanted. A way to thwart Raverson and any other whispers
of impropriety for the rest of their lives.
A false marriage would solve all their problems, if he and James can be brave enough to trust each other. Bobby just doesn’t
know if he’s willing to put his heart on the line again to find out.