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Chapter Text

"Must you look at me as though I am a stranger?" I complained once we had both changed into our nightclothes and were preparing to go to bed, unable to keep the words to myself.

It was half our problem these days, I thought. We could not contain these thoughts within ourselves and it lead to fight after fight.

"You know, I look at you and I think that I know you so well, the way I used to. But then, the very next second, I just think that I don't know you at all."

I swallowed heavily, and this time it was not words that I pushed down.

"Do you realize that your words are incredibly hurtful?"

"I don't mean to hurt you."

"That does not change a thing though, does it? Whether we mean to or not, all we seem to be capable of these days is hurting one another."

He sighed, "It does appear that way."

"I don't know how to get back to who we used to be," I admitted.

I willed him not to say that there was no way back at all, and thankfully he did not.

I did not remember when I had last felt so lonely - there I was with my husband, yet I might as well have been alone.

We were in upstate New York for Oscar van Rhijn and Turner's November wedding, and with all the guests staying in Oscar's mansion by the Hudson, bedrooms were limited. It was thus that I found myself sharing a bedroom with my husband again, for the first time in months.

Or one might as well refer to it as torture - when the desire of one's heart was so close one could hear his every breath, yet so impossible to have.

In general, I had no one left but Aurora. My other supposed friends were not real friends, my son would rather avoid any room I was in and my daughter was an ocean away.

It had gotten to a point where I had even considered visiting my sister and her companion, even though Monica usually refused to understand me as well. She does, of course, understand me better than anyone except for George ever has, she just often does not wish to. It is the same for myself with her, I will admit.

"I wish we did not have to attend that awful wedding," I whined, despite the fact that I knew he was no longer interested in my whining.

"God! Why would Oscar van Rhijn even marry her?"

"Well, because in this society he cannot simply live with a companion the way Monica does."

"What? You mean..."

"Of course." My husband was not usually this naive.

"I didn't realize," he admitted.

"So, here we are, watching him marry that whore. I think he might come to regret that, even if he does need someone to play the role of his wife. She is not at all trustworthy."

"Of course not. But Oscar van Rhijn is old and shrewd enough to know what he is doing, don't you agree?"

"Perhaps, but I have no interest in watching her get married, and certainly not in having her join the extended family. Such a... whore," I spit.

"Bertha!"

"What! You don't agree that that's what she is?" My eyes flashed dangerously.

"You don't usually use the word, that is all."

"And I won't in company, of course."

"But you will with me?" he chuckled.

"Well, for now I may still tell you whatever I think, may I not?"

"Always."

Always. It had become a word whose meaning was not as clear as it used to be. It may not be always after all.

"To have to come all the way upstate for that whore!" I complained.

"Bertha!" he was chuckling now.

I smiled darkly, "It remains true."

He rolled his eyes. "Upstate New York in autumn is quite nice, however. If it wasn't for that wedding, don't you think it would be a beautiful place to be?"

"Maybe," I admitted. I understood him less and less these days. Perhaps in every other year it would have been, when it might have been romantic.

I quickly wiped away a tear that had escaped my left eye.

"Bertha... this wedding really is very difficult for you, isn't it?"

"It is, but I will survive." There was no need to tell him that I was certainly not crying over Turner and Oscar van Rhijn's wedding.

"You always do." I was not certain whether he meant it as an insult or not, so I just laid down on my side of the bed and pulled the blanket over myself.

He laid down next to me and I could not even remember the last time we had done such a thing.

"Are you cold, darling?" he asked. and he should not have called me such - not when it might be over again the next day.

"Only a little, it will be fine."

"Do you want to come here?" he asked, sounding uncertain in a way he never had before.

"Are you sure it's what you want?"

"I am. As long as it's what you want as well..."

I was in his arms in a second, I could not help myself.

I could not help the tears that escaped me either, now that I was finally back in his arms, they flowed out of me like the Hudson outside.

He must have felt them as they soaked the silk of his pyjama shirt.

"Bertha, are you alright?"

"I am fine, don't worry about it." I forced the words out of my throat.

"You don't have to deal with it alone, you know, darling."

And must he call me darling if such words would surely be gone again by morning?

"George," I sighed. "I am alone every day, I can deal with it. Let's just go to sleep, alright?"

"Is it truly the wedding that has upset you so?" he wondered, as I in turn wondered at his level of obliviousness.

"George," I sniffed, more tears sliding down into the silk beneath my cheek. When did any sort of control so thoroughly leave me behind? But then I had always been quite uncontrolled with him.

"You know I hate her... But I do understand that Oscar van Rhijn needs to do what he has to do. New York City is certainly not Albany, and these are not the middle classes. And now that McAllister has hinted at it in his book, time was running out really..."

"Did he really? That little rat."

I chuckled through the tears, "He really is a rat, isn't he? It's even worse in a sense, considering he is of the very same persuasion..."

"A traitor, really."

"Yes, a traitor. I've been considering going to visit Monica and her companion," I told him then - I was not sure why, when we had not spoken of delicate things in a very long time. It must have been the familiarity of laying here thus - it felt as though I could tell him all my secrets once more.

"Have you really? Well, I think it's a lovely idea. Do you want me to come along?"

Was he serious? Why would he come with me to visit my sister now that we were separated and he did not even stay with me at our house?

"If you can find the time... Your presence might soften her towards me," I said lightly, not expecting him to still want to accompany me by the time such a visit might occur. Certainly, once we got back to the city at the very latest, he would leave me again.

None of our conflicts were solved, much as he might allow me to cuddle him for the night - for reasons that quite frankly illuded me. It was a fluke, surely - a wondersome thing that I was allowed to have again for one night and one night only.

"You don't need me for that, but I will gladly come along nonetheless."

"Mhhh" I made, not wanting to ruin this night with the sharp claws of reality.

"We should go before Christmas."

Why did he have to insist on making this so hard - planting seeds into my mind of December days spent together?

"You do know that my issue with Monica is not her persuasion?" I asked him instead.

"I do know that."

"I am glad."

He still knew some of me, at least.

George kissed my hair and an unbidden sob escaped me.

"Darling... is this about Monica?" His voice was soft and gentle. Yet I could not manage to look at him in that moment, so I just buried further into his chest, clutching the fabric of the silk shirt with both hands, and he let me.

"It's... everything. Would you... would you just hold me, please? Just for tonight, I don't want to think about it anymore..."

"Alright," he said and I was grateful to him for indulging me just one last time.

Upstate New York would have been nice if it had been just the two of us, as we were now, I thought. If the stunning amber leaves and cool gentle air could make him permanently forget that he hated me.

But if one night of uninterrupted sleep and feeling almost loved again was all I could get, I would take it.

His fingers stroked my hair and I sighed quietly. "Sleep well, my dear," he whispered and I finally closed my eyes. My last thoughts were of what it would have taken for us to always remain this way.

Was it the day I told him we could no longer share a bed every night, for it was not what this class of people did? Was it the night he decided not to tell me about Turner in his bed? Was it the first lie I told about the Duke or the second? But certainly the third.

Was it when he decided to walk her down the aisle, despite being revolted by the action. Was it when I said Miss Brook was not suitable for Larry? Or when he tricked me at the ball in Newport? When I insisted on the marriage or when he moved into the Union Club?

All of these moments melted together into the enormous disaster that our marriage had become.

"Mhhh I wish it could remain this way forever," I sleepily mumbled into into his pyjama shirt.

Warm despite the cold November air, hidden away beneath a blanket, just the two of us. Cheeks reddened like apples and the feeling of being loved.

Chapter Text

I woke up the next morning as though waking up from a beautiful dream. George was still asleep and I shamelessly took the opportunity to study his face. How I wished that I still had the opportunity every day, and to look into his eyes without seeing derision and annoyance.

When it was love I saw - those were the truly precious moments of our lives, even if I might never have been a romantic like him.

Such a dear face, the dark beard truly his defining features, and I wished I could run my fingers through it - just one more time. But I could not risk waking him, it would surely all be over - the magical night spent in this strange house that would soon be Turner's.

I wished we did not have to leave the room at all for this peculiar wedding of convenience. I had no wish to judge Oscar van Rhijn for doing what he needed to do, but surely even for a marriage that required the theatre performance of a lifetime, he could have done better than Turner.

Plenty of women would have been happy to marry a man that would not demand much in the physical sense and treat them with respect, while they were left with plenty of freedom to do as they pleased.

My only comfort was that there was certainly someone even more unhappy to have to attend this wedding, and that was Agnes van Rhijn. She had made even less of an effort to hide the disgust on her face than I myself had made at dinner the night before.

George remained in the depth of sleep and I kept myself from moving too much, lest he wake up and push me away again. Even though I expected him to remove himself from me as soon as he regained consciousness, I still did not know how I could possibly bear it.

I truly could not understand how most other society women went about their lives with husbands who did not wish to touch them or converse with them. But perhaps it was worse to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.

I looked up at George's face once more. We had not really moved for the whole night and I just wished I had the powers to freeze this moment in time. We would not have to leave the room to attend that godforsaken wedding and I would not have to leave the room and with it the last piece of love behind.

"Bertha," he murmured then and I knew that it was over. I wished we could pretend that it was too early to get up.

I turned away before he could open his eyes, not wanting to see the expression therein. When had I turned into a hopeless romantic that wished to pretend rather than face reality?

"Is it time to get up?" he asked, his voice sleepy and deep.

"No," I lied and closed my eyes again.

His body was warm and solid beneath mine.

His hand stroked my hair again and I held onto that gesture with all my might. It was morning and George was still touching me. I suppressed the sudden impulse to purr like a cat.

Still, I could not risk opening my eyes, as doing so might pull the whole magical dream right out of my hands again. What did I care what that trollop might think of me for sleeping in?

Eventually, a maid knocked to wake us and I had to stop my pretense of knowing nothing of time. Yet, I still refused to move my body away from his.

"Darling? We should really get up now."

"Mhhh." I was well aware that he did not know me as such a needy thing, but after so many months of going without, I truly did not know how to make myself go back to such emptiness. I did not want to go back.

He indulged me for another 5 minutes.

"Bertha, I'm afraid we have to get up now."

"There's always a choice." I knew I was being highly petulant.

"I know it will be difficult to watch her get married, and I am sorry, but we will have some nice drinks and look out at the beautiful views afterwards...."

He must think me even sillier than I had thought, if he believed that I refused to get out of bed because of the trollop's wedding to Oscar van Rhijn.

I knew it was truly time now, yet how to make oneself do such a thing?

His fingers brushed through my hair again. "Bertha?"

"Hmm?"

"What is it? Truly?"

"I don't want to get up." Goodness, I sounded like a child.

"I know, but you know that you have to?" his voice was still indulgent and soft, so no, I really did not have to.

"Oh I don't know..." I was just buying time really.

"Darling, it will be alright."

"I don't know that it will be..."

"It is only one day, and tomorrow we will go back to the city..."

A sob escaped me - unbidden and raw. I ought to have been horrified at myself, but instead, I clawed at his silk shirt like a cat.

"Darling, I wish you would tell me what troubles you so."

Perhaps it was his obliviousness to my true feelings that was the greatest insult of all.

"I cannot," I gasped and cried some more.

Why did he have to call me darling endlessly, it only made things harder and harder. I refused to tell him all my thoughts, yet likewise refused to leave the bed.

"It's alright, dear, you can tell me."

Another sob escaped me. "George, why must you insist so? It will only make things even worse."

"I'm sure it won't."

The tears felt hot in my eyes and I should probably start worrying about appearing at the wedding with reddened eyes.

"Well, I am not crying over Turner's wedding, that is for certain! I don't relish having to be in attendance, but if Oscar van Rhijn wishes to dance with the devil, that is his choice."

"Why won't you tell me then?"

"How can you not know?" I cried. "What are you even thinking? That I can just be here with you like this... and then go back to the house by myself as though it was nothing?"

Another sob - now I really had passed the rubicon beyond any kind of control. " I just... I cannot..."

"It's alright, my darling, it's alright," he murmured into my hair. Yet nothing was. I had turned into the most pathetic person.

At least my disgust at my own behavior finally forced me out of bed.

"And now I look terrible, too..." I murmured to myself.

"You never do," he said.

"You are expected for breakfast downstairs, I suppose."

"Now I hesitate to leave you..."

Oh, suddenly he hesitated to leave me by myself to go downstairs for breakfast with the other men, when he was otherwise content to live in a whole different part of the city.

"I can manage," I insisted, even though my voice still sounded pathetic and weak.

"What I meant to say was that you do not have to manage by yourself. I am here for you."

Here for me as long as we were on a strange little wedding weekend in upstate New York? Here until the next fight?

Here until I displeased him again and then he would be free to leave, while I was not, because I was but a woman.

He kissed my right cheek before leaving for breakfast and I sat back down on the bed with a sigh. The maid brought me coffee, soft boiled eggs and toast, and then she did my hair.

She was so obviously Irish - the accent, the hair - and it made me think of things I really did not want to think about. But at the same time, I also felt this strange sense of kinship that I would never voice.

It was my mother's accent, after all. My father's as well, but I would certainly not think of that.

The Irish girl left, George came back and I said nothing of it. In the past I would have, of course, but now I could not find the words. He would not have understood anyhow, he knew nothing of being Irish, of that strange mixture of kinship and shame.

"You look beautiful," he said. It was much better than fighting, I knew, but somehow I could not deal with the compliment either. Not when it might not be permanent.

"Thank you," I worked hard to keep my voice neutral and even. It would not do to pick a fight over being told I was beautiful.

In the carriage on the way to the church he took my hand and I let him. I was happy about it, truly, it was just that nothing was fixed, nor had he even promised to return to the house. Not even a promise. But I could not afford to cry again.

"It is ridiculous, really," I whispered into George's ear as we sat and waited for Turner to arrive. He smiled at me.

"It does not appear like the best idea on Oscar's part," murmured Larry on my other side.

"Not exactly, no," I huffed.

For once we were in agreement, even though Larry luckily did not know the whole truth of my resentment towards Turner.

In the first row, Agnes van Rhijn looked ready to kill.

Larry shared a smile with Marian, who was sat inbetween her aunts and I thought, alright. Perhaps this was worth it.

Chapter Text

On the way back from the most terrible wedding of the decade, Larry joined us in our carriage.

Larry stared at our joined hands and I stared out of the window, not wanting him to see me blush.

"Did you not wish to ride back in Miss Brook's carriage?" George thankfully asked the question, for I would not have dared.

Larry had arrived at the church together with Marian and Aurora.

"She needs to console her aunt."

"Ahh."

"Marian says it is the most upset Mrs van Rhijn has ever been in her life... Well, except for when her husband was still alive, apparently."

"A bad marriage is a prison," I informed my husband and son, who of course, would never completely understand. But it did not mean that I would not attempt to teach them.

George's head flew around to look at my face. I squeezed his hand gently - I had not meant it like that.

"I suppose it could be," Larry said.

"For the woman, I meant."

"But it could be for a man as well, don't you think?" my son insisted.

"Not easily. A man can always do as he pleases, a wife has no rights - it is the law."

"I suppose so, but you have always had rights, have you not?"

"You have not always known me..."

George put his other hand over our already joined ones.

"You mean as a young girl, before you met Father?"

I turned my head to look at him then.

"Yes, that is indeed what I meant. Additionally, there is a difference between the personal and the general legal situation. If one does not have legal rights, one is entirely dependent on one's husband's opinion, one's husband's character."

Larry looked thoughtful then. "I see what you mean. And I believe that is what Marian meant about Mrs van Rhijn."

"A very strong woman," I admitted. "Yet entirely dependent on her husband while he was alive."

"Yes, it does sound like a terrible thing."

I considered for a moment - should I go ahead and say it or would I only make him angry with me again? But then I did not have the type of character needed to constantly keep my mouth shut.

"I would only ask that you think about which rights you would like to offer your future wife, and that you tell her beforehand."

"I believe I will, Mother."

I leant back in my seat then, content. George kept my hand cradled in between his and for the first in a very long time I felt that I could enjoy a moment's respite from all my anxieties.

"Is that what you did, Father? Before you got married to Mother?" Larry asked.

"Yes, did you?" I teased.

"Of course I considered it. I always knew I wanted to have an equal marriage. And truthfully, Larry, the men who do not wish to hear their wife's opinions, nor consider them, are quite the fools."

There was more to say, of course, about how equal our marriage truly had been in recent months, but not in front of Larry.

"Well, Marian certainly knows her own mind and her opinions have proven highly valuable to me. And then, of course she is a suffragette."

"Very good," I agreed. "In all honesty, I cannot quite understand how any woman could not be a suffragette. Fighting against one's own rights... it is baffling indeed."

"Yes," Larry said. "And of course it makes no sense at all that you, or Marian, or Gladys, or any other woman should not be allowed to vote."

"Oh, I had quite the discussion with Lady Sarah about it. She was terribly horrified by my American opinions about a woman's right to vote," I chuckled.

"But do they not have suffragettes in England as well?" Larry looked me directly in the eyes then - finally.

"I suppose so, but not only that - as I pointed out they are reigned over by a Queen. That was the winning argument, really."

I did not even try to suppress my satisfied little smile.

"Well, when America finally follows suit, you would make for a magnificent political candidate," said George.

"Oh do be serious," I laughed.

"But I am, you would put all of these men to shame."

I smiled widely. It was no less satisfying than to be complimented on beauty, and perhaps it was even a tiny bit more thrilling.

"Why thank you, that is quite the compliment. I suppose half the women of society would faint if they heard I was to run for office."

"Let them," said my husband and kissed my cheek.

"A strange day," mused Aurora as we ate wedding cake at a little table in the garden. "That Oscar should one day marry your former maid..."

"I hope he knows what he is getting himself into," I responded ominously. I had shared many confidences with Aurora lately, but never that one particular piece.

"Well, he's certainly not a naive man..." she chuckled. "Usually."

"It is done now anyhow, too late for regrets," I waved a hand through the air lightly.

"He did not have much choice, I suppose. He had to marry someone..." whispered Aurora.

"And of course she offered herself up," I whispered back, chuckling lightly.

"Bertha!"

"You know it's true." I inwardly rolled my eyes.

"In a sense of the word..."

"Yes," I laughed. "Precisely."

"You are in a very good mood." It was not a question.

"Have you mended things?" she asked, deliberately keeping his name out of her question.

"Oh I don't know that you could call it that," my smile wavered.

"What would you call it then?"

"Oh quite the ridiculous thing... I wouldn't even know how to explain."

"You don't have to, of course. I am just glad that you seem so very happy today."

"It is not that I don't wish to tell you, truly... It is that I don't quite understand it myself, what is happening. I have got no idea what he is thinking and yet, it never used to be such a mystery to me..."

"But it is a good thing that is happening?"

"It is, for now...Tomorrow it might be gone again, isn't that how these things often work?"

"I don't know. I don't believe he would have come back to you if he meant to leave again?" Aurora whispered.

I just rolled my eyes. "Because you are a romantic," I teased good-naturedly.

"And you are not?"

"Not normally." She knew that about me.

"Oh but today you are, aren't you?"

"Perhaps." I pressed my lips together stubbornly. "But I still realize that it's where ruin awaits me."

"You know, Bertha, I truly do not think so."

I took her hand in mine once we had finished the cake. "Either way, I hope you know that I will still be there for you. Whether I am alone or not, I will still have time for you, I promise."

We had spent so many hours together, two women abandoned by their husbands and I had shared many confidences I never would have with my other friends. So had she.

"I know, and I never would have thought any differently."

I nodded. "Turner's wedding cake was surprisingly good, if unusual."

"It went with the theme," she smiled

"Why would anyone choose to get married on Thanksgiving?" I rolled my eyes once more.

"A love of Thanksgiving food?"

"That would be the only reason."

"Goodness, I do not believe Agnes can take much more!"

"Today I very much do feel for her."

"I don't fully understand how Oscar could upset her so... Well, at least she has got Marian."

"A very good thing, for I do not believe that Turner will be a kind daughter-in-law."

"There you are," said George when he reappeared at my side, smiling at me as though we were both 17 again. I felt a warmth move through me suddenly and almost felt faint for a moment. My heart pounded as I took the glass he offered me.

"Now, I believe I promised you a lovely drink and beautiful autumn views for withstanding the ceremony so courageously."

"Are you serious?"

"Of course."

My smile was far too big for society and I felt giddy as a young girl as I let my hand curl around his elbow. Across the room, Aurora smiled and waved a hand to encourage me. I rolled my eyes again.

"Am I mistaken, or was Mrs Fane quite keen to encourage you?" he asked when the cool autumn air hit our faces pleasantly.

"Oh perhaps."

"She was, wasn't she?"

"She just wants whatever is good for me. As I do for her."

"You deserve nothing less," he assured me as we walked across the garden, leaving the other wedding guests behind us.

"George, I think you are complimenting me too much." My cheeks were reddened more from embarassment than the cold.

"Can there be such a thing as too many compliments?"

"George, I know I don't deserve them."

I looked at the dark red and orange coloured leaves that lined the path instead of his face.

"Why would you say that?" His voice was soft as it had been in bed that morning.

I welcomed the cold, somehow it grounded me to this world. Upstate New York - so different from a youth spent in an unglamorous part of New Jersey, and yet I felt as though I was falling back in time.

You cannot truly trust anyone, I thought - the same thought I had had hundreds of times as a girl.

"Well, at least I don't deserve all of them. I know it and I believe by now, you know it as well."

"Bertha, I only give you compliments when I mean them. I have not given them for a long time now, and for that I am very sorry. As I am for a myriad of other things I did that I hope we can discuss at some point."

"It is not that I don't enjoy your compliments or don't wish for them," I said as the leaves crunched underneath my boots.

I took care to walk closely by his side, our arms occasionally brushing up against one another. Feeling his body nearby was the greatest comfort, yet I kept avoiding his eyes. There was no way I could say what I meant to say while looking right at him.

"But it is very difficult for me to revel in them, when I know that they might be gone again in the blink of an eye."

"In the blink of an eye?" His steps faltered.

"George, before we came here for this wedding, I didn't see you for a month. On the train ride up, you and Larry sat in a different carriage than Aurora and myself. When we arrived in our room, we were about to start another fight... Do you truly believe we can do this without going right back there again? And is that even what you want?"

Don't cry again, don't cry again. Do not cry.

"Of course it's what I want, my darling," he ran his hand down my cheek as I looked out on the Hudson. "I will never again be on the same train as you and sit in a different carriage, I promise you."

I smiled up at him then, there I had my promise. And it was quite the romantic one at that.

"Do you promise me, truly?" There it was again, a neediness that George did not know from me - not even from when I was young and likewise slow to trust.

He reached for my free hand with his, our other hands still occupied with the drinks he had brought for us to enjoy with a view.

"I promise you, Bertha. It was when we were about to fight again that I realized - that another fight was the verylast thing I wanted. You are so precious to me, and I know we will fight again as all couples do. But let us not fight with the viciousness of two people who hate each other. "

I nodded, and impulsively pressed my lips to his in response. A short peck and nothing like the kisses that we used to share, but after a long absence of any such thing, its heat spread from my lips across my face and from there into my whole body.

"I do love you," I whispered. "So much that I do not know how to exist without you."

"You will not have to, I promise you."

I threaded my fingers through his.

"I love you too, sweetheart," his beloved voice told me and I had to close my eyes against the waves that crushed through me. It was beyond normal feeling, beyond words, I did not know how to deal with the return of something so precious and lost.

I put my glass down on ground, let go of George's hand and then pressed both hands to my stomach. I felt faint.

I was trying to hold onto the fringes - the fringes of what had once held me together.

"My darling, are you alright?" He wrapped an arm around my waist.

"I'm fine," I gasped.

"Darling!"

He gently pressed me into his side, his scent surrounding me as my eyes remained closed.

"Are you certain you want me back as the woman I am now - the one who cries at the drop of a hat and is ready to faint at a moment's notice?" I joked.

"No matter who you are or will be, Bertha, you will always be the only woman I want."

I sighed again - content, if emotionally exhausted.

He fixed my hat and hair for me, and we looked out onto the Hudson once more.

"You are beyond stunning in this colour," George said as he brushed a free strand of hair back into place.

I smiled up at him teasingly.

"Now, to make up for the dreadful event, I believe I promised you a little something." He handed me his glass and I gladly took a little sip.

The drink tasted of oranges and cinnamon, and it warmed my whole body down to my feet.

"Cointreau? I asked with a smile.

"I thought you might enjoy some, and just look at the whole valley in its autumn glory!" He kissed my forehead warmly.

"You are quite the romantic."

"And does my wife enjoy such things?" he asked.

"You know I do."

"You look so beautiful wearing this red wine coloured hat and dress," he whispered into my ear. "And you were so beautiful this morning, when I woke up with you in my arms."

I felt a hot arrow shoot straight into my core for the first time in a very long while. I allowed my fingers to curl into his beard, just like I had wished for that morning.

There was a long moment of silence, but it was not uncomfortable now. Thankfully we had gone far enough to leave all the other wedding guests that had enjoyed drinks and music in the garden behind us.

Here, it was just George and myself, the Hudson river, apple trees and a myriad of autumn leaves.

"Here, have some," I pressed the glass back into his hand and watched as he sipped.

"It was when you said that it was incredibly hurtful for me to regard you as a stranger," he said as he handed the glass back to me. "Because of course you aren't really, and if there are parts of you that I do not know or understand, then I would very much like to work to know them. "

"You may not know all of me, but you know more than anyone else does. And of course I want to know you, too. Anything you wish to share with me, I am happy to hear. I know that there are... gaps in what we have talked about, perhaps for the first time."

"You can ask me anything you wish, darling."

"And I am glad for it, for I do not wish to be one of the many wives who don't know most of what their husbands do."

"Nor do I wish for you not to know. You are equal to me, even if the law does not see it that way yet. I hope you know that between the two of us, you are equal."

I took another sip - like Christmas in a bottle.

"It used to be that way, certainly, but lately it has not been. And I know that I played my part in the breakdown of our marriage, for which I am very sorry. But I hope you will admit that you have had rights that I do not."

Another sip - the sweet and sour taste of oranges melting on my tongue.

"You have the right to leave me for one thing. You can just move out if you wish, while I cannot. Spend all your time at the club, which I could not even enter."

The hurt of it broke open inside my chest once more. It was as though being flooded by blood and sinking. Sinking lower than a stone if it were thrown into the Hudson River.

It was the powerlessness of it. The humiliation. The knowledge that he had the right to humiliate me if he wished. And he never had before, but to be left when I knew I would not even have had the right to, created a second wound next to the one that was a wound of heartbreak.

"You are right, of course, and I should never wish for you to feel trapped with me..."

I rolled my eyes. "I do not feel trapped with you and I never have. If anything, I felt trapped when you left me, if that makes any sense. Completely powerless. Waiting and hoping and... desperately scared that you might demand to divorce me."

He gasped. "I would never divorce you!"

"I was not so sure then. You seemed repulsed by me."

"I could never be repulsed by you. I was very angry with you, yes... But never repulsed."

"The fact remains that you had every right to do as you pleased. You have every right to do as you please and I do not."

"Do you want me to fight with you for suffrage? Because I will."

I smiled. "A very sweet promise to my ears..." I offered him the glass back. "Suffrage is only a part of it, but..."

"It is the pathway to all other rights?

"Precisely."

"I never want you to feel powerless." His eyes were honest and dark.

"I know. But you have to promise me to never move out again. No matter our issues or fights, you must remain where I can at least reach you. It is unfair for you to go where I cannot go and to live where I cannot even visit."

"I promise you."

"Good," I took back the glass for a few final sips. "And I apologize for lying to you. I will be completely honest with you, always."

"As I will with you. It has occurred to me that our downward spiral started when I did not tell you about Turner. And now you are forced to accept her into your extended family... I am so very sorry."

"It is not impossible for me to accept. I will never trust or like her, but as long as she does not come for us again, I will leave her be... If you had, I would not accept it."

I leaned forward to speak into his ear, not wishing to be overheard. "As it is, she can be a reminder that you do not fuck anyone but me. And you'd better not."

George reached for my hand again and looked right into my eyes. "You know I never would. And I have not."

"Good. For hell hath no fury like a woman scorned."

I had never doubted his faithfulness in the past, but after he left me, there was no way I could be completely certain and it had given me a feeling of falling down a cliff backwards. Powerless to know and powerless to stop it.

"Darling, ever since I've known you, I have never had the wish to sleep with anyone else. I love you."

"Better than good," I murmured into his mouth as I pressed my lips to his in a more passionate kiss than before.

I opened his lips up with my tongue and suppressed a moan. We both tasted of oranges and Christmas spices, and he put his hand on the small of my back.

We only pulled apart when air became an issue, and we had both really rather pushed it this time.

I gasped for breath.

"I love you," I laughed once my breathing had calmed. "Now we should go look for Aurora, I cannot abandon her. She still has few people to speak to other than her family."

Chapter Text

It was one of the ironies of my life that it was Turner's wedding that reconciled me with my husband. As I walked back to Oscar van Rhijn's house with him, walking on his arm felt as it had before all of these terrible fights. Or, almost like that.

I felt quite cherished - in a way that only George had ever managed to make me feel. Truly warmed by another. Adored.

"Aurora, dear, have you had the Cointreau? It is really quite good." I said, as I finally let go of George's arm and sat down next to her.

It worried me that she had been sitting by herself once more.

"I can't say that I have, no. I have just been listening to the musical performance. Zelia Trebelli's voice really is quite pretty."

I smiled proudly. While the critics had been terribly unkind to her and had compared her unfavourably to the woman who had portrayed Carmen in London, I remained convinced of my choice.

"Zelia Trebelli was a splendid choice for the part of Carmen, darling," said George and I found myself surprised that he knew who she was, which part she had played, as well as that I had chosen her for it myself.

Then he sweetly offered to get both and Aurora and myself another glass of Cointreau.

"How very fitting that Enid chose arias from Carmen to be performed at her wedding," I winked at Aurora.

Aurora laughed inspite of herself.

"But I don't think those were the charms that beguiled Oscar," she whispered.

"No, I suppose not."

Aurora's eyes widened and I could see that it was the moment she finally put all the pieces together. Why my derision of Turner was always over matters of seduction, when there were many things I could have derided her for.

Why I would say such a thing about Carmen, when I had after all chosen the piece to be performed myself, and had riled to Aurora countless times about the self-appointed morality police that claimed to be left scandalized by Carmen. A fictional character whose only seduction on stage happened through song. Men, most of whom probably had mistresses or went to prostitutes, I had told Aurora. How hypocritical of them.

Why I would mind Turner's seductive techniques, when I had otherwise told Aurora that I thought it unfair for women to be judged and exiled for such things, while it was considered perfectly alright for men to do the same.

I had let my guard down with Aurora and it allowed for such a thing to happen. Oh well, she knew a lot about my separation and issues with George that I had freely told her, and none of it had ever reappeared anywhere.

Likewise, I guarded her secrets fiercely, but it was more than just an exchange of unvarniahed truths that would guarantee mutual secrecy. Our initial friendship of convenience had turned into genuine affection and care. She was the only true friend I had ever had, and it was thus that her discovery made me only slightly nervous, where it would otherwise have filled me with bone-deep panic.

So Aurora put the pieces together, but obviously came to the wrong conclusion and gasped audibly.

I looked around. Thankfully no one was in hearing distance and those farther away would not hear me over Zelia's lovely singing. Nonetheless I was careful to lower my voice to a whisper.

"He did not... But she certainly tried."

"Unbelievable!" Aurora whispered back. "How brazen of her!"

"I've got a couple of other words for it, but I'm afraid I'll have to tell you on another occasion."

Aurora nodded understandingly. "I know it has been very difficult for you, but I do rather believe that you have got something worth saving. A man who will not take such offers is a very rare thing."

"He had been endearingly sweet today," I whispered.

"Apologized... said that he loved me," quite uncharacteristically, I felt myself blush a deep red. I could feel my cheeks turn heated, almost feverish.

"That he would fight for suffrage alongside me and would never again sit away from me on a train." I could not help myself then, I giggled almost as though I was 17 again and had just been swept off my feet by the most wonderful of men.

"I do apologize, Aurora, I am being quite silly, I know."

"Not at all." Aurora smiled at me - a genuine, open-mouthed smile. "I think it is quite marvelous and I could not be more pleased for you."

"Lady's choice!" Oscar declared from the dance floor, and promptly got swept up by Marian.

"Do you wish to try?" I asked Aurora.

"Bertha..." she sighed, clearly insecure, but I would have none of that.

"How about..." my eyes searched the room until they landed on a suitable candidate. "Mr Delancey? In favour of suffrage and adores his daughter, which is always a good sign."

"I could not deal with the humiliation if he refused me."

"There will ne no humiliation. And if there is, I will throw him out of the board at the Met."

Aurora laughed openly.

"Oh I am quite serious about that. Go on!"

Thankfully, Aurora heeded my advice, and carefully made her way towards Mr Delancey as I watched. He did not refuse her and I sighed with relief.

I turned my head just in time to watch as Mamie Fish made for my husband. He found my eyes and I smiled at him.

Charlotte Astor sat down in Aurora's empty seat, sipping from a glass of champagne.

"How lovely to see you, Charlotte!" The sentiment was a genuine one.

"I can only say the same, Bertha. You know, if New York was only a tiny bit more progressive, I would ask you to dance."

I laughed - entirely surprised, but also somewhat flattered, perhaps.

"Charlotte," I chuckled. "Your mother would have my head!"

"So it is only my mother that would keep you from accepting?" Charlotte's eyes glittered.

"I don't think your mother could keep me from doing anything. If it were possible, I would grant you an innocent dance," I smiled at her.

"And if I were to ask you whether you should like to consider more than an innocent dance? Such as an innocent kiss, perhaps?"

I nervously checked our surroundings - thankfully all were occupied either on the dance floor or at the champagne fountain.

"Then I would tell you that I love my husband and that there are other women you could ask for such things, though hopefully not as publicly and as openly as you just did," I said with a gentle voice.

"Oh I would not have asked just anyone as directly as I just did. I imagined that you would not betray my little secret, and I believe I have been proven correct." she smiled at me, seeming so delighted and brave.

I smiled back at her. "I can assure you, I do not judge you. I do not believe it is a thing that can be changed, just be careful about it..."

"A woman like you deserves to be worshipped. Should your husband fail to do so..." She coquettishly sipped from her champagne glass. "... you could always call on me, and I assure you that I would cherish your beauty, your intellect and your power."

She drew out the word power while looking straight into my eyes.

"Charlotte..." I sighed.

"Just think on it, Bertha. Just think on it." She gave me another dazzling smile, then swept away as quickly as she had appeared.

"Did Mamie proposition you?" I teased as George swung me around the dance floor, a little bit closer than strictly appropriate.

"I can assure you she did not."

"Well, I suppose I trust her to only make eyes at you and nothing more."

"How about you? You did not wish to make a lady's choice for a dance partner?"

"Present company excluded, no." I smiled up at him through my eyelashes.

"Though someone asked me to dance."

"But it was lady's choice."

I leaned slightly forward and murmured into his ear, "And it was, in fact, a lady's choice."

"Well, the lady has got very good taste," he said with a smile.

"Why, thank you. I just hope she finds someone lovely and that no one... ruins things for her."

He kissed my cheek right there on the dance floor - a rather silly thing, but I supposed it was late enough in the evening and people had guzzled plenty of champagne.

Marian smiled right at me, delighted - the dear girl. Mamie Fish actually winked at me - obviously having imbibed too many glasses of champagne. Finally, I glanced towards Aurora, who was still chatting with Mr Delancey.

"Did you make a match?" asked my husband.

He did not seem to be alluding to the match I had made for Gladys, but I chose to explain myself nonetheless.

"It is not easy to make a match for a woman," I said as we continued to dance. "First of all, one needs to find a man who respects women - that is the most difficult of all tasks. Secondly, I would not wish for Aurora to be bored. Thirdly, well that is the thing I cannot help them with. It is the variable that remains illusive..."

George listened attentively, all the whole keeping his eyes focused on my mouth. Well, I would rather kiss him as well, but such things would have to wait.

"But for now, it is just a match to dance and enjoy some conversation after Aurora has been unfairly exiled from society for her ex-husbands misdeeds."

"Most men are fools."

"Indeed. Present company excluded."

"I should relish it if you were to come for them all, starting with Charles Fane."

I laughed way too loudly, delighted by his words.

"I should quite like to destroy Charles," I whispered. It would not do for people to hear before any such destruction occurred.

"I love you more than anything," he murmured, kissing my hair. Now, that was most likely too much for them, but on the day that I had finally gotten my husband back, I could not bring myself to care.

I looked into his dark, besotted eyes instead of Mamie Fish or Agnes van Rhijn. They should be glad we did not follow our desires and French kiss right there on the dance floor.

"Let us save something for later tonight," I winked at my husband.