James taps his left hand and Bobby sucks on his cheek. They’re getting better with their tells. They might just win this hand yet.
Or not. Because despite their furtive cheating, and Gwen’s, Beth’s, and Meredith’s attempts at intervention, Albie and Lady Harrington beat James and Bobby by almost thirty points.
“Well, that was humiliating,” Bobby declares as he tosses his remaining card toward James, who’s gathering the cards while Albie does their final tally.
“Escort me upstairs, ladies,” Lady Harrington says, allowing Gwen to help her up and guide her around the table toward the hall. “Don’t stay up too late smoking now,” she tells Bobby, James, and Albie.
The three girls follow Lady Harrington out, Meredith turning to smile at Albie before leaving the room. Albie waves her on with a tight smile, and then rises to hover by the mantel, toying with a cigar they both know he won’t smoke.
James glances between them while he puts the cards away. “I’m actually rather tired,” he says with a theatrical yawn. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
He stands and comes around the table to clap Bobby on the shoulder. Bobby looks up at him and James jerks his chin toward Albie, who’s now staring down at his cigar with a pronouncedfrown. Bobby briefly squeezes James’ hand before letting him go. Brother first, other...matterssecond.
James heads out into the hall and Bobby sits in his chair, waiting. Albie usually does best when left to his own devices. He’ll talk; he just needs a minute.
But after five, Bobby starts to worry. Albie’s simply standing there, slowly squashing the cigar into a mangled tube.
“Shall we head out onto the terrace, light that?” Bobby suggests, standing to approach his brother slowly.
“Oh. Sorry, I, ah, got distracted. You can head to bed. I’ve work to do.”
Bobby plucks the cigar from his hand and wraps his free arm through Albie’s. “Watch me smoke this on the terrace, get some fresh air in your lungs. Then you can work yourself to death, all right?”
Albie goes to protest, but Bobby tugs on his arm. The only real advantage of his new physique is his strength. Albie spent the winter months tied to a desk, and Bobby spent those months outside, running and riding and sword fighting. They were both hiding, he thinks.
But his coping method has the added benefit now of giving him enough strength to bodily haul his big brother wherever he wants. Something to keep in mind when Albie isn’t quite this pliable.
Bobby gently shuts the patio doors and guides Albie over to the solid sandstone railing so they can look out over the gardens and across to the lake together. They used to sit out here and try to enjoy Father’s cigars as boys, hacking up their lungs and snickering. Not so much fun when Father caught them, but at least then they were in for a beating together. The two of them against the world.
It hasn’t felt much like that in a long while. Albie behind thatdesk, Bobby aimless out in the world—they haven’t stood still together, outside of being in a carriage, in months.
“Here, sit,” Bobby says, pulling Albie down to brace their backs against the railing, like they did as children.
“You’re not really going to light it, are you?” Albie asks, looking over at him, his head resting back against the railing, legs splayed out in front of him, exhausted and drained.
“No,” Bobby says, pocketing the mangled cigar for another time. “Just thought we could use some... air.”
“Air’s good,” Albie says, his eyes drifting back toward the sitting room. “’S been good for Mere.”
“She seems well,” Bobby says cautiously. “And so happy to see you.”
“Yeah,” Albie says, his mouth quirking upward for a moment before that all-too-familiar frown settles over his face again.
“It’ll be lovely to have her with us in London. Really brighten up the place.”
Albie nods, but his frown only deepens. Bobby watches as he balls a fist against his thigh.
“Albie, she’s fine. The doctors have said. You can stop worrying.”
Albie turns his head, fixing Bobby with a glare that could rival their late father’s. Bobby forces himself to remember that this is his brother, not his father. The look still makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up.
“Stop worrying? What if she catches cholera? What if she gets consumption? What if the jostling in the carriage makes her go into labor early? What if someone knocks her down in the street? I could more easily stop worrying if the world wasn’t— If she wasn’t—”
He breaks off, heaving in air, and Bobby scoots closer, all fear forgotten. Instead, a hollow sadness overtakes his chest. Albiebegins to sob quietly, curling in on himself, and Bobby can do nothing but wrap his arm around his big brother and hold on as grief and pain and fear pour out of him. Like they’re boys again, but in reverse—Bobby holding Albie together instead of Albie putting Bobby back to rights.
“She’s strong, Albie,” Bobby murmurs. “We’ll take care of her. And Lady Harrington will only be a few doors away, and Aunt Cordelia too. And Beth, and Gwen, and God, even Lady Ashmond might come to help, and bring more doctors with her. She’ll have the very best care.”
“But they die anyway,” Albie says, raising his sniffling head to meet Bobby’s eyes, looking so young and vulnerable.
