He’s been telling himself Albie has the viscountcy under control, parliament, marriage, everything. And maybe all along he’s been cracking while Bobby’s been falling to pieces. They just didn’t bother to talk about it.
“You’ve been reading too many studies,” Bobby says, pushing past the truth of it. “Meredith will be fine. Aunt Cordelia was. And just think, you’ll have your own little baby soon, even cuter than Frederic. Though, honestly, that’s a high bar,” Bobby says, smiling as Albie snuffles out a laugh. “You’ll see, it’ll all be fine.”
Albie sighs, his sobs quieting. Bobby lets him sit, tries to provide what meager comfort he can. He doesn’t know that it’ll all be fine, but he can’t bear to live in the alternative for another four months until Meredith’s baby comes. It would kill him.
“I feel like I’m walking around in Father’s shoes again,” Albie whispers. Bobby looks over at him and he shrugs, working his handkerchief out of his pocket to wipe his face. “When we were small, we used to put them on and race?”
“Right,” Bobby says, smiling at the memory. “You always won.”
“I had bigger feet,” Albie says simply.
“And now?”
“Parliament, and the finances, and Meredith—it’s like all of it is a few sizes too big. All I want to do is smash things, Bobs, all the time.”
Bobby blows out a slow breath. “If it helps, me too?”
Albie chuckles wetly. “Uncle Dashiell was terrified while Cordelia was pregnant, but he still—he still managed it all, and so easily. And I just want to throw everything through a window the second it gets quiet.”
“If it’s the difference between punching the wall and throwing one of Father’s hideous ashtrays out the window, I think smashing things is the way to go.” Albie looks over at him in exasperation. “Beats smashing people.”
“I guess,” Albie mutters. He wipes at his nose. “I just—I don’t know if I can do this, all of it, and be... good at it.”
Doing this apart, Albie with the title, Bobby out in the world with the family reputation, it’s just made them both angrier. “So let me help,” he says, shifting to look at Albie head-on.
“I can’t put that on you,” Albie deflects, avoiding Bobby’s eyes to refold his soiled handkerchief.
“I’m offering,” Bobby says, nudging his shoulder. “I’m not trained for much, but Icanhelp with more than the tea parties. I can do research, go to meetings, and do the social stuff. You don’t have to martyr yourself for the family just because the title fell on you.”
“Bobby,” Albie says gruffly.
“I’ll get Uncle Dashiell to give me... lordly lessons, or something. James could use them as well. And hell, we’ll get Gwen and Beth in on it too, give them something else to do. I’m sure Uncle Dashiell would approve.”
Albie snorts. “Planning to overthrow me?”
“God, no,” Bobby says, laughing.
“We don’t both have to suffer this,” Albie says.
“We suffer less together than separately,” Bobby says firmly. “And maybe with two of us, it’ll be doable, even fun. Give you and Meredith some time together. Actually, Meredith being with us will make the social stuff easier. We can host dinner parties. A team of three, that’s what you said when Father died.”
“I did,” Albie admits, his eyes large and still red-rimmed. But that haunted look has lessened, and Bobby considers it a win.
“Then we’re a team. Of like... six now. Gwen and Beth can help Meredith, and James can work with you and me.”
“It’s ‘James’ now, huh? When did that happen?” Albie asks.
Bobby shrugs as they both haul themselves up to standing. Not quite as comfortable at twenty as it was at seven, but the patio did its job. Still has some of that brotherly magic in it.
“He’s not so bad,” Bobby deflects, gesturing for Albie to precede him into the sitting room.
The house is still, everyone already in bed, and Bobby finds himself more relaxed after the whole upheaval. Everything out in the air, a real plan for getting themselves back on track as the... weird little family they are.
“Oh, by the way, you might try to be a bit quieter tonight,” Albie says as they round the second landing onto the third floor.
“What?” Bobby blurts, turning to meet his brother’s all-too-knowing gaze. “I don’t, ah, I don’t know what you mean.”
“I heard some things when I came down last night. Couldn’t sleep is all. Wouldn’t want the staff to get any ideas, though, you know? So keep it down, but good on you.”
