Allow Me

Wait For Me

December 27th, 1883

The Townhome of Theodore and Adelaide Bancroft

London, England

Theodore did not think he had ever waited up for someone before.

That was probably the privilege of being on the younger side of his siblings. He had been thinking about that a lot today, largely because he still had not spoken to any of them besides Gregory since the incident at church. He would have to face them again, knowing that he was no longer One Of The Twins, but now, The Unfaithful Brother. It was an identity shift that he had technically chosen, but which he did not want.

He had not spoken to his parents, either, although surely that would also have to come to an end soon. William could cut him out of his life, and Gregory could ban him from the townhome, but his mother would not cast out one of her own. She would want him over for tea, eventually. He dreaded it already.

Regardless, it was a fact that he had never been tasked with fixing anything. That was Henry's job as the eldest, or William's job as the most frightening, or Winifred's as the most beloved. Theodore had always been able to follow along in their shadows, taking credit for the Bancroft name, but never having to actively participate in its development.

A memory kept playing in his mind. He was twelve, and there was a boy in Derbyshire who was too rough and tumble with Theodore and James. One afternoon, the boy had nearly snapped Theodore's arm whilst they were running about the woods. Theodore had cried to his mother, who'd examined his bruises with the kind of quiet rage that only Sylvia Bancroft could have.

"William," she had called out, "Get out there and make sure that boy does not come back here again."

Without a fuss, William had done exactly that. The boy had a black eye the next time they saw him, and he never bothered Theodore or James thereafter. Without lifting a finger, the problem was simply gone.

It was not until now, sitting alone in the dark of his foyer, that he'd realized just how stunted he was as a human being. Because a part of him was still waiting for William to walk through the doors and take care of it.

Instead, the door swung open just past one in the morning, and it was Adelaide who stepped through.

She looked completely knackered, even in the low light of the gas lamps. Her hair was eschew, a sight that he had only ever seen on the few occasions that he'd paid her a conjugal visit. She moved slowly as she set her reticule on a little side table, having apparently not noticed his presence yet. In that moment of unguarded openness, he saw the way her head hung, and the slight smile that tugged at her lips, like she was thinking of something funny. He had not known that his wife was capable of having funny thoughts.

It was not until she shut the door and started toward the stairs that she saw him sitting on the bottom step. In an instant, her guard was up, and she returned to the version of Adelaide that he was used to seeing; stiff, prim, and frowning.

"What are you doing up so late?" she asked, accusation thick in her tone.

He wanted to turn the question around and ask what she was doing up so late, but that seemed like the wrong way to start this conversation. So, he told the truth.

"Waiting for you."

He bit at his thumbnail - when had he turned into a nailbiter? - as he awaited her response.

"Well," she finally said with a shrug. "I am here now, and I would like to go to bed."

She gave a pointed look at the stairs behind Theodore, a silent command for him to bugger off. Only a few days ago, she had looked at him as though he were her whole world. Perhaps he had been, at one time. Now, he was merely an obstacle on her route to bed.

So this was what it felt like to be nothing to her. It was colder than he would have guessed.

"I wanted to talk," he said steadily, folding his arms across his knees.

She gave a one-shoulder shrug. "Then talk."

Oh, God. He probably should have planned something to say. He'd thought it would flow naturally, when the moment arrived. Surely he'd have at least a few words.

"I..." What was he? What was he? "Christ, Adelaide, I am just really bloody sorry."

His wife was unmoved. "Alright, then. Can I go to bed now?"

This was not how this was supposed to go.

"I will not do it again."

He'd meant it to be quite the declaration, but it fell flat between them. A child promising his mother that he would not steal from the pantry anymore.

"Yes," she sighed, "You have said as much already. But whether you do or don't is not much of my business."

It was the casual dismissal of not only him, but also herself and them as a unit, which flared up Theodore's anger. He'd been a bad husband and a philanderer, yes, but they were family. Surely that was worth fighting for.

And yet, he had never fought for it.

"It is your business," he bit out. "You are my wife and you ought to have a proper husband. One who is faithful."

Nothing, for the longest time. He was speaking to a deaf woman, it seemed.

Or, it seemed that way until she spoke, at which point Theodore wished he'd never said anything at all.

"Faith implies potential."

It was a left hook, unforeseen. He cast his eyes downward, focusing on the hem of her dress. It was dirty. Unusual, for her.

"Where have you been?"

"Out."

"Adelaide-"

She scoffed, rolling her eyes. "I have been out with Gregory and Georgie, that is all."

"You have only been coming home to sleep?" He was uncertain what he wanted the answer to be.

She folded her arms over her chest. "Yes. Mostly."

And that was it; the sum total of what he could think to ask her.

No. The sum total of what he was brave enough to ask her.

There was only one last question that he teetered on the edge of, knowing that if he went over it, he might not know how deep the chasm went.

"Were you ever truly happy? With us, I mean?"

Her expression cracked for just a moment. In it, he saw despair unlike anything she had ever shown him. He recalled revealing their plot to her father, and the stony, almost triumphant look on her face when the man had slapped her. Somehow, Theodore had managed to do far worse damage than that. To make her break a little.

"No," she said finally. "But I thought there was a world where I could be."

The bottom of the chasm hit him hard.

He stood up, heavy with the knowledge that he was not only a bad man, but a disappointing one. Adelaide was exhausted. She did not need this tonight. In fact, she did not need him at all.

"Sleep well," he said softly.

Then, he turned and walked up the stairs, leaving her be. Mornings were a better time for resolutions. He would start fresh, become someone different.

Someone with potential.