I'm sorry I've been conspicuously absent the last week or so. We had my brother's funeral on Saturday, and everything leading up to that has been a bloody mess.

Sixteen:
A Drop in the Bucket

"So, what are your plans for the weekend?" Joe asked over Skype as Ruth shuffled through her notes for the meeting, trying to decide if she was actually finished, or if she had another criticism on how the London office operated under pressure. "Maisie's got a dance recital, so we're going to that tomorrow morning and Billy has peewee football after."

She shuffled some more and didn't look at her computer screen. "We're catching the train when I leave work and going to my father-in-law's for the weekend," she said, trying to be purposefully vague.

"Aye… and that's where, then?"

She sighed. "The north."

"Come on, Jan… throw me a bone. I'm going to be painfully bored all of tomorrow – least you can do is give me a shining bloody example of –"

"I honestly don't know," Ruth said. "York, maybe? Stokesley? Harry told me but I didn't pay that much attention, really." She glanced at the laptop and sighed. "There's going to be a big party on Saturday. I had to send someone out to buy me a bloody dress because all I've got with me are work clothes and a couple sets of civvies."

"For you to be buying a dress… it's definitely a big party."

She nodded and rubbed her eyes. "Bloody Queen's going to be there and all."

"Wait, back up that train… you say the Queen, as in…"

"As in the overseer of Britain with the crown and the scepter and the many houses and – yeah, that's the one," she sighed. "Harry has to 'present' me as his wife in public. It's all a bit humiliating, really, but that's what one gets when they marry, even unwittingly, into an aristocratic family."

"Sir Harry is an aristocrat?"

"Will be, when his father dies," Ruth said softly. "Look, I don't really want to hash this out and I've got to finish up over here so I can get out at a reasonable time so we're not late for the train."

"You're upset…"

"No, I'm just… I'm worried that I'm not enough," Ruth said. "I'm not exactly the kind of woman he should have married, really." She frowned and said, "And you need to be getting off to get your munchkins to day care. Everything will be gravy once I've passed approval, I think. You have anything in particular you need me to work on today or…?"

"If you can find a way to get someone to pick up that iNBC is taking over broadcasting the National's recordings over here in the States that would be bloody marvelous – Auntie Beeb has been elbowing in and trying to cover that bit up."

"So… " She paused, then smiled a little. "So we arrange an interview with Sir Derek Jacobi about the upcoming Cat Walk broadcast, and plug it in all the major outlets in the US. That's a no-brainer. The problem is going to be getting someone – a damn good reporter - who's willing to think outside the box and wriggle around Auntie Beeb."

"Roger Maitland from the New York Times," Joe said automatically. "And he owes me a favor."

"You arrange that, since you're state-side," Ruth said, "and I'll go finish up over here and get ready to meet my father-in-law. I don't know that any good can come of this, since he's expecting someone flash and glam, I think, and rather more Harry's age."

Joe snickered. "If you were Harry's age, you'd still be the most beautiful woman in the room… since Cate's not there, that is."

Ruth smiled a little and said, "You really like her quite a lot, don't you?"

Joe sighed. "Yeah, well, she's not…"

"She's still mourning Stephen," Ruth said gently. "One of these days, she'll get to a point where she's not thinking about it every day, and that's when she'll look at you as something inconvenient and loveable. So just… be patient."

"I am being patient," Joe scoffed. "Don't you have to go get ready to meet the Queen or something?"

Ruth laughed. "Yes, sir, I'll be sure to be on my best behavior and not do anything to misrepresent work in any way…"

"If any of your father-in-law's guests accuse you of being a reporter, you bloody make sure they know that you're in PR and not actually writing the damn stories," Joe said. "It will save your skin, lovey."

Ruth nodded as the girl she'd sent out to the shops knocked on the window of her office. "I've got to go – dress is here, so I need to make sure it's appropriate."

"Good luck hob-nobbing it," Joe replied. "I expect a full report on Monday."

"Tuesday," Ruth replied. "We're coming back late on Monday."

Joe gave her a dirty look. "Not even a text?"

She stuck her tongue out at him and ended the call.

Alison, of course, was waiting for them at the station. Harry reached over to shake his hand and said, "Hello, Alison – "

Portia lit up and bounced a little. "Hello, Mr. Alison – we've had a nice train ride. I saw lots of animals on the side of the tracks this time, till it got dark."

Alison reached out to shake Portia's hand. "I'll bet you did, Miss Portia," he said cheerfully. "And this must be Lady Janet, then?"

Harry nodded. "Alison, this is my wife, Janet – Janet, this is my father's butler, Alison," he introduced them. "He also acts as a chauffer –"

"My eyes aren't what they used to be, Henry, else I'd have done it myself," David said. "Sorry, I meant to meet you all here, but I had to nip round the loo. Plumbing isn't what it used to be." He sighed as he joined them with deliberate steps, aided by his cane.

"Granddad!" Portia exclaimed, rushing over and giving him a big hug. "Hiya."

"Hiya, kitten," David replied. "We've got dinner waiting at the house for us –"

"Father," Harry spoke up, gently refocusing the old man. "I'd like you to meet my wife, Janet." He gently pulled Ruth forward and made sure she was all right before he continued, "Of course, you've already given your blessing and all, but…"

David looked her up and down, then an enormous smile broke out on his lips. "You know, our Portia doesn't look a bloody thing like you," he commented. "Which is a bleeding shame – no wonder Henry had to have you."

Ruth's eyes went wide, and she stammered, "I… I suppose I should take that as a compliment."

"If I were twenty years younger, I'd be racing him for your –"

"Father!"

"- affections!" David finished. "Bloody hell, Henry, you'd think I was just a dirty old man the way you go on."

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. "You are a dirty old man," he muttered. "I had to assure the girl at the café the last time we went out that you weren't trying to talk to her cleavage, you're just blind without your glasses."

"She did have rather nice cleavage," David replied.

"What's cleavage?" Portia asked.

"Never you mind," Harry said firmly. "Your granddad is just being silly, love."

"I'm hungry," Portia complained.

"Like I said, there's dinner laid out for us at the house," David said. "So we might get your bags – oh, Alison's already gone and done that, it looks like – and adjourn to Kindwell, then." He paused. "And I should like to sit in the back with the charming ladies."

Harry rolled his eyes, knowing his father was going to be a nosy bugger; it was the only reason he wouldn't be sitting in the front with Alison, barking out orders and demanding he watch out for all of the pot holes that he wouldn't bother getting repaired. "Father, we've had a long journey – could you be so kind as to leave the sound grilling till tomorrow?" he suggested.

David raised an eyebrow. "I merely wish to get to know your lovely lady more, Henry," he said. "And spend some time with my darling granddaughter."

Harry bit back a sigh. Ever since Portia had charmed the hell out of him on their last visit, his father had been calling every day to talk to her. At least they were good buddies, then, rather than tense and strained like his relationship with his father. He wished, just for a moment, that things were different between them – but then the status quo would be forever disturbed. He couldn't honestly remember a time when his father hadn't been full of quiet (and sometimes not so quiet) disapproval of his choices, his actions, his… everything. Subtle approval over the last few days was already rocking the boat. He didn't want it to tip over entirely.

"All right," Harry finally said. "I'll sit in the front with Alison."

The chit chat and small talk in the backseat was pleasant enough, but Harry almost went over the barrier when he heard his father say, "So, can I be expecting more grandchildren any time soon?"

There was a long, awkward, dead silence, then Ruth said, "No." The word was very quiet, very soft, absent of any kind of malice. "I'm afraid I can't have more children."

"Well, you're still young enough –"

"I… I had cancer," Ruth said, her voice wavering. "I had to have it all removed."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realize –"

"No, it's all right," she assured him. "You weren't to know, just looking at me, that I was bald nine months ago and sick as a dog after radiation treatments. It's all right. Really."

David paused, then said, "Are you and Henry disappointed that our Portia won't have a younger sibling?"

Harry sighed. "Father, it doesn't matter," he said. Of course, he'd fantasized of having one or two more children with Ruth, but that had been long before… everything. Now, he was content with his lot. Portia and Ruth were all he needed.

"Of course I am," Ruth said. "I'm disappointed that I'll never get to see Harry holding a child – our child – in his arms. I wouldn't be human if I wasn't. But there's nothing I can do about it, so I won't dwell on bad feelings like that when I can focus good feelings on Portia and Harry."

"I am sorry – I didn't mean to upset you, my dear…"

Ruth shook her head and smiled just a little. "You didn't," she assured him. "There are a lot of things in this life that I'll never be able to do. Makes no sense to be upset about them."

Harry caught the wistful look in her eye as he looked over his shoulder, and he felt a sudden pang of guilt and sadness for causing her pain in the first place. "Father, what will we be having for supper?" he asked, attempting to change the subject.

"Oh, Mrs. Whatley roasted a couple of pheasants and made lovely potatoes and roast carrots and beets to go with," David said. He turned toward Ruth and said, "Mrs. Whatley is my cook. She started working for my father and mother when she was fourteen, about a year before Henry was born. We've always kept her on, seeing as how she's bloody well brilliant in the kitchen."

"She really is," Harry agreed.

"Mrs. Whatley's going to teach me how to make custard tarts, mom," Portia interjected.

"Well, that's good, isn't it?" Ruth said. Harry could hear the smile in her voice. "You told me she makes excellent biscuits and Cornish pasties."

"I like pasties and fish and chips," Portia announced. "Does that mean I'm an English girl now and we can live here?"

David laughed. "If only, kitten – if only."

"If my father here had his way," Harry said, "you'd live here now and be spoiled within an inch of your life eating sweeties and reading through our family's library until your head exploded, Portia."

"You make it sound like a bad thing," David scoffed. "She hasn't been out into the stables yet, mind you – when her granddad gives her a champion horse…"

"Stop trying to buy my daughter's affections when she gives them so freely if only you ask!" Harry exploded. "For god's bloody sake, dad, you can't just give everyone everything they want. It's not on."

Ruth sat forward and touched his shoulder. "Harry, calm down," she said softly. "He didn't mean it like that, I'm sure."

"I don't want a horse anyway," Portia said. "I can't ride them. And they're big and scary and poop everywhere."

Harry placed his hand over Ruth's on his shoulder and said, "Maybe we can go for a quiet ride in the morning, Portia. Just you and me."

"What, not me?" Ruth asked. "I have ridden before, Harry. One of my jobs when Portia was little was as a ranch hand. I worked with the horses."

"Well, then, we'll take a couple of mares out in the morning and tour the parkland," Harry said, squeezing her hand. "A brief respite before the partygoers begin arriving in the early afternoon."

David cleared his throat. "Ah, yes, you see… the Queen and Prince Philip arrived this morning," he said. "And Prince Charles is due in first thing in the morning, along with Camilla, and the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge and –"

Harry winced and dropped Ruth's hand. "You could have bloody told me – so I could spend my time preparing. Because now I'm going to look like a fool because Portia is American and knows nothing about –"

"They will be charmed by her," David interjected as they turned onto the five-mile wooded drive. "Won't they, kitten?"

Portia said, "Are they very important people? Is that why dad is upset, granddad?"

David said, "They are the most important people in Britain, kitten. And you should be your lovely, charming self for their benefit."

"But you should be very kind," Ruth said softly, pulling Portia over into a gentle hug. "And respectful. You must call the Queen 'Your Majesty', and Prince Philip 'Your Royal Highness'. And you must call everyone 'sir' and 'ma'am'."

"What should I call you, mommy?" Portia asked worriedly.

"Just what you always do, love," Ruth murmured. "Because I'm not important. Not like the others. It's just you and me, little bit."

Harry turned and looked at them, cuddled up in the back seat, and said, "And me."

Portia nodded. "Okay," she said. "I'll be very good."

"I know you will," Ruth whispered, dropping a kiss into Portia's messy hair. "You're my good, precious girl, aren't you?"

"Uh-huh," Portia said. "Granddad, am I sleeping in the same room?"

"Of course, kitten – that's your room now, whenever you visit. Just like your mum and dad will have the white room from here out," David said.

Harry felt a muscle in his cheek twitch. The white room had been where his parents had always stayed during their visits to Kindwell House; it was big, airy, a place for lovers who were in love and didn't mind showing it. He had memories of going in to see his mum and catching his parents snogging and laughing in that room as a small boy. Before she died and everything went bad. He wondered if his father still kept a bottle of his mother's favorite perfume in the room. He wondered many things.

"Where will the Queen sleep?" Portia asked.

David laughed. "We have a special bedroom just for Kings and Queens," he assured her. "But I do admire the way you think, kitten."

Portia smiled widely and burrowed further into her mother's arms. Harry felt a pang of guilt for forcing them both into the middle of this situation, but then he brushed it aside. "Will we need to dress for dinner, father?" he inquired.

"No, it's all quite informal this evening," David said. "Ah, there we are – Janet, what do you think of that sight?" he asked as they came over the hill and the splendor of the huge manor was laid out before them.

"It's a lovely house," Ruth murmured.

"One day, maybe not far distant, you'll share it with my son," David said firmly. "It's much more than 'lovely' – it's a heritage to be preserved. And believe you me, if I could, I would have Henry leave it to Portia rather than Graham."

Harry jerked slightly, uncrossing his ankles and whirling around in his seat as much as he could. "What?"

"Graham and Catherine show no interest in anything to do with Bly," David said dismissively. "They're more interested in the Harrowood lands they will inherit from their mother, Lady Townsend, of course. But Portia… Portia has nothing but this land and this house. I would rather see it pass to her."

"If those are your wishes, father," Harry said, "I'll speak to Graham and see if we can settle things in Portia's favor."

"Those are my wishes," David said firmly. "I want your daughter cared for."

"And what of Catherine and Graham? Aren't they my children, as well?" Harry countered softly.

"Their mother will provide them with a far more substantial cut than I ever could," David scoffed. "Why do you think I wanted you and Jane wed in bliss? Your children would be further up the line of succession and inherit all the wealth of both estates."

"Too bad we loathed one another," Harry said, laughing bitterly.

"She'll be there tomorrow," David muttered. "How could I send invitations out and not invite the Countess of Harrowood? It wouldn't be seemly."

"Thank you for warning me," Harry said as the car pulled to a halt in front of the main entrance. "I will endeavor not to murder my ex-wife in front of the Royal Family."

Ruth and Portia were already out of the car, and Portia was pulling Ruth up to the door and inside. Harry helped his father out of the car and up the stairs one careful step at a time. By the time they were inside, he was exhausted; god only knew how tired his father was, but the old man showed no signs aside from some sweat on his temples that was quickly wiped away. "Father, I –"

"Portia is your greatest triumph, and her mother is your great love," David said firmly. "I am sorry for my part in forcing you into marrying Jane. I am attempting to atone for the sin now, before it is too late for me, Henry. I could kick it off at any time – I want you to know that I care most for Portia of all your children, and not just because she looks like Fiona. Because she is perfect and precious, and she makes you happier than I've ever seen you since your mother died."

Harry nodded and sighed. "Let's get you some supper so you can take your pills," he said softly. "Remember, you shouldn't have wine with them –"

"Hasn't stopped me in twenty years, boy," David said gruffly. "What makes you think it'll stop me today?"

END PART SIXTEEN