The Duchess Page #4

My husband, Mr. Foster,

is enjoying his mistress in Bournemouth

and I wanted some diversion. And you?

The Duke is taking the waters

for his gout.

- And I for my health.

- Really?

I heard you were here

because you could not conceive a son.

I beg your pardon,

that was an awful thing to say.

It was the truth, at least.

Trust me to say something silly.

I always do, you know.

Then perhaps you should

have accepted the Duke's offer.

You have much in common.

Home, I think, Georgiana.

- Where are you staying?

- I've rented some rooms in town.

- We must meet again.

- We must.

Harryo. Come here. Come here.

Did that hurt?

- Mama.

- My angel.

Are you sore? Was that sore?

Let me have a look. Was it this knee?

I think you shall live.

Right. First to the bridge on my count.

One, two, three. Go.

Come on, Harryo.

- No, I'm gonna catch her!

- I'm gonna catch you!

Up and down. Up and down.

Why can't we recover like that?

It's too far to fall now.

- Hello again.

- Hello. Your girls are lovely.

- Thank you. Do you have any children?

- I do. Three boys.

Three boys.

What the Duke wouldn't give

for one of them.

- She is least like you, your eldest.

- Yes. I'm sure you know the story.

My husband's daughter was born

before we married.

Her mother was a maid.

The maid died, and we took the child.

- I'm sorry. Have I spoken out of turn?

- No.

It's the worst-kept secret in London.

She's nine years old now.

And you love her?

Of course I do.

The same as all my children.

Come and meet them.

Girls. Come and meet my new friend,

Lady Elizabeth.

- Your Grace.

- Thank you. Thermal water.

It's the sulfur

that makes it smell so bad.

- And you really have to drink it?

- Twice a day for four weeks.

Do you have any reason to believe

you cannot birth a male?

No. Except miscarriages.

Two stillbirths, both sons.

But two healthy girls.

Everybody is staring at you.

What's that on your neck? Bess?

It's not illegal for a man

to beat his wife with a stick

unless the stick is thicker

than his thumb.

Mr. Foster? But he can't have done that!

Well, considering what else

he's done to me, that's not the worst.

What could possibly be worse?

He's taken my children.

He won't let me see them.

- And what do you propose to do?

- Really, I'm at my wits' end.

The law supports Mr. Foster.

In the meantime, where shall you stay?

Continue lodging,

till the money runs out.

Well, there, at least, I think I can help.

William? We leave tomorrow.

And Lady Elizabeth doesn't have

to meet her parents on the continent

for some time.

- She hardly ever visits London at all.

- It's a pity, that.

You see,

she doesn't have anywhere to stay.

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