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B ad wives abandon their families, Dorothy thought, but awful ones stay when they only make everything worse.

She was grateful to have learned of her sister's address, for she needed to escape for a while. She wanted to be anywhere but where she was, and a cottage in Scotland sounded perfect. It would give her the distance she needed, not to mention give her husband what he deserved.

She had planned it from the moment Morgan had begun to act strangely.

She watched what followed, and how he was with Lady Annabelle more than he was with her, and how Catherine clung to her new aunt incessantly, and that told her everything that she needed to know.

She was not needed in their family, and it was better that she was not there.

She had stayed, unwilling to give Lady Annabelle the satisfaction of seeing her give over her control, but then she learned of what she had been accused of by Catherine and she knew she had to leave.

Somehow, the girl had been made to believe that Dorothy could say such inexcusable and vile things, and nobody wanted to know why Catherine had thought it.

They only wanted to know why Dorothy had said it, which she had not.

She wrote a letter, knowing that it would arrive before she did, to warn Eleanor that she would appear. As she went to send it, however, Lady Annabelle crossed her path, smirking.

"Good evening, Your Grace."

"Not now, Lady Annabelle."

"What's the matter? You have acted most strangely of late."

"I do not wish to discuss it with you."

"No, I suppose that a wife never wishes to discuss her marital issues, especially not with her husband's mistress."

The word echoed, growing louder and louder until she felt unwell. She looked away, and she heard Lady Annabelle laugh coldly.

"You must have been aware," she continued.

"Why else would he insist on keeping me here?

Come now, Dorothy, you and I both know that if it came to the two of us, there would be no contest. If I did not leave, I would have been his wife instead of you, and that was not his choice.

You cannot be surprised that, even after all this time, it is me that he wants. "

"That isn't true," she protested, but there was hardly any strength in her voice. "He does not want you."

"Then why am I still here? We are both adults, Dorothy. We both know that I make a far better mother for Catherine. For one, she is truly my family, but it is more than that. The Duke and I appear to be a proper family, rather than a handsome gentleman and the wife he was ordered to take."

"I suggest that you stop this."

"Or what?" she asked. "His Grace has already made his choice, and it is not you.

From the moment I arrived, he was all too happy to accommodate me.

At my word, he turned against you. If anything, you would be better off yourself by doing something about all of this.

Annulments are not too difficult to seek, you know. "

Before Dorothy could say anything, Lady Annabelle walked away, leaving her standing with her letter clasped in her fingers.

What she had been accused of was a lie, a despicable lie in an attempt to ruin her marriage, and it had worked.

Dorothy did not want to lose her husband, but she did not want to remain married to a man that hated her, either.

Catherine deserved a real mother, and Morgan deserved a good wife.

She was, clearly, neither of those things.

And so she left that night.

"I will say," Eleanor smiled cautiously as she served her tea. "I did not expect you to arrive with a wedding ring."

Her sister was older than Dorothy remembered, but it was indeed her. A beautiful lady, a mother at that, in a beautiful home away from everything. She had gotten everything she wanted, and Dorothy envied her greatly for it.

"I should have invited you, I know," she nodded. "Father did not allow it. I thought he would have told you himself."

"He hardly ever talks to me. He accepted my advice, but nothing more. He is quite glad to be rid of me, I am certain of that."

"That is nonsense. He thought of you all the time, even after you left. He was angry, but he still loves you."

"I shall believe that when I see it. Anyway, what has brought you here so suddenly?"

With a sigh, Dorothy explained everything that had happened. It came out in a single tirade with very few breaths taken. By the time she was done, she was in tears, her cheeks hot to the touch. Eleanor gave her a handkerchief, and then sat in silence for a moment.

"I cannot believe that you never stood up for yourself."

Dorothy looked at her, eyeing her carefully.

"Do not look at me like that," she continued. "How, at your age, are you incapable of speaking for yourself? You were always quiet when we were girls, but I thought that when you debuted that would change. Let me guess, you continued to wear those awful citrus shades?"

"Awful?" she echoed. "The ones you chose for me, do you mean?"

"Yes, in the hopes that you would at last rebel," Eleanor argued, laughing. "I thought that, eventually, you would refuse. I was trying to push you into doing something about it, and proving that you can defend yourself. Did you truly not do that?"

"Of course not. I never would have been allowed, not when you somehow convinced Father that it was in fashion."

"And yet, he saw ballrooms filled with young ladies, none of whom wore yellow."

"Yes, but… Well, it is as I said. He trusted your judgment. He claimed that it was a happy color, one that would make me seem brighter than I am."

Eleanor smiled, shaking her head, and handed her a slice of cake.

"You are allowed to defend yourself," she said gently. "I did it, and I have never been happier. I could have bowed down, and married the first gentleman that Father chose for me, but then where would I be?"

"We do not know. You could have been very happy."

"Is that what you are? Are you happy with your marriage?"

She had been, very much so, until everything had soured. She had felt attraction to Morgan since the moment she met him in the gardens, and that had blossomed into what she could only describe as love, but she had been foolish to allow that.

"I am happy enough," she replied.

"Then why are you here? You could have brought your husband, or invited me to visit you, but instead you are here alone. Why is that?"

"Because he does not love me," she said quickly. "I thought that he might, but I was wrong. I should have known better, for nobody could ever love someone like me, and so it is my own fault really. I should not have dreamed so much."

She felt firm hands on her shoulders, shaking her.

"Stop that this instant," Eleanor commanded. "I will not allow it. If anything, you should have allowed yourself to dream more. I do not understand why you are so insistent that you are this awful little toad, when the truth could not be further from that."

"Because, Eleanor, the moment I allowed myself to think I was something more, a beautiful lady came to my home and my husband is besotted with her. My niece is too, for that matter. They make a beautiful family in a way that I could not. It is unfair, but it is how it is."

"Or, perhaps, you are a jealous little girl that saw what the ton deems a beautiful lady to be, and you did the damage yourself. If you thought your husband liked you, it is because he did. You should have cared about that rather than anything this lady said or did."

Dorothy knew that was true, but there had not been much that she could do when Morgan had sided with Lady Annabelle in the end. She had allowed it to continue, but it had been Lady Annabelle that had delivered the final blow, and it had been enough to make her turn and run.

"You look like a coward, you know," Eleanor continued.

"How very kind of you. Truly, I am so pleased to have made this journey."

"I am not saying it to be unkind. I am saying it because it is what you need to hear, as is my duty as your sister. Dorothy, I may not know your husband, but I know you. I also know what you need to hear, and that is this. If you want something, you have to fight for it."

"I should not have to fight for my husband."

"Not your husband, your marriage. There has been a difficulty, and you have run away, when you should have stayed and found a way to prove your innocence. Then, of course, comes the time to make your husband grovel, and do everything in his power to make it up to you."

"I want to fight it, but there is nothing that I can say. He thinks I am guilty, and so that is how it is. I do not know what else to do. Even if Lady Annabelle is wrong, I cannot help but think an annulment is the right thing to do for all of us."

"Then you have nobody to blame for your misery but yourself."

Dorothy looked at her sister and saw only sincerity.

Eleanor had not spoken unkindly, but it had cut her to the core in a way only a sister could do.

It was all true; Dorothy could have done more to protest her innocence, but she had done the easy thing and ran away.

Even as she sat there, knowing she had not done the right thing, she could not bring herself to return.

"I can see that you are not ready," Eleanor said gently. "You are welcome to stay with us as long as you please. I can quite confidently say that you are better off here than with Father, at least."

"He would be furious with me," she agreed.

"Then stay with me. Collect yourself, and then go back to your husband and mend things."

"But what if she was telling me the truth, and that she is his mistress?"

"Think for yourself, Sister. Do you truly believe that he would do such a thing to you?"

Dorothy knew that he would not do anything to hurt her, but Lady Annabelle had said it with such conviction that it was impossible to ignore. She sighed, resting her head against the settee.

"Take all the time you need," Eleanor said gently, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

Uncertain of what to do with herself, Dorothy reached for a book.

She ate the cakes before her, sipped tea, and read.

It had been a while since she felt like herself, and she had begun to forget just who she truly was.

She was not a coward, or at least that was not how she saw herself.

In truth, she was a gentle soul, one that did the most she could for those around her.

She had only ever tried to be good, even if she was never satisfied with her efforts.

That night, Eleanor took her to her room. Eleanor's husband was away in London for business, and so it was the two of them and her children. With all that had happened, however, Dorothy was uncertain of spending time with them in case she did something to hurt them.

The children, however, did not allow that, and pounced on her the following morning.

"Aunt Dorothy!" the eldest yelped. "Can we go to the park?"

Dorothy smiled, knowing perfectly well that she could not refuse such a request.