History

TW: ableism, psychological abuse

His father always longed for a perfect heir and the firstborn son was destined to become one… or was he?

Francis was a long-awaited child, at least in his father’s imagination. In fact, he arrived in the world just a year after his parents’ marriage; the young Duchess quickly fulfilled her marital duties and was ready to become a mother. He must have been spoiled and loved back then: the first child, the boy, the heir. His mother showered him with affection during these early years, but soon she became pregnant again at the insistence of the Duke. His Grace William Russell was no longer in need of an heir and did not particularly long for a daughter, but always had a back-up plan… and rightly so.

Francis grew, and a great destiny awaited him. An old family. A grand fortune. A Dukedom. Hopes, dreams, and expectations. His father wanted to mold him into this bright future and impatiently observed the boy’s development: would he be similar to the long line of Russells? When would be a good time to hire tutors? Is he bright for his age? Will he be his family’s pride? Duke William was already worried about the responsibilities that waited for the boy, but he never once worried about something he took for granted: his son’s health.
Therefore, everyone seemed surprised when Francis turned out to be a sickly child. He developed a limp when he started walking, and, to his father’s anger, this “defect” did not go away: it only grew. Doctors could not fix it; moreover, each of them seemed to find new problems with the boy: his heart beats irregularly and is weak; they said; he would never walk normally; his bones broke too easily. With each of their visit, Francis could sense his mother worrying and growing slightly more distant. Both the Duchess and the heir became a great disappointment to his father. Later in life, Francis would sometimes hear about miracles: babies who survived scarlet fever or even smallpox. In these stories, survival equaled strength and the children emerged victorious, even if scarred. In his own story, there was no heroism, no major event, no family gathered for prayer, and no tears of relief or joy. Just gradual deterioration, which seemed more surprising to his family than a sudden catastrophe. His parents had trouble differentiating between the chronic illnesses they did not understand and the child, gradually starting to see Francis himself as weak. He did not suit his own family, the line of strong men. His father loved hunting and was physically fit until the very end. Francis Russell could never become the son the Duke wanted, nor partake in any activities his father fancied.
His younger brother could.

It would have been easier, had their birth order been swapped. Francis thought so, his brother thought so, their parents and family certainly thought so. The younger Russell arrived to the world screaming and kicking and was always the livelier child than the firsborn. He was healthy, strong, energetic, sociable, and bright. When it came to studying perhaps not as bright as Francis, but nobody had noticed. Francis’ ease of studying and perfect memory was little consolation to his family — even though he tried to excel in any intellectual efforts, it did not ease his parents’ disappointment in his physical difficulties. His mother averted his gaze when he learned to walk with a cane, and his father soon started to ignore him altogether in favor of his brother. Francis often wondered if he would be less of a disappointment had he been a second-born: easier to hide, easier to disappear, easier to ignore. However, he was not and the stigma of being an unwanted heir always overshadowed his relationship with his brother and father.

Trying to keep up appearances, the Duke could not obviously disregard his firstborn son and he still prepared him for his noble role. In fact, he prepared both boys. They shared their tutors; they took the same classes, and they both were being prepared for the role of a future Duke. However, everyone was lenient on Francis and very demanding of his brother, resulting in bitterness among siblings. As the years passed, Francis was more often left to his own devices, and this free time allowed him to take up painting and foster his interests in arts and literature. He started to understand that, while everyone pretends to prepare him for the role of an heir, nobody actually expects him to outlive his own father. He could see it in their eyes whenever he caught a cold or grew weak, or whenever he had a bad day and the pain of his legs was unbearable. His own family was waiting for him to die and he tried to make peace with this knowledge.

After his brother’s birth, Francis’ mother had some difficulties getting pregnant again, but the Duke insisted, he always insisted. Finally, she gave birth to a daughter and was told by the doctors that she could not have any more children. Another disappointment, since the Duke hoped for more sons. A healthy daughter was not as useless as a sickly son, but still disregarded by her father. Francis and his little sister bonded, while the Duke focused all his attention on his brother. All three of them would appear in public whenever necessary, but the Duke kept finding excuses to leave the “cripple” behind. Francis skipped many balls and social outings, often feigning an illness to avoid these stressful occasions.

When Francis enrolled in Cambridge, he felt that he could truly breathe for the first time in his life. It was easier to blend into fellow students than to bear the disappointed gaze of his father. The lessons to be a perfect Duke were too ingrained in Francis to develop any rebellious streak. Still, there were times — during lectures or vivid, intellectual discussions — when he could forget, just for the moment, about his surname and title. He could just learn and study and take classes in Greek and Latin and dream about visiting the lands and seeing art galleries about which he learned. He studied Classics and ardently read Johann Winckelmann, dreaming about Athens and Rome. Finally, he realized that nothing — but his own cowardice — is stopping him. He started to look into alternative medicine treatments in Switzerland and to ask the doctors about the warmer climate of the Mediterranean being better for his health. He was not even looking for medical answers, he just wanted to escape. Fortunately, his father did not need much convincing. After finishing university, Francis Russell left for medical treatment, and then traveled around Europe. Alone. Collecting art and memories and writing letters to Ophelia, and in no rush to come back to England. Deep in his heart he knew that hardly anybody misses him and, away from the English society and from the burden of his title, he felt more alive than ever. Deep in his heart he also knew that his father and perhaps brother are secretly hoping for the news about his death, which would allow the Russells to get family affairs in order and eventually pass the Dukedom to the ideal son. He tried to disregard that uncomfortable thought and live his remaining years to the fullest, especially that nobody pestered him about marriage.

However, an unexpected letter disrupted Francis’ idyllic stay in Rome. His father died, after the hunting accident. He had to re-read the letter several times to understand that he is to become the new Duke of Bedford. Even when he returned to England, the new reality did not dawn on him: he was sure it must be a misunderstanding, he was sure that his father found a way to pass the Dukedom to his brother.
He did not.
And Francis did not know how to fix it.
He assumed his new duties, surprising everyone: during the few years of his absence, he was mostly forgotten. He feels that his own family still does not believe in him, but he swore to do his best to make them proud, not to disappoint them even more. The joyful man who admired art in European capitals disappeared — the Duke of Bedford is deeply aware of his responsibilities and very afraid of not living up to them.