I can’t be the only one who thought there was a real chance that The Gilded Age might have actually killed off George Russell, right? Sure, he’s a major character—much more major than Oscar’s ex-lover John Adams, the last character to die with no warning—but it seemed like it would make some dramatic sense to bump him off. All season, as Bertha has further isolated her family with her social ambition, George’s storyline has felt like it’s chasing its own tail. It seemed this could have been a real consequence for plowing through everyone else to get what you want. And by the episode’s end, George isn’t even sure whether he wants to be in this marriage anymore.
This season of The Gilded Age has been pretty active. In the last two episodes alone, we’ve seen the death of John, George’s hubris leading to a bullet in his chest, and Ward McCallister’s betrayal of the Old Guard with the publication of Society As I Have Found It. With the last, Ward broke a rule of high society, allowing everyone in to gawk, which ultimately ousts him as the kingmaker that helped Bertha into the fold. He sold society out and brought everyone in, but the betrayal was the needed push to set the status changes The Gilded Age has spent the past seven episodes setting into motion. But this episode, that change has officially come like sleep in a John Green novel: slowly, then all at once.
Perhaps the betrayal from someone already in their ranks is the push Bertha needs to take a stand for Charlotte Astor and scandalous, soon-to-be-divorced women everywhere by allowing her to attend her upcoming ball (to the chagrin of her mother Caroline). But Bertha calculates that including the undesirables, among them recurring foe Enid Winterton, will turn her into the person who decides who is and isn’t allowed in (and taking more power from Mrs. Astor). That Caroline does show up is a victory not just for Betha but all divorced women everywhere. You can force social change! And whether it’s present in her mind or not when making this decision, Bertha’s own marriage has been on the rocks since before her husband was shot by a disgruntled employee—a storyline that is bizarrely sidelined in this episode—so normalizing allowing divorced women out of the house is a new rule that might benefit her next season.
The plan also irritates Agnes, who has spent a long season licking her wounds, when she hears of it later. She is so on the defensive that she nearly misses the chance to to be vice president of the New York Heritage Society because she assumes all the attempts to get in touch with her are to ask for money, which she is embarrassed to say she does not have. But upon finding out what they really want, Agnes is so overcome with pride that she is finally able to relinquish her iron grip on the townhouse to Ada, symbolically giving her the seat at the head of the table during dinner. The respect is kind of everything Ada’s ever wanted, too, wrapping their tension from this season into a neat little bow by the episode’s midpoint.
George pulls through thanks to the quick help of Dr. Kirkland, which, obviously, charms the bonnet off of Peggy. But her giddyness is quickly ruined by Elizabeth’s scheming, as William now knows that she mothered a child out of wedlock. One of the best parts of this season was seeing Peggy have the kind of romance that has been afforded to characters like Marian—one that’s troubled but with nuance, not the plain trauma that she has been subject to in past seasons. That this promising relationship should end because of her beau’s status-obsessed mother is upsetting, especially here, but it’s also the most classic of Gilded Age plotlines. That Peggy’s relationship would end this way actually brings her into the fold in a way she has been sidelined from in the past.
Elizabeth tries to paint Peggy’s omission as a deception, but Dorothy stands up for her daughter, claiming that Peggy had planned to tell William about the “most harrowing time of her life” eventually. Dorothy informs Elizabeth that she has been living in her Newport Black elite bubble for so long that she cannot give grace to people like Peggy’s father, who literally survived being born into slavery to turn himself into a wealthy Brooklynite. Elizabeth’s husband and son come to the came conclusion because, well, they have eyes and ears and brains that know that sharing someone’s secret—which, it cannot be overstated, is that Peggy mothered a child and was told the child was a stillborn (but was actually put up for adoption by her father and then died)—without their permission is a really awful thing to do. But it’s the push William needs to get out from under his mother’s thumb and make things right with Peggy via grand romantic proposal in the middle of a Newport Ball.
Larry and Marian have a conversation written with shockingly little subtext about how she misunderstood what happened with him at the club but that Tom clarified it and everything is fine now. It’s just her past, you see, the past where she has had two engagements ended in as many seasons of The Gilded Age. She has essentially the same conversation with Ada later in the episode, where she suggests that the fact that she didn’t believe him is the bigger problem. She hems and haws about whether she’s going to go to the Russells’ ball, but of course she does, because Marian is ultimately a very steady person that people are always trying to deceive. But the couple reconciles and decides that things can be different and better in the future. Marian and Larry’s drama has always been kind of lacking compared to the rest of the show, but perhaps they can mature into next season’s stable couple now that George and Bertha are on the rocks.
Gladys and the Duke are heading back to visit her parents and the place she has stopped thinking of as home. It’s bittersweet to realize that the reason you can never truly go home again is because you’ve made your own elsewhere, but Gladys’ has been hard fought over this season. She has matured, albeit by force, into the woman that Bertha always thought that she could be. She has won out over Hector’s sister to become not just the Duchess but the lady of the house.
George seems unable to see that Gladys has actually acclimated to the situation quite well, using her marriage as the reason to pull the rug out from Bertha at the end. “Is this because of the shooting?” she asks. “Maybe,” he answers in an unintentionally hilarious exchange. George leaves by himself, unsure if he still wants to be in this marriage. As soon as he does, Gladys arrives to tell her mother that she is pregnant. Both of them are thrilled but it quickly registers to Bertha that George isn’t there to share the news. She runs to her balcony, and Carrie Coon absolutely emotes the hell out of the moment alongside Harry and Rupert Gregson-Williams’ score. She has completely succeeded in her stated mission. Royalty has officially entered her bloodline. And she has no husband to share it with.
Stray observations
- • With Oscar still blue, he finds the perfect lady in red for a lavender marriage. Now that Enid’s rich old husband is dead, Oscar proposes that they have a marriage of convenience after he cuts a deal to get her into Bertha’s ball. And honestly, this is a really great plan, and I think they two of them could have so much platonic fun together.
- • With George maybe single and Enid maybe knowingly about to marry a gay man, might we see another attempt at seduction? You heard it here first if we do!
- • “Mrs. Fish is trying to teach me not to be afraid of the future.” “Why should we be? The future belongs to America.” “Perhaps that is what makes me afraid.” This is one of those exchanges that seems to register in 2025 until you remember that Mrs. Astor is afraid of letting women whose husbands left them into a party.
