Ah, love in The Gilded Age can be quite complicated.
The third season was intense and revolved around one central question: trust. Who lies? Who manipulates? Who knows what the truth really is? When can an omission be justified? When is confronting secrets invasive, profitable, justified, or simply cruel? None of these answers came easily for the show’s couples.

Ironically, George Russell sees so much of himself in his son that he inevitably recognizes in Marian Brook qualities he also saw — or once saw — in Bertha. And the curious thing is that both couples are dealing, at the same time, with exactly the same kind of problem. In Season 1, George hid a huge problem from Bertha, paid the price for it, and after all the turmoil, they managed to make peace. But when it was Bertha’s turn, she not only omitted, she lied, completely ignored his feelings and thoughts, and to make things worse, was so insensitive that she couldn’t even see where she went wrong. In this aspect, Larry is much closer to her than to George. Agree?

Yes, when I talk about all this, I’m referring to how Bertha handled the whole Gladys marriage issue. Ruthless, Bertha forced her daughter into a marriage she didn’t want, the entire church holding its breath with the bride in tears and only her mother deliriously celebrating. George rightly felt like crap for not being able to stop or sidestep his wife’s maneuver.

Marian was furious with Larry over the lie, and everything that’s happened since only reinforces that she was absolutely right. In case you forgot, on the very day he proposed to her, Larry spent the night with friends at a bachelor party in a brothel. He told her it was a dinner at a restaurant to celebrate with them. When Marian found out the truth, Larry remained uncertain about where he had gone wrong. The difference with his parents is that I sincerely hope Season 4 starts with their wedding — not with an indefinite postponement until he feels she “submitted” to him by acknowledging a nonexistent reason. If they delay Marian and Larry’s actual reconciliation too much, we risk the storyline cooling off and, worse, boring us. Larry, until recently, couldn’t keep his hands off Marian. Has he lost his desire? That wouldn’t be good…

And George? Well, for Bertha, the challenge is even greater. But we know that Alva Vanderbilt, in real life, changed radically from a frivolous millionaire to a completely different and engaged woman in her later years — she indeed had a new husband, but Bertha is not Alva. She truly loves George and can win him back. For that, though — just like her own son — she will need to deeply reassess the meaning of the word truth: knowing how to demand it and also to maintain it. She has already paid for what she did. And, if all goes as I hope, we might see a new “honeymoon phase” around 2026 or 2027, right?

And since this analysis is turning almost into a book, it’s worth also toast Peggy and William. They showed everyone that pain, secrets, and mistakes — no matter how hard to face — only need transparency to find common ground. William knew exactly what he felt for Peggy, saw who she really was, and not only refused to blame her father for ruining her reputation but also didn’t listen to his mother, who, besides being judgmental, borders on evil. This, in fact, is exactly what Larry should have done for Marian. Peggy deserved — and had — the public support of a great man. And yes, it was a very happy ending.

But if Bertha and George represent the struggle to regain lost trust, and Marian and Larry embody the tension between pride and reconciliation, there’s a fourth couple who completely subvert this logic: Oscar Van Rhijn and Enid Turner. Curiously, the most “lying” duo in the series might also be the most honest. Oscar is forced to hide from society — and even his own family — his homosexuality, even when he loses the love of his life, John Adams, and along with him, his greatest investor. It’s not that he wants to deceive anyone; it’s that, in New York at the time, being honest would mean prison or exile. Since Season 1, we’ve followed his search for a wife who, more than romance, would be a good companion and ally.

He was practical with Gladys, offering her exactly the freedom and autonomy she wanted, but George saw through the strategy and blocked the plan before it was too late. Maud Beaton — whose very name was false — deceived him and ended up taking part of his fortune. Now, just as he was finally getting back on his feet, Oscar suffers the hardest blow: John dies. And it is then that the reunion with Enid Turner, now widow Winterton, proves simply perfect.

Enid is wealthy but without access to the society that only tolerated her because of her husband. Since she hides from (almost) everyone that until recently she was a chambermaid, she feels particularly comfortable with Oscar, because he knows the truth — and doesn’t care. Since Season 1, they have shared this game of flirtation, schemes, and complicity, which started when Turner wanted to help Gladys escape Bertha’s plans for a convenient marriage, motivated purely by revenge against her former employer. In many ways, they are soulmates.

Now, Enid would have in him a husband with a respectable name, able to manage her fortune and open the doors to the right parties. He, in turn, would have a wife who would never question him for spending entire seasons away — whether with men or women. It’s the perfect facade. And, almost tortuously, perhaps more aligned and happier than Bertha and George or Larry and Marian. Because, in the end, their pact is not sustained by illusions of idealized romance but by a brutal clarity about who they are and what they expect from each other. And maybe, in a universe where everyone lies, this is the rarest form of truth.