Gwen
“Are you going to explain what happened?” Gwen demands as the steward shuts the door to their carriage.
Father looks over at her, unimpressed, and Gwen crosses her arms, tempted to throw a fit. It’s been two hours since he froze like a deer caught in the crosshairs when Beth’s mother showed up. Two hours he made them stay to avoid her questions. She had to dance withbothAlbie and Bobby. Twice.
“Father,” she presses.
“Just an old acquaintance,” he says with an uninterested shrug, looking out the window at absolutely nothing in the dark predawn.
“Who almost threw herself out of the party at the sight of you?”
“She always was a bit high-strung,” he dismisses, feigning interest in his cufflinks next. “How was your evening?”
Gwen rolls her eyes. “As dull as the last three opening balls. Saw Meredith and Annabeth briefly, but most of my friends are married in the country now. And the only new friend I met is apparently the spawn of your arch enemy.”
“Lady Demeroven isn’t my arch enemy,” he scoffs, glancing up to meet her eyes. “She’s—no one. Her husband was an arse though.”
“I got that feeling from Beth.”
“Really?” Father asks, surprised.
Gwen shrugs. “She didn’t say much, but it sounds like he was lackluster at best. How did you know him?”
“We sat in the Lords together. Awful man. Flatulent too.”
Gwen wrinkles her nose. It’s hard to imagine the glamorous Lady Demeroven with some overaged, gaseous man. She’s so beautiful, it boggles the mind. “She must have had other options,” Gwen says without thought.
Father’s face tightens. “Yes, well, let’s hope you do better this year, or perhaps you’ll be Lord Psoris’ next victim. Young Miss Demeroven got away all right?”
Gwen snorts. “Just fine.She’slovely. Funny.”
“Cordelia had a sharp wit.” Gwen watches as he seems to hear himself and then straightens up. “Well, time for bed.”
The carriage pulls to a rough stop outside their manor. “Father—”
But he’s out of the carriage and reaching back for her before she can blink, obviously eager to be rid of her questions. The sun’s starting to come up as it is. They never stay this late; she could have been asleep hours ago. She isn’t about to let this go.
“How do you know Lady Demeroven?” Gwen asks, following her father up the grand steps, holding her skirts higher than she should to keep up.
It’s like he’s actually trying to run away from her. He throws the door open and hurries into the foyer, only to skid to a halt at Mrs. Gilpe’s unimpressed look. Gwen slides in behind him, covering her mouth against a laugh. Mrs. Gilpe scowls at her father, intimidating in her tartan robe and braided hair.
“It’s nearly five,” she says.
“And?” Father replies, going for dismissive but failing as his face splits in a yawn.
“You’re never home later than two from these infernal balls. We were worried sick,” Mrs. Gilpe says sternly.
“Father didn’t want to risk running back into Lady Demeroven,” Gwen says, diligently noting Mrs. Gilpe’s slight reaction to the name. She must know more.
“I’m going to bed,” Father says, shaking his head as Gwen opens her mouth. “And so should you. We’ve promenading to do far too soon.”
“No, we’re not actually going to promenade, are we? Can’t we just linger in the parlor? It’s so much less work for the same result.”
“If I had to be up all night and then prepare a luncheon, the least you can do is walk around the park,” Mrs. Gilpe puts in.
“See,” Father says. “Can’t go disappointing Mrs. Gilpe.” He salutes them and then takes off for the stairs.
“You hate promenading!” Gwen calls after him. Father just shrugs dramatically and then disappears around the corner of the landing, leaving her protest hanging in the air.
