She watches the Harrington townhouse drift away, the carriage swaying beneath them as they begin the short drive home.
“Well?” Beth prompts.
“Well what?” Mother asks, pulling off her gloves to examine her nails.
“Did you and Lord Havenfort have a good chat in the gardens?” Beth repeats.
“It was fine,” Mother says, shrugging and refusing to meet Beth’s eyes.
“What did you talk about?”
“This and that.”
Beth huffs and adjusts her skirt so she can slouch against the carriage seat. “Expansive.”
“I don’t know, darling. We just . . . chatted. About you, about the wedding, about Lady Gwen. We’re . . . friendly.”
“Friendly,” Beth repeats. “That’s how you’d describe it? You’re smiling. You’ve barely smiled at all in the past month.”
Mother blinks and Beth bites at her lip. She’s meant to be going about this with more tact. Butfriendly? They are so much more than friendly, and Mother’s not an evasive woman. She calls a spade a spade. Why must they obfuscate and tiptoe around this?
“I haven’t seen you smile like this in weeks either,” Mother counters.
“Is that such a surprise?” Beth wonders. “Aren’t you miserable? I’m miserable.”
“Yes, you’ve made that rather plain,” Mother says dryly.
Beth frowns over at her, waiting for more. She needs Mother to admit that it’s terrible—this loveless, thankless match they’ve found. Advantageous, yes, but dreadful.
“I will admit it’s been trying. And I enjoyed these... clandestine opportunities to be around like-minded people. But you know this cannot be frequent. We’re dancing on the head of a pin simply seeing Lady Meredith.”
“Well, she did set up that cake tasting. We’ll have to come for that, since we haven’t sent for a cake yet, and we are, as you said, almost a week from the grand wedding,” Beth says quickly. Mother rolls her eyes. “Come on, you want to be at the Harrington cake tasting. It’s the only fun part of this horrible planning.”
“Yes, well, there you’re right,” Mother allows, smiling. “I do think this ruse can probably carry you and Lady Gwen through once you’re married. You’ll have to visit Lady Meredith, andshe’ll have to visit Mr. Mason. You’ll find opportunities to see each other.”
“What, once yearly in the country and then at these group events during the season, if we’re even here?” Beth wonders, indignation rising at her mother’s casual tone, like it’s purely social.
“That’s how friendship works once you’re married, darling,” Mother says, her face carefully flat.
Beth clenches her jaw. “She’s not my friend,” she insists, staring Mother down.
But her expression doesn’t change—blank and serene, as if Beth’s words are sliding down a rainy window, impervious to everything without.
“You’ll get to see her. Isn’t that what matters?”
Beth seethes. “Yes, seeing the person I hold dearest in the world a few days a year makes everything better. Spending the rest of forever with the Ashmonds now feels thoroughly tolerable.”
“You will grow to like them more over time.”
Mother looks out the window and Beth balls her fists. She knows that deep down, somewhere Mother refuses to reach, she’s just as devastated as Beth is—wants out just as much as she does. She just has to get her to admit to it.
“They’re horrible,” Beth insists. “Concede that much to me. It may be the match of your dreams, but Lord Ashmond is a brute. An oaf.”
Mother turns back to her, biting at her lower lip for a moment. She opens her mouth, but then the carriage hits the curb outside of their townhouse.
“Come along, dear. We must dress for dinner.”
“You agree with me,” Beth insists, hurrying out after her. She keeps pace with her skirts hiked up, less graceful but just as fast as her mother.
