“Beth, I can’t let you—”
“You and me. We’d be scandalous ladies about town. And we’d be fabulous,” she says firmly. “But that’s not your future. You’re going to be married to one of the wealthiest men around, and he’s going to treat you like a damn queen.”
Mother huffs and glances about, like the actual queen could be loitering somewhere nearby, eager to be insulted.
“Mother, you can do this,” Beth insists.
“I can?”
“What’s scarier? Telling a good man you love him, or spending your future alone?”
“But I wouldn’t be alone,” Mother says slowly. “I’d have you.”
Beth smiles and leans up to kiss her cheek. They left their bonnets at the Ashmonds’. Shame; they were good bonnets.
“You’ll have me either way. But you could have a lot more than just me, if we knock.”’
“I don’t need anything else,” Mother says, gripping at her hand. “Truly.”
Beth nods. “I know. But let’s have more anyway. What do you say?”
Mother pulls her close for a moment before the decision settles over her. Her shoulders roll back, her neck lengthens, her jaw sets and Beth watches it all, fascinated. Her mother, indomitable, confident, and sure, takes the steps two at a time, dragging Beth along, laughing behind her.
And suddenly her doubts are truly gone. Mother gets what she wants when she looks like that. And what she wants—it’s what they all want. A happily-ever-after, as soon as someone comes to the door.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Gwen
“You’re not expecting visitors, are you?” Mrs. Stelm asks as she, Gwen, and Mrs. Gilpe traipse from their card game in the kitchen toward the front door.
“It’s gone nine, rude to be calling without an invitation,” Mrs. Gilpe mutters, though Gwen’s rather sure it’s just carried-over frustration from the thorough trouncing Mrs. Stelm was giving them.
“Could be something political,” Gwen offers.
Father’s in his study, though she believes he has plans to be at the club later. Something about rubbing the act’s passage into some smug conservative faces.
Another knock rings around the foyer and Mrs. Gilpe sighs gustily, marching to the door and flinging it open—the porter’s on his night off—with Gwen and Mrs. Stelm right behind. She’s clearly ready to give the visitor a dressing-down, but her words die in her throat.
Beth and Lady Demeroven stare anxiously back at them there on the front stoop.
“Beth?” Gwen whispers.
“Is Lord Havenfort at home?” Lady Demeroven asks, her voice shaking but stance tall and proud.
Mrs. Stelm, Mrs. Gilpe, and Gwen just stare at her, all of them a little slack-jawed.
“I apologize for our... forward arrival, but it really is urgent.”
“Right. Yes, I’ll, ah, I’ll go get him, shall I?” Mrs. Stelm says, glancing at Mrs. Gilpe and Gwen before hurrying off down the hall.
“Come in, please,” Mrs. Gilpe says, ushering the two women inside.
They’re dressed for a fine evening out, in full hoops and silk, hair piled high and makeup perfectly done. Gwen, by comparison, is wearing an old pair of stays and a housedress, Mrs. Gilpe’s in an apron, and Mrs. Stelm’s lucky she’s not in a dressing gown at this point.
“What...” Gwen begins as Beth separates from her mother to come stand at her side.
Beth takes her hand, nearly vibrating, and Gwen glances between Lady Demeroven and her daughter. Lady Demeroven’s practically shaking as well, but looks far less sanguine than Beth, who’s almost... radiant beside her. Lady Demeroven looks like she’s about to go to the gallows, actually.
