“We should have stayed home,” Father mutters, taking her arm and leaning into her against a gale of wind that whips through the park.
“Agreed,” Gwen says, tugging him closer as they continue to stroll. “We could play chess?”
Father smiles, nudging her. “You’re on. Continue our wager?”
“Obviously,” Gwen says with a grin. One of the lads tossing a ball on the lawn misses and goes tumbling into the grass. Gwen smothers a laugh.
Father has no such compunction and guffaws loudly, ignoring the scowls from the matriarchs on benches along the river. He shrugs at them, his charming grin thawing their disdain. Somehow when Gwen gives that grin when she’s in trouble it never comes off well. But Father could smile his way out of an execution if he wanted.
“Shall we take the fork and walk you past the pitch?” he suggests as they come up on Carriage Drive, presenting them with the choice to stay along the lake or cross the park to wend toward the opposite boulevard.
Gwen hesitates. She does enjoy watching a game of cricket, and there’s bound to be at least one on the pitches. But then she spots Beth and Lady Demeroven standing by the bridge. A much more engaging pastime, to be sure.
She begins leading her father in their direction without comment. He doesn’t seem to see them, and Gwen holds her breath, hoping she can get within shouting distance to grab Beth.
Surely her mother would want Beth to promenade. Two young ladies attract more attention together than separately with their chaperones after all. Everyone knows that.
And that will leave Father with nothing to do but talk to the mysterious Lady Demeroven.
Beth spots her first and turns to wave. Gwen feels Father stiffen and automatically jerk to the side, as if he really does want to turn tail and run away. But they’re far too close for that to be proper now, and Gwen withholds her grin. Beth drags her mother over, both of them physically hauling their respective parents together until they’re all standing to the side of the walking path.
Beth and Lady Demeroven look wonderful, bright spots of pastel against the dreary day. Beth’s light blue gown is fetching, highlighting her dark swept-up hair, while Lady Demeroven’s lavender dress is appropriate but cheerful all the same. Beth grins at Gwen, while Lady Demeroven looks a bit like she’s swallowed poison.
“You both look lovely,” Gwen says quickly. Her father seems to stall now that they’re within speaking distance. He looks like he’s been struck in the stomach, actually.
“Mother, could I promenade with Lady Gwen?” Beth asks, turning her bright smile on her mother. “I’m sure Lord Havenfort would keep you company.”
The adults exchange something... close to a look. Gwen’s rather sure their eyes never meet. She can see Lady Demeroven searching for a rebuttal while Father splutters.
“Miss Demeroven and I could go walk by the pitch, pick a few lads to cheer for—start the season off as positive influences on them?”
Father shoots Gwen a look. She’s never once cheered for a gentleman in a game. Jeered with Father, taunted Albie, but never offered the slightest encouragement. But Beth should give it a try.
“Please,” Beth cajoles.
“Yes, fine, go,” Lady Demeroven says with a sigh, releasing Beth.
Gwen grins and snags her arm, hurrying them a few steps away to walk ahead of their parents. Beth squeezes her arm and they set off at a slow amble. Their parents tortured them last night; it’s time for payback.
“How was the rest of your evening?” Beth asks.
“Boring. Father forced me into a few dances, but they stopped serving food and it got hot.”
“Any nice gentlemen?” Beth asks, her voice full of innocence. She doesn’t know what she’s in for this season, even with the slightly ignominious introduction she got last night.
“Of course not,” Gwen says, laughing as Beth gives her a shocked look. “Remember, I have exacting standards.”
“Apparently,” Beth says, but there’s no malice in her words.
“Picking a husband is serious business. Hard to get to know someone in all that commotion anyway,” Gwen says, turning to look at Beth so she can glance back at their parents.
They’re almost a meter apart, not looking at each other. Father’s walking stiffly and it looks like Lady Demeroven may permanently damage her leather gloves with the way her hands are clenched.
“Did your mother say anything last night? Look at them.”
Beth glances back in the guise of fixing her skirts. “Oh dear, Mother looks like she’s about to break her teeth.”
“She didn’t tell you anything?”
