“I look about twelve,” Beth says.
Mother adjusts the light pink satin and lace gown over her padded and primped underlayers. “Pastels are all the rage this season.”
Beth grimaces and shifts, frowning at her round, rouged cheeks. Mother can swear all she likes, but Beth would much rather look her age. While youth might appeal to men like Lord Psoris, she’s proud of being twenty, not ashamed. Gwen’s twenty-one and she looks just as desirable as she must have at eighteen.
“I want you to dance more this evening,” Mother says as she circles Beth, reaching out here and there to adjust. “We should have had at least a few callers by now.”
“It’s only been a week,” Beth protests, not liking the tightness of her mother’s jaw.
They’ve attended eight teas and garden parties, promenaded every day, made unending morning calls, and been guests at four dinners. It isn’t as if they aren’t trying.
“I had at least five callers my first week in my season,” Mother says as she adjusts the diamond necklace she’s forced Beth to wear tonight.
“Gwen hasn’t had any either,” Beth argues.
Mother snorts. “I’m not surprised.”
“Mother,” Beth scolds, glaring.
“Your friend is a lovely young woman, but she’s got a mouth on her and her reputation among the mothers is abysmal. She got in a shouting match with that Gentry girl.”
“Miss Gentry was making fun of Gwen for not having a mother to teach her proper manners. Gwen should have punched her.”
Mother frowns. Beth hasn’t seen Gwen since the Jelison tea party on Thursday. And even though Gwen shook it off, she knows Miss Gentry must have hurt her feelings. How utterly callous. It’s not as if it’s Gwen’s fault she has no maternal influence. And she’s heaps more intelligent, witty, and charming than the other girls with their proper mothers anyway.
“You’re determined to dislike Gwen,” Beth says as Mother continues to frown.
“I’m not,” Mother says. Beth narrows her eyes at her. “I’m not. She’s a nice young lady, and I don’t mind you being friends with her, but I won’t have you looking at her as an example of how to behave in the season. She’s been out for four years.”
“I know,” Beth says, her anger melting in the face of Mother’s concern. “But I do like her.”
“That’s fine,” Mother says, taking a deep breath. “Just don’t spend all night with her, all right?”
Beth bobs her head. She hadn’t really been planning on it... just all the time not spent dancing. But there’s no reason Mother needs to know that. Instead, she should be leveraging this moment of détente. They come along so infrequently.
“You don’t dislike Gwen just because of her father, do you?”
Mother blinks. “What? No.”
“Because I know you don’t think highly of him,” Beth continues, watching as Mother sighs.
“I wish he’d been a better example to your friend, certainly,” she says slowly. “But I don’t blame her. You don’t get to pick your father,” she adds, meeting Beth’s eyes.
Beth nods, refraining from mentioning that Mother did pick her father, and picked poorly. “Still, she’s accomplished and kind. That must say something to Lord Havenfort’s credit, right? As Miss Gentry said, it’s not like she has a mother around.”
Mother purses her lips and Beth waits her out, turning to her mirror to do a last check of her face. She looks ridiculous.
“Perhaps she’s inherited some of Lord Havenfort’s intelligence, but surely you can understand that having a man like that for a father doesn’t give her a good example of how to behave in society. He’s hardly a paragon of propriety.”
“He’s very nice!” Beth argues.
“Nice and respectable are separate things.”
“He sits in the House of Lords,” Beth says.
“The House of Lords hardly cares how many women a man has bedded.”
“It’s not like he’s encouraging Gwen to do that. Gwen’s honor is very safe.”
