“I’m sure it is,” Mother says, holding up her hands. “I’m simply saying he’s no example of proper etiquette.”
“How do you know?” Beth insists.
Mother rolls her eyes. “I’ve known Lord Havenfort for a long time. His reputation precedes him.”
“And you think he was like that when he was presented?”
Mother shakes her head. “He was... charming. And clearly that charm has gotten him rather far.”
“So you knew him when you were in the market?” Beth presses.
Mother narrows her eyes. “We met in my season. He married his wife at the end of his second, as far as I know. And since her death he’s gotten to know half of London’s women biblically. That charm remains intact. Now, can we drop this?”
Beth sighs, tucking the information away, likely as much as she’ll get her mother to admit tonight. Reluctantly, she spins for last looks.
“I doubt he’s really bedded half of London,” she says in lackluster defense. “It’s not as if he could fall in love with that many women.”
Mother smiles, laughing a little as she reaches out to fix a lock of Beth’s hair. “I adore that you think that,” she says gently. “And I adore you. I want you to have fun tonight. Just remember why we’re here, all right?” Beth opens her mouth to defend her friend. “All right?”
“Yes,” Beth says, shoulders sagging. “All right.”
***
This ball is, absurdly, larger even than the last. The Kleisted ballroom could easily fit most of their London townhouse inside its cavernous three-story hall. Garlands of every type of flower imaginable line the walls, and Beth finds the entire effect dizzying as she tries to take it all in.
It’s already very warm, and the press of bodies feels close despite the early hour. She feels even more ridiculous in her pink skirts and girlish makeup now. Mother wasn’t wrong—many ofthe debs look softer tonight—but given how anxious her stomach feels in the face of all these people, she’d rather look her age and be able to glare them all down.
No amount of frowning can dampen the girlish charm pancaked onto her face tonight.
“I should begin scheduling our visits for next week,” Mother says.
Beth sighs, glancing over at the society mothers. Always someone else to talk to, someone else’s feelings to settle.
“You’re beautiful, and smart, and any of them would be lucky to have you,” Mother says, squeezing her arm.
That’s the problem, Beth thinks, even as she lets Mother go with a false smile. Any of them might feel lucky to have her. But she doubts she’ll feel as lucky in return to be had.
Beth stands at the edge of the room, her chest tight and breathing shallow. But she can do this. She’s not about to let a lot of flowers and people cower her.
She starts to walk through the gathered crowd, keeping a wide eye for Lord Psoris, determined only to interact with young men she at least finds palatable this evening, if nothing else, when someone grabs her arm.
She turns, startled, and then relaxes as Gwen grins down at her. “You’re finally here!” Gwen says excitedly.
Beth nods, a smile stretching across her face in response.
Gwen squeezes her arm. “Food?”
“You’re a godsend,” Beth says honestly.
Gwen laughs and tugs her across the room. Beth notices the looks they’re getting now—the way mothers slightly sneer in their direction. Perhaps her mother wasn’t totally wrong. It does seem Gwen has a reputation.
But when they reach the refreshments and Gwen passes her a glass of wine and a small quiche bite, Beth realizes her chest is no longer pulsing with anxiety. It hardly seems worth the upset to let go of her friend simply to appease a few mothers.
“Some house, huh?” Gwen asks, leading Beth over toward a less populated place along the entryway wall.
“It’s amazing,” Beth says, relaxing fully when her hoop brushes the wall, truly out of the fray. “Have you been here before?”
“They throw a few balls a season,” Gwen says. “Have you been invited to the Yokely ball yet? They have the most amazing gardens, which is the only downside to this one.”
