“I don’t think we have,” Beth says, trying to recall the laundry list of events Mother has mentioned they’ll attend. “Have I met the Yokelys?”
“They were at the Jelisons’ tea party,” Gwen says, not a lick of a frown on her face at the mention. “Lord Yokely is a portly man and his wife has a very pinched face.”
“Oh! And the daughter is Lady Caroline?”
“Yes. The one with the nasal voice,” Gwen says with a little grin.
“She was nice,” Beth says, laughing as Gwen rolls her eyes. “She was.”
“She’s fine. Probably going to marry the Jackland heir.”
“Really?”
“They’ve already been on two outings, just this week,” Gwen says, shrugging as Beth gapes at her. “Some girls get lucky.”
Beth bites at her lip. She’s not had even one caller, and Lady Caroline is already courting?
“There’s no competing with the Yokely fortune. I’m sure her dowry is immense,” Gwen says, and Beth meets her eyes, trying to force her worry off her face.
“Right,” she says, taking a sip of her wine to calm down.
“Don’t worry. They just haven’t had time to see how wonderful you are yet.”
Beth blushes and takes another sip, trying to take Gwen’s words to heart. She doesn’t want to seem concerned about this, not with Gwen, who certainly hasn’t danced with or been approached by anyone other than her cousins all week, and that was just so they could snipe at each other for sport.
“It’s fine, I’m not—”
“Oh, here’s one now. Damn, it’s Freddie Highsmith, what a hawbuck.”
Beth swallows hard as a tall, handsome young man with a strong jaw and thick brown eyebrows heads in their direction. Gwen slumps beside her, but Beth notices Mother across the room grinning. Beth thinks he’s the son of an earl, if she’s remembering correctly.
“Good evening, ladies,” he says, his voice low and smooth. “Good to see you again, Lady Gwen.”
“You too,” Gwen says, dipping in a half-hearted curtsy.
Beth ignores her and gives the young man a formal curtsy of her own.
“And who is your friend?”
“This is the Honorable Elizabeth Demeroven,” Gwen says, her voice much colder than it was a few minutes ago. “Miss Demeroven, this is Lord Clyson.”
“Daughter of the late Viscount Demeroven, I presume? Myfather was very sad to hear of his passing. A pleasure to meet you,” Lord Clyson says, taking Beth’s hand to give it an exaggerated kiss.
“A pleasure to meet you as well,” Beth says even as Gwen sighs in her periphery.
“I wondered if I might have the honor of your first dance,” Lord Clyson says, smiling at her. His face is pleasant enough to look at, and maybe only a few years older than her own.
“We were actually just—”
“I’d be delighted,” Beth says, cutting Gwen off.
“Wonderful,” Lord Clyson says, plucking the drink from her hand to give it to Gwen, who takes it with a frown.
That’s a bit rude, of both of them, Beth thinks as she offers Gwen a weak smile. She lets Lord Clyson take her arm to lead her to the floor. They join the cluster of other couples setting up for the opening waltz.
Beth fights her anxiety as they square off, listening to the sounds of conversation around them and the last warming tones from the small orchestra settled on a large musicians’ balcony. To have the money for architecture purely for music—
“How are you enjoying London?” Lord Clyson asks after they bow and curtsy.
