Mother finishes up the buttons and does the top clasp, settling the vee across Beth’s shoulders. She pushes close and wraps her arms around Beth’s waist, meeting her eyes in the mirror.
“I promise tomorrow we’ll have hotcakes for breakfast and sleep until noon, all right?”
Beth smiles and leans back into her, gripping at her hands. “All right.”
***
Gwen
“You’re cheating!”
“You’recheating!” Gwen insists, glaring at her father through her mesh hood, as she teeters on the edge of the stone wall around the garden pond.
“You didn’t riposte,” Father argues, foil still pointed at her, waiting.
“You attacked twice,” Gwen says. She backs along the uneven stones, one arm out for balance, the other hand still brandishing her foil. “And it doesn’t become a man to quibble.”
Father snorts and jumps up onto the wall in front of her, the two of them balanced precariously. They begin to trade attacks again. Gwen advances, but then retreats as Father bears down on her. She feints, trying to throw him off, but much as it rankles, he’s got moves she can’t hope to parry.
Instead, Gwen leaps suddenly from the wall, taking off toward the house at the opposite end of the garden, cackling. Father shouts behind her and gives chase. She twirls around, ready to return his next attack, when the foil is plucked from her hand.
“Hey!” she says, spinning to find their housekeeper, Mrs. Gilpe, frowning down at her.
“En garde!” Father yells, striking her in the back.
Gwen revolves, glaring as she pulls off her helmet. “Foul,” she declares.
“Not so,” Father counters, removing his own mask. “Mrs. Gilpe is but an obstacle. A true opponent would have kept up her guard.”
“You’re a filthy cheat,” Gwen huffs, crossing her arms. Father grins at her, boyishly smug.
“You’re both ridiculous,” Mrs. Gilpe says, her voice fond but firm. Gwen turns to take in her unimpressed glare. “Get inside. The carriage will be here in an hour.”
“One more round?” they exclaim together.
Mrs. Gilpe rolls her eyes, her narrow face still hard but her lips twitching. Father glances at Gwen and the two of them put on their best pouts. But nothing will sway Mrs. Gilpe today.
“If you want to attend the Halyard Ball drenched in sweat with matted hair, be my guest, but neither of you can really afford to start the season that poorly, can you?”
Gwen looks back at Father, who maintains his pout for a moment before his shoulders slump. “Cuttingly astute as ever, Mrs. Gilpe. All right, Gwennie, go up and let the girls turn you into a young lady again.”
Gwen withers under Mrs. Gilpe’s eager look. “Couldn’t we just—”
“Mrs. Gilpe’s right,” Father says, adopting what Gwen considers his “stern father face.” “Tonight is important. We can have a rematch tomorrow.”
“Or you could admit you’re a cheating cheater and we could match again now.”
“The carriage will be here in an hour,” Father says in a credible imitation of Mrs. Gilpe, who tuts.
“Like it matters if we’re on time,” Gwen says.
“Regardless of your feelings on the matter, we must still attempt to make this season count, no matter how onerous.”
Gwen narrows her eyes at his tone. “Are you going to be a gentleman, then? Stand with all the fathers and ignore the debutantes this time?”
“I have never gone after a debutante,” Father says quickly.
“No, no, just the opera singer, the dancer, the other opera singer, the widow Loughton, the widow Chastley—”
