Mrs. Gilpe hands a quid to Mrs. Stelm. Gwen laughs.
“And how much more have you wagered on our young deb?” Father asks.
“Wagering on me? Whatever for?” Gwen says, trying to look innocent.
“As I understand it, the whole house has a bet on how many young men you can make cry playing croquet,” Father says, grinning at her.
“Not how many suitors I come home with? I’m shocked,” Gwen says, shaking her head as Mrs. Gilpe rolls her eyes.
“Put in two for me,” Father says, handing two quid to Mrs. Stelm. “If I win, I’ll order wine for everyone.”
“Now, you’ve simply got to make a few boys cry,” Mrs. Stelm tells Gwen.
Gwen snorts. “We’ve got to go. I’ll make you all proud, one way or the other, now come on,” she says, ushering Father out of the foyer.
She supposes she should be upset by their teasing. Absolutely no one expects her to come home with an interested suitor after an event like this. To be honest, she doesn’t think any ofthem, including herself, expect her to make it out of this season with an offer, or even interest.
But now she just wants to see if she can make Albie cry. Though she’s not sure Father will count that, since she regularly makes both Albie and Bobby miserable. Then again, she reminds herself as she and Father settle into the carriage for the twenty-minute drive across the park, making boys cry isn’t the objective.
The objective is to get Lady Demeroven and her father to interact in a way that will force them into conversation. They’re starting small. Get them to talk, that’s all. And then rekindle whatever passion was there, and get both her and Beth out of this ridiculous marriage market.
But talking will be enough for today.
“You’re absolutely too excited about this. What have you planned?” Father asks.
Gwen meets his gaze, giving him her most innocent smile. He narrows his eyes anyway, but her smile is practiced. That’s probably what has him suspicious.
“I’m just excited to see Beth and play,” Gwen says honestly. It’s not the full truth, but any day she and Beth get to spend together is a good one. She’s the perfect partner in crime. Sharp, witty, wily, and funny as hell—Gwen’s never had so much fun with someone. And if their plan succeeds, they’ll get to be together all the time. Well worth the potential loss of pin money should Father find out.
They ride in contented silence until they arrive at the Kingsman estate. They dismount from the carriage and head through the back gate to the already bustling party. They’re not exactly late, but they’re far from the first to arrive.
“Play nicely,” Father murmurs as they’re greeted by the Kingsmans, bows and curtsies exchanged and pleasantries extended until Gwen is ushered off to gather with the other “kids.”
Gwen gives Father a toothy grin and hurries across the expansive back garden toward the gaggle of tulle and shawls by the small pond.
The Kingsmans may be sinfully dull people, but their gardener is a genius. The lush trellises of flowers and flowering shrubbery that encase the back garden are splendid. The blossoming spots of purples, yellows, oranges, and pinks among the green leaves brighten the slightly gloomy afternoon. Tables and chairs have been set up by the back patio, prepared for a formal tea to be served once everyone is in attendance. Benches line the sculpted walking path that wends its way through the yard. Each spot is intricately crafted to be the perfect place for polite conversation and staid courting.
An elaborate croquet course has been laid out for their amusement in the open space on the lawn. Because there’s nothing the ton enjoys more than an excuse to get close passed off as a little competition. And there’s no shortage of partners today. Every available chair, bench, and picnic spot is filled with the young and most eligible of the society set. They’re all wildly overdressed for the humid afternoon, but eager to partake in this dainty mating ritual with finger sandwiches.
Gwen searches the milling crowd, smiling and nodding without engaging. There’s only one person she wants to find, and she grins when she spots her chatting with Albie. Beth’s wearing a lovely yellow gown that makes her hair shine and contrasts her rosy cheeks and dark eyes. Gwen can see Albie’s at least a little bit entranced, even if their height difference is hilarious.
It’s a shame Albie’s father needs him to marry for money, not just status. She’s sure Beth has a dowry to offer, but nothing large enough to help pull the Masons out of their increasing debt. Albie and Bobby never talk about it, but she knows the viscount’s gambling weighs heavily on the whole family.
If Lord Mason didn’t hate Father so much, there might be more they could do. But her uncle blames Father for her mother’s death after childbirth, and they barely speak, though they at least allow the children to fraternize.
“Gwen!”
Gwen shakes off darker thoughts about her father’s own reputation and hurries to join her friends. She wraps Beth in a quick hug and then punches Albie on the arm. He simply rolls his eyes in return and nods toward the drink station, ever the dutiful cousin.
“I’ve missed you,” Beth says brightly, keeping hold of Gwen’s arm as they turn to look out at the party together.
“You were supposed to promenade yesterday,” Gwen says.
Beth sighs. “Yes, but Mother thought another round of morning calls was more important. Fat lot of good it did. Mr. Mason’s the only one who would talk to me.”
“Good ol’ Albie,” Gwen says as he lumbers back to them, extending a glass of wine for her before taking a decent slug of his own brandy. “You’ve cleaned up nice,” she adds, looking him up and down.
He looks rather dashing, actually. But the grimace belies his true nature. “Father’s set on this being the season now that Bobby’s out too,” he says glumly.
