“I propose a tournament,” Gwen says as the rest of the collected group gathers around her. “Of teams.”
Intrigued looks all around. Gwen grins, meeting Beth’s eyes with a conspiratorial wink as she sidles up along the edge of the group with Albie.
“First we’ll pair off, ladies and gentlemen. The highest scoring three couples win. And then—” Gwen swings around theatrically to face the assembled parents, who are all watching their cluster.
Equal parts amusement, resignation, and disdain litter their faces but Gwen doesn’t let it faze her. Father will back her up, at the least. She’s counting on it.
“The mothers of the winning debs and fathers of the winning gentlemen shall have to team up in a fight for supremacy,” Gwen announces. She hears the children laugh while the mothers and fathers exchange looks. “Such a nice way for potential future in-laws to become better acquainted, isn’t it?” Gwen continues, all sweetness and light.
Father narrows his eyes at her, but she doesn’t think he’s caught on to her just yet. She waits, arms outstretched for the parental approval, and with a great sigh, Lord Kingsman nods and waves his hand for them to go ahead.
Gwen claps and spins back to the reason for this whole charade: matchmaking. That her real targets are of decidedly older age need not be mentioned.
“All right: Lady Eloise and Prous, Miss Blighe and Mort, Lady Annabeth and Johnson, Lady Meredith and Mason,” she says, giving Albie a quick glance. His pressed-lip smile speaks volumes.
“Thorton, you’re with me.” She nods to the tall, strapping cricket player with whom she’s shared a few lackluster outings. No worries of untoward feelings there, but she’s sure he’ll help her win. Competitive to a fault.
“Miss Susan with Haroldson, Miss March with Dyfort, and Miss Demeroven with Jacobson,” Gwen completes, nodding Beth toward the Honorable John Jacobson.
He’s a reedy, bashful boy, but she knows he’s vicious on the pitch, and he’s almost as competitive as Lord Thorton. He’s also already promised to Miss Rose Anderson, but she’s not sure he’s gotten up the courage to tell his parents. Hopefully Lady Demeroven won’t catch wind until later, or at least won’t think ill of her for it. Most importantly, his father isn’t in attendance today.
“All right, grab your mallets, line up, and let’s play. We’ll do expanded association, three teams per round!” Gwen exclaims, beaming as the kids scramble for the best equipment.
Lord Thorton ambles up to her, already having grabbed the best set. “What are you playing at, Lady Gwen?”
“These parties are sinfully dull. I thought watching our parents bumble around might be fun,” Gwen says casually.
“Sure,” Thorton says, and that’s the last time they speak to each other.
Instead, they focus on decimating the competition. WithThorton’s edge and her years of playing billiards with Father, they’re easily the best team on the field. Meredith and Albie give them a run for their money—they work perfectly together, as she thought—and Beth and Jacobson aren’t far behind. They don’t seem like they’re having quite as much fun together, but they’re equally focused and Beth has a surprisingly steady swing.
It works exactly as she thought it would. Eloise and Lord Prous spend the whole time too flustered by their proximity to pay any real attention to the game. Dyfort is an arse and barely lets Stephanie try. What a lout. Susie and Lord Haroldson are middling at best. And as she planned, Annabeth and Lord Johnson and Samantha and Lord Mort all do terribly, because they should have partners swapped. She feels a bit like an evil genius as the match comes to its end.
She raises Lord Thorton’s hand, grinning at Beth as the rest of the debutantes wander away, commiserating on their losses. They head for the alcohol to settle in and watch what can only be an interesting match among the remaining parents.
Gwen leads the three winning teams up to the edge of the patio. The parents clap politely for them and they all bow and curtsy. Gwen pushes through the feeling of childishness that briefly descends on her. Like she’s seven again and has just performed a dance for her father’s dinner party, a little doll on show.
“Your champions,” Gwen tells them, laughing as Father rolls his eyes and the mothers giggle. “That means Lady Harrington and Mr. Mason will be playing for Lady Meredith and Mr. Mason,” Gwen explains, nodding to the prim lady and Albie’s uncle.
Mr. Mason holds out his arm and escorts the reluctant, but clearly pleased, Lady Harrington from the patio and out onto the field. Albie and Meredith pass them mallets, and Gwen notes Albie’s uncle patting him on the shoulder. It was nice of him to come for Albie today, given Viscount Mason would rather drop dead than attend a society tea. Nice, and convenient.
“Then Lord Lawson for Lord Thorton, and Lady Kingsman, would you mind very much stepping in for me?” Gwen asks, making her eyes wide and pleading.
Lady Kingsman glances at her husband, who waves his hand, shaking his head at Gwen’s antics. Lady Kingsman nods and allows Lord Lawson to lead her out to Gwen and Thorton.
“I’ll make you proud,” Lady Kingsman promises.
Gwen grins and hands off her mallet. Though Lord Kingsman is a blowhard and a dolt, she has always liked his wife.
“That just leaves Lady Demeroven for Miss Demeroven, and Father, would you stand in for Mr. Jacobson?” Gwen asks brightly, giving the whole patio a broad smile.
Lady Demeroven goes stock still, and her father—oh, she hasn’t seen a look like that on Father’s face since the last time she broke a vase when she was ten. But there’s no way they can refuse. Lady Kingsman, the host, just agreed to step in for her. They can hardly say no now, not without being terribly, terribly rude.
Still, even as Father rises stiffly and escorts a clearly uncomfortable Lady Demeroven from the patio and over to Beth and Jacobson, Gwen swallows thickly. She was sure when she started that this would go well. But the look on both of their faces as they take their mallets—the way he’s holding her arm—
“Go on, go on,” Mr. Mason says, clearly not noticing the discomfort that’s fallen over two of the players. “Want a wager, Havenfort?”
Father seems to come out of his stupor and narrows his eyes at his younger brother-in-law. “Bragging rights aren’t enough for you?”
