“I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” the young man exclaims as he sprints up to them, coming to a halt just before he topples into them and sends them sprawling all over again.
“It’s all right,” Beth says automatically. She’d rather not have been hit with a wayward projectile, but he looks terribly upset.
It’s only when he stands up tall and gives a little bow that she has a moment to truly take him in. Statuesque with a chiseled jawline and well-coifed but slightly askew chestnut brown hair—he’s very pretty, for a boy.
“My sincerest apologies. I’m a terrible shot,” the man says, looking at her askance. “And I, well, Viscount Montson, I am horrified to have caused you pain and ask your forgiveness, and your attendance to at least one dinner at my home, and a tea, and do you like pastries?”
“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lord Montson,” Mother steps in, saving the poor boy. Beth’s just dizzied by how many social engagements she’s now required to attend for getting hit in the back. “Your father is the Earl of Ashmond?”
“Yes,” Lord Montson says. “And he’ll be thoroughly upset to hear what I’ve done. I believe you are Lady Demeroven?”
“Yes,” Mother says, giving him a winning smile. “And my daughter, Miss Demeroven, is just fine, aren’t you, dearest?”
“I am,” Beth says honestly, though she doesn’t at all like the gleam in Mother’s eye. “You needn’t go to any trouble over it. It really wasn’t that painful.”
“I am glad in this moment to be such a terrible shot with a poor throw,” Lord Montson says with a grin.
Beth feels herself flush. “I’m sure you’ve a very powerful throw,” she says quickly, wincing as Mother fakes a cough to cover a laugh.
“Well, I’ve certainly a powerful interest in your first dance tomorrow night at the Smith Ball,” he says, and even Beth is impressed by how smooth that was.
“She’ll be delighted to dance with you, won’t you, darling?” Mother asks.
Beth winces. How embarrassing. “Yes, I would,” she says, meeting Lord Montson’s eyes. “Thank you, I look forward to it.”
“As do I,” Lord Montson says, holding out his hand to Beth.
She takes it after a moment of surprise, and then sucks in a breath as he raises her gloved hand to kiss the back of it. He has to bend quite a lot to manage. He’s very tall.
“Until tomorrow night then, Miss Demeroven. And I give you much leave to step on all of my toes in retribution.”
“She’s quite an accomplished dancer,” Mother says quickly.
“I’ll do my best to cause us no further mutual pain,” Beth says, smiling at him as he stands up. He still looks so concerned.
“Montson!” calls one of the other gents from his group.
Lord Montson looks over at them and nods before turning back to Beth and her mother, giving them a sweeping bow. “Farewell,” he says, and then stoops to pick up his ball and jogs off.
They stand there watching him go. What just happened?
“We need to go home immediately, get your dress, and get to the modiste,” Mother says after a stunned beat.
“What?” Beth exclaims, jerking into motion as Mother takes her arm again and practically drags her from the park. “But I thought we were playing duets and—”
“We’ve a future earl and his family to impress, and you’ve far too little lace on tomorrow night’s gown,” Mother says, ignoring Beth entirely. “We’ll need to cancel that order of beef.Miss Wilson can make something else for the weekend roast. Squash, perhaps? And we’ll need to visit the cobbler for new shoes—yours are so drab,” Mother mutters, rattling on and on as they hurry down the path.
Beth feels her shoulders come up as they stride out of the park, and it’s not just due to the dull ache from being smacked in the back by Lord Montson’s effusive throw.
Chapter Six
Gwen
“Hold still, Gwennie, honestly,” Mrs. Stelm mutters as Gwen stares at her reflection, bouncing her leg.
“I’m bored,” Gwen admits.
Mrs. Gilpe snorts behind her, finishing off Gwen’s ridiculous braided updo for tonight’s ball. Mrs. Stelm pats a last bit of blush on Gwen’s cheek and smiles encouragingly.
