Beth shrugs and leans back into her mother. Gwen can barely hear their conversation but meets Lady Demeroven’s gaze as she looks Gwen over.
“...right back as soon as Lord Montson arrives.”
“Yes, Mother,” Beth says, nodding seriously before turning and hustling Gwen away, dragging her across the room for a change. “Never thought she’d let go,” Beth admits as they snake their way along the wall, edging around clusters of parents and debutantes alike.
Gwen watches Beth move confidently through the crowds. It’s like something new has come over her, a confidence she didn’t have before. Gwen hopes it’s not just because Montson asked her to dance.
“Was it awful?”
Gwen startles. They’ve made it to the refreshments already. Beth passes a glass of wine into her hand; it’s her favorite, from the back of the table. She didn’t even have to ask.
“What?” Gwen asks inelegantly.
She swigs back a large sip.
Beth is here to get a husband. That’s the point. It shouldn’t be anything but good that she’s found a dancing partner. Thoughit does mean now Gwen will have to relinquish her, for most of the night if Lady Demeroven has her way.
“Was your father badly hurt?”
“Oh,” Gwen says, laughing a little. “He’s recovered. Your mother?”
“Only wounded pride on her end,” Beth says, taking Gwen’s elbow to lead them to the opposite side of the hall. They can clearly see Lady Demeroven still standing by the steps, now roped into conversation with Lord and Lady Barthelmis. Poor woman, they’re sinfully dull.
“Was he very angry?” Beth asks, and Gwen’s thoughts slow as she catches the concern on Beth’s face.
“No,” Gwen says quickly, watching as Beth’s shoulders relax. “No, he wasn’t pleased, and he was pissy, but not mad at me, not really.”
“Good,” Beth says. “I had wanted to call, but Mother wouldn’t hear of it, and then you weren’t at any of our teas or garden parties.”
“I spent most of the week trailing after Albie,” Gwen admits. “Father wasn’t angry, but I think he was a bit put off the social events. Meredith’s fun to talk to, at least.”
“She is,” Beth agrees. “And Mr. Mason?”
“Absolutely smitten,” Gwen says, smiling at the thought. “Bumblingly so, actually. It’s very funny.”
“That’s sweet,” Beth says, nudging Gwen as she laughs. “He deserves it.”
“He does,” Gwen agrees. “And you? Exhausted by all the merriment?”
Beth nods seriously. “It’s been like she’s possessed,” Beth says, glancing over at Lady Demeroven, who looks ever sobored. “But I did find out that she had a suitor, I think, in her first season.”
Gwen hesitates. “Oh?”
“A friend, she called him. But the way she looked when speaking about him—I think she fancied him. But her father forbade her from marrying him. I don’t know if he ever proposed.”
Gwen sighs as the whole terrible portrait settles into place. She can’t hate the woman then, can she? She could hate Beth’s grandfather, she supposes, for forbidding the match.
“She seemed rather sad about it, actually,” Beth says.
“I think it was my father,” Gwen says quickly, pushing it out in a rush.
“What?”
“My father had a friend his first season too. Mrs. Gilpe thinks she broke his heart, but he said it wasn’t of any importance, just a friend.”
“My mother broke his heart?” Beth asks, eyes wide and dismayed.
“It’s not her fault. You said your grandfather said no.”
