Gwen looks up at him and watches him shutter something away. It looks a lot like heartbreak—the crease of his brow, the arc of his frown, the sheen on his eyes.
They have to fix this. They can’t let the end of their parents’ story be this heartache.
She and Father can’tbothend this season heartbroken. One of them deserves a happy ending.
“Ah, Albie,” Father says, and Gwen blinks as Albie steps up to them, blocking her view of Beth and her mother, and the handsome, dull viscount who may vie for Beth’s hand. “Why don’t you and Gwen take a spin, if you think Lady Meredith won’t mind.”
“Of course,” Albie says, holding out his hand for Gwen.
She takes it, her chest still tight. Why should she be heartbroken by the end of this season? Beth getting married would be the proper outcome, after all.
Chapter Seven
Beth
Beth holds her mother’s arm as they shuffle beneath the white columns outside the Adelphi Theatre, trying to stay together despite the push of the crowd. Their skirts are buffeted this way and that and Beth hears Mother cursing under her breath. It’s only more crowded when they finally make it from the hazy street outside into the narrow entry of the theater.
The dark red velvet walls and golden tassels make the space seem even smaller, and amid all the hoops and top hats, Beth forgets about their plans, simply following Mother as she charges through the crowd and up to the first mezzanine. The ton is all atwitter, excited for the benefit performance, many of the men crowing about how much they’ve donated in honor of Céline Céleste. Mother and Beth were the surprised recipients of two tickets donated by the Harringtons. Meredith is at home with her mother, who’s taken ill.
Beth has no idea how Gwen managed that, or if chance really did just fall into their laps. But she promised she’d arrange it, and arrange it she has. Now it’s Beth’s job to situate them in the right seats, if they can ever squeeze their way through. For all its benefits, the hoopskirt is rather impractical in a press of bodies, and even without a load of petticoats, by the time theyget to their section in the mezzanine, both of them are sweating and heaving for air.
“I don’t know why you talked me into this,” Mother mutters as Beth guides her down to their thankfully empty row.
“Yes, this was my plan,” Beth says, shooting her a look before coming to a stop. “This is us,” she announces, motioning Mother forward. They shuffle between the seats all the way across the row, leaving Mother beside the lone empty seat at the end.
“Thank God,” Mother says as they finally plop down, or at least try.
Two minutes of shifting and they’ve settled their skirts around their legs, twisted to provide as much room on either side as possible. It’s still too close for comfort, but Beth forces a smile, determined to make the most of this.
Her enthusiasm for the evening is mostly about her plans with Gwen, but there’s a small thrill at the thought of seeing live theater. Father used to take them once every long while, but such good seats at such a lavish premiere would have been unthinkable. Certainly if it had been their money on the line, they wouldn’t be here tonight. She’ll need to thank Lady Harrington for the honor.
“Does this say what the play is about?” Mother wonders aloud, flipping through her crinkled program.
Beth leans over to get a look, having lost hers in the shuffle, and then spots Gwen and Lord Havenfort across the seat block. She waves, noting Mother looking up in her periphery. That frown doesn’t bode well.
Gwen gamely begins scooting between the seats, her demure navy skirts curled expertly to allow her room to maneuver. Clearly Gwen and Lord Havenfort frequent the theater. Gwen’s grin is contagious, and Beth beams back. She laughs when Gwen plops dramatically down beside her.
“Horrid getting up here, isn’t it?” Gwen says, before glancing back at her father and rather obviously checking the seat number. “Oh dear, Beth, are you in Father’s seat?”
“She isn’t,” Mother says immediately before tightening her jaw. That came out rather hard and fast.
“We checked,” Beth says apologetically, glancing up as Lord Havenfort reaches Gwen’s side. “What’s your number, Lord Havenfort?”
“Ten,” he says, glancing at his ticket.
“Oh, that’s next to Mother,” Beth says sweetly, ignoring Gwen’s not-so-subtle nudge.
“We can just scoot down,” Mother says.
Beth bites her lips, glancing over at Mother, but she’s struggling already to move her skirts. The group waits a beat, and Beth holds her breath, fearing that Mother will manage to free herself and their plans will be dashed. But their lack of theater experience in the new hoopskirts seems to prevail and Mother huffs, entirely stuck.
“Why don’t you sit beside Lady Demeroven,” Gwen says innocently, looking back up at her father. “It’ll take all three of us ages to move our skirts.”
Lord Havenfort frowns, looking down at them, squished into their seats, hoops only just settled into place. “Yes, all right. Don’t bother, Lady Demeroven, really,” he adds, nodding to Mother before turning on his heel to exit the other end of the row.
“These preposterous skirts,” Mother hisses, shifting in her seat. “Ridiculous.”
“We’ll get better at them,” Beth placates.
