“It’s not a tragedy without a death,” Mother replies.
“Why not make her a Lady M? A coconspirator. Wouldn’t that have been more entertaining?”
“At one of the premiere theaters, you expect a modern Lady M? It would be a scandal.”
“Better a scandal than a moralistic, heavy-handed, self-aggrandizing—”
“Does nothing please you?” Mother returns, her voice ringing around them even through the applause.
“Father, people are staring,” Gwen hisses.
Lord Havenfort puts up his hands. But he and Mother continue to glare at each other. They turn back toward the stage, grudgingly clapping along.
“Though he does have a point,” Gwen mutters to Beth as she leans back into place.
“She should have taken the money and run. Far too good for him,” Beth agrees, shifting away from Mother lest she hear.
She can’t imagine Mother approved of Céline Céleste’s character dying, just that she’s aware that making her complicit in the long-term con of using stolen money to improve her husband’s station wouldn’t sit well with the society set. Honestly,Lord Havenfort’s proposal sounds like a much more interesting play. Not that this was bad, by any means. But really, the woman dying of grief because her husband gave her a good life, even if through dubious means?
The curtains close on the bows, and Beth turns her attention to trying to squeeze her way through the seats. Gwen bends down and helps Beth twist her hoop. Beth smiles and takes her hand gratefully as they clear the seats and scurry up behind their parents. Gwen’s palm is sweaty in her own. They shuffle along, exchanging winces in the push of the crowd.
“Just say you agree with me.”
“I will not.”
Beth groans and Gwen squeezes her hand. Their parents continue to bicker all the way down the stairs and into the lobby. Even as Lord Havenfort gallantly takes Mother’s arm to lead her onto the street, he’s needling her, insisting she agree.
“Dogged, isn’t he?” Beth wonders. They follow through the open lobby doors and onto the street, traipsing down to join the line queuing for hired coaches.
“Decidedly,” Gwen agrees with a sigh. “But speaking is better than not. I think your mother enjoys it, really.”
“Possibly,” Beth says, scrutinizing the clench of her mother’s jaw—whether that’s all anger and indignation, or her trying to hide a bit of a smirk. She does like to argue.
Beth and Gwen spend a pleasant few minutes watching the crowd and exchanging thoughts on the play. It’s the freest Beth’s felt in days, and it’s glorious. Even if their parents aren’t quite getting along, this is far better than anything else they’ve done this week. And surely far better than any time spent with Lord Montson.
Gwen’s hand is warm in hers and their cheeks are both pink from laughing as they whisper about Céline Céleste. Beth thinks it’s possible Céline and Webster are having an affair; their passion was so real. But Gwen’s convinced Céline is far too good for him and would never stoop to sleeping with a cad. Beth nudges her and Gwen just grins, bright eyed and standing as close as she can against the wind.
“All right fine!” Mother exclaims.
“Hah!” Lord Havenfort grins. “You’re far too intelligent to enjoy something so patronizing.”
Mother rolls her eyes and pulls her arm from his. Beth’s not sure how they made it to the front of the queue so quickly. She’s been too distracted, giggling with Gwen and making up an increasingly exciting romantic life for Céline Céleste. She wants to stay in this peaceful, playful moment longer.
“You’re a horrible snob, you know,” Mother says as she reaches back for Beth.
Beth holds on to Gwen, not eager to be parted just yet. They’ve barely had any time together as it is. “Mother, couldn’t we—”
“You’ve an important promenade in the morning. Come along, we’ll leave your friend to her father’s boasting. My apologies, Lady Gwen.”
Gwen snorts and then covers her mouth. Lord Havenfort laughs and steps back to take Gwen’s arm. Gwen holds on to the tips of Beth’s fingers and squeezes, before letting go with a chagrined smile as the two of them are pulled apart by their parents.
“Good evening, Lady Demeroven, Miss Demeroven,” Lord Havenfort says, tipping his hat.
Mother simply rolls her eyes, but Beth smiles back and then lets Mother tug her to the front of the line. Mother steps up first, smiling demurely at the footman helping everyone into the carriages, as if she hasn’t just spent the last ten minutes sniping at one of the most titled men in the city.
Beth glances back at Gwen, who gives her a subtle thumbs-up, and then lets herself be handed into the carriage after Mother. They settle onto opposite seats and the carriage lurches forward.
“What a horrid, smug man,” Mother says, brushing at her slightly disheveled curls.
