Mother opens her mouth a few times, but doesn’t seem to come up with anything to say as they walk the few blocks back to their townhouse. Beth sags against her, a deep melancholy settling over her shoulders. She should be grateful, but she just feels cross and disappointed.
As they head inside and remove their bonnets, she considers her mother. Surely she wants more for Beth. Surely she wanted more for herself.
“Was it ever pleasant with Father?” Mother stills, her hand curling around her gloves, knuckles going white. “Were you satisfied with just pleasant? Should I be grateful he doesn’t yell, like Father did?”
“Beth,” Mother says, her voice taking on that edge that comes with exhaustion and exasperation.
“Gwen says Lord Havenfort’s never cross like Father was. That even when he’s mad, he’s kind about it. Could you tell that Father would be frightening? Was he pleasant before he turned into a brute?”
“Beth,” Mother snaps, her voice hard.
“Shouldn’t I at least make sure Lord Montson will be kind? Even if he’s a rake, Lord Havenfo—”
“Of course he isn’t,” Mother lets out, her voice ringing around the narrow foyer. “There isn’t a mean bone in Dashiell’s body. He’s affable, and kind, and frighteningly fair.”
Beth stares, lost for words. Mother runs a hand through her hair, tugging it down from its sweaty wrap so her hairpins fall and ping against the floor.
“And I’m sorry that I couldn’t model the ideal marriage for you, and that my choices continue to be a disappointment. But Lord Montson is a kind boy, whose father, while a blowhard, has no reputation for the kind of drinking yours did. You’d be lucky to marry into the Ashmond family. It’s more than I could ever have hoped for. Be grateful,” she insists, before turning on her heel and storming up the stairs, leaving Beth alone in the ringing silence left behind her.
Beth spends the next few hours on the precipice of tears, unsure whether they’re for herself or her mother. All she knows is a pervasive sadness has settled over the whole household. Even Miss Wilson can’t quite muster a smile or idle chatter as she helps Beth dress for dinner.
If her mother really did love Lord Havenfort, and was forced to marry her father instead, then she left love for psychological torture. She always says Beth was worth every cruel word her father uttered, but that can’t be true.
He was horrible. Vindictive. She neversawhim hit her mother, and Mother’s never discussed it, but she knows there was occasional violence. He never struck Beth, though she thought he might more than once. What would he think, to see her so conflicted over such an advantageous match?
Beth shakes herself as she enters the lonely dining room. Mother’s already seated at the head of the table, frowning down into her fish. What her father would think doesn’t matter, but what her mother thinks still does. She suffered a lifetime for Beth. Beth can suffer the next few months, can’t she?
“I’m sorry,” Beth whispers as she sits down on Mother’s left.
Mother looks up and meets her eyes, her own slightly bloodshot. She made her mother cry.
“It’s all right, sunshine,” Mother says, reaching out to squeeze her hand. “This is hard.”
Beth nods, a lump in her throat. “I’m still sorry.”
“So am I,” Mother says softly. “Now, eat up. I don’t know about you, but I think I sweat my body weight on that walk. My goodness, can that woman blather on.”
Beth laughs despite herself and reaches up to wipe at her watery eyes. She takes a large swig of wine, and nearly chokes. She looks down into the glass and realizes it’s a full tumbler of brandy.
“I raided your father’s liquor cabinet. Thought we needed it,” Mother says with a shrug.
Beth coughs and then takes another sip, letting the burn of the alcohol wash away her melancholy. “Could have done with some on the walk,” she says, smiling as Mother snorts.
“I’m sure Lord Montson’s much more engaging than his mother.”
“He is,” Beth agrees. “And I—you’re right, I should be—I am grateful, that he’s interested. I’ll try my best.” She says it willingly, but the knot in her stomach twists tighter.
A boring life with Lord Montson wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. And perhaps she and Mother could still ride together daily. If Mother could stand seeing Lady Ashmond that often.
They sit quietly for a few minutes, focused on forcing down their fish. Beth fights against a gag. She wishes they hadn’t had to let their cook, Mrs. Mildred, go. Miss Wilson’s the besthousekeeper in the world, but cooking isn’t her forte, especially when it comes to fish.
Beth glances over at her mother, struck suddenly with the vision of her eating alone in an even emptier house. If Beth does marry Lord Montson, surely they’ll see each other often, but Mother will end up somewhere else. They won’t dine together anymore. Beth will be dining with Lord Montson and the earl, and Mother will dine alone, in another house with the rooms draped in sheets, closed off and unused.
“Do you ever think about it?” Beth asks, the question popping out of her mouth before she can stop herself.
“Think about what?” Mother asks, glancing up at her and then straightening at whatever look has overtaken her face.
“Getting married again. After I’m settled. You’re eligible now.” Mother gapes at her. “I just—if you found someone wonderful—not just someone fine or kind. Would you marry again? If it was for love?”
