Gwen stumbles back to the dining room, depositing their plates with a clatter before sinking shakily into her chair.
She knew. Of course she knew—has known since she was small. They never discuss it, but the women share a room and trade affections with little disguise. But she’s never—in all her years somehow she’s never seen them together. She supposes they’re more careful in the country with more staff about. The London house has fewer people in it in general. Father—who insists staff take the night off, who keeps the household small and close and secretive—
Is that why he had her clear the plates? He wanted her to see?
Does Father think she’s so inclined? Think she wants to be like Mrs. Stelm and Mrs. Gilpe—happily living together in secret beneath their roof since she was small? Loving, caring, adoring women who’ve helped her grow—does Father think that she feels—that she wants—that—with Beth?
Gwen stares blankly at the wall. She can’t—she likes Beth. She thinks about her a lot, of course. And the days are better when they get to be together. And when she’s dressing for balls now she thinks more of what Beth might think of her gown than what any of the young men might. And holding Beth’s hand today made her feel more than she’s ever felt dancing with anyone, even the prettiest, nicest boys.
But surely that doesn’t mean—they’refriends. Shouldn’t she love her friend?
Gwen blinks, the image of Mrs. Stelm and Mrs. Gilpe burned there behind her eyes. She’s never much liked to see courting couples kissing, finds it intrusive and showy, and it always looks a bit like they’re eating each other’s faces.
But Mrs. Gilpe and Mrs. Stelm looked... happy. Playful and fun and bright. Beautiful.
Is that what Gwen wants? Is that what she wants with Beth? The gnawing in her gut, the unsettled feeling of jealousy—is it because she wishes it were them on that countertop, giggling and flushed and kissing?
And Father—Father what? Approves? Worries for her?
Gwen blows out a breath, sinking further down in her chair, a heavy weight settling over her chest while her mind whirs dizzily.
Father wasn’t mad. He wasn’t disgusted. He wasn’t judgmental. But he saw it. Sees it. Sees what she’s been telling herself she doesn’t feel for weeks—feelings she shouldn’t have. Feelings society won’t want. Feelings she’s sure Beth won’t want either.
Feelings that could get them both terribly hurt.
Chapter Nine
Beth
Beth glances around under the guise of stretching her neck. She and Lord Montson are seated on one of the Bloughtons’ benches at their second tea of the week. Lord Montson’s still prattling on about his father’s bets for the regatta next month, but Beth’s barely paying attention.
She knows Gwen is around here somewhere. She came in with her father and Beth saw Mother greet them. Mother and Lord Havenfort are standing on the patio now, speaking quietly, Lord Havenfort leaning in to hear her mother, smirking at what must be witty commentary. They’re becoming awfully chummy, though Mother still won’t say a word about their tea earlier in the week. Beth wishes she felt half as content sitting here with Lord Montson as Mother seems loitering with Lord Havenfort, swapping jokes and gossip, shoulders close.
Gwen was supposed to come save her from this. They agreed after Lord Montson left that she would run some interference so Beth would get a little relief. Lord Montson’s lovely, but he’s becoming increasingly intense, and honestly looking up at him is hurting her spine and her brain. She really could use one of Gwen’s dirty jokes right now.
“So if the LRC wins, he really might go spare,” Lord Montson says.
Beth hums and reluctantly gives him back her attention. “Has he placed any other bets?”
“He’s got a pool going on some law making its way through the chambers,” Lord Montson says dismissively. “But it’s the sporting events that really get him going.”
“Seems to be the way with men,” Beth says, forcing a smile.
“Do you bet on cards or anything like that?”
She does, but she’s not about to admit to it, especially since it’s always just been with the staff. “A lady would never,” she says.
Lord Montson chuckles. “I do some small wagers, but nothing like my father. I’d hate to think what could happen if you get in too deep, like Lord Mason.”
Beth fights a wince, spotting Mr. Mason and Meredith across the way, giggling together as they sit on a picnic blanket that’s strewn with fallen blossoms. Lord Montson shouldn’t speak so openly about the Masons’ misfortune. Gwen’s told her some of it, and it seems Mr. Mason’s lucky to have any fortune to offer at all, and that’s mostly down to Lord Havenfort stepping in.
“You’ll just have to stick to the smaller games then,” Beth agrees tightly.
Lord Montson nods and then waves. Beth looks over and sees his mother gesturing for him. “I suppose my time is up, but you and your mother will join us on the boat tomorrow, yes? My mother’s so looking forward to having a companion, and I promise to teach you to steer if you like.”
Beth nods with the best smile she can muster. She’s rathersure she’ll be seasick, but he’s so excited to show her his father’s boat, she can’t ruin that for him.
“Excellent. Then I’ll take my leave,” he says, snagging her hand to raise it to his lips for a prolonged kiss.
