She pulls it back to her stomach as quickly as is polite. Father thought the entire idea of coming out was wasteful—uneager to spend his investment money on her dresses and activities. He’d planned to marry her off to an old friend. Oh, God, is it possible Lord Psoris is that friend?
Father wouldn’t have blinked an eye. Mother was Beth’s age when he married her, and he was twenty years’ her senior then. But Lord Psoris is easily forty years older than Beth now. And his leer is anything but chivalrous.
“My condolences,” he continues when Beth realizes she hasn’t managed to find words.
“Thank you,” she forces out, glancing around for salvation, but there’s none to find. She’s stuck here. “Have you been in town for the winter?”
“I have, I have. Parliament and some festivities, though of course we all eagerly await the season getting underway.” Beth nods, taking a small step back as he advances. “I would be honored to have your first dance.”
Beth bumps into the gentleman behind her as Psoris bears down on her. She squeaks, stumbling and trying to keep her hoop from belling outward. The man behind her turns and reaches for her elbow. Horribly embarrassed, she looks up at the tall, blond gentleman, her cheeks on fire. He glances from her to Lord Psoris, frowning.
“My apologies,” she says meekly. What a little twit he must think her. “Felt a little faint.”
“Then we must absolutely get you a drink. Excuse me, gentlemen,” a young woman says, stepping out from behind the blond gentleman as if appearing from thin air.
The woman takes Beth’s arm and effortlessly maneuvers them around the blond gentleman and away from the affronted Lord Psoris. They’re yards away before Psoris can even splutter.
“He’s a cad,” the woman says, grinning at Beth, her blue eyes sparkling with mischief. Her hair is just as white blond as the tall gentleman’s was, and there’s a similar sharpness to their jaws and the broadness of their shoulders. “Father and I make rather a sport of saving young debs from his clutches. He caught you in his sights immediately, didn’t he?”
Beth wilts, leaning into her savior. “Entirely. And there are so many people, I couldn’t get away.”
“Lucky you backed into us. Lady Guinevere Bertram. Gwen,” she adds, squeezing Beth’s arm against her side.
“Miss Demeroven. Elizabeth—Beth.”
Gwen gives her an impressed look. “The prodigal daughter returns. You’ll be popular.”
“I’m not sure prodigal is really appropriate,” Beth says, shaking her head.
“Oh, but you could play the part wonderfully. You’ve got the skin and the hair—perfect looks for a mysterious, triumphant season entrance. Pastel suits you, but I think you’d be captivating in something red. The right attitude, some wine, we could make an intrigue of you yet. Who doesn’t love intrigue?”
Beth simply blinks up at her, allowing this strange, spirited woman to guide her around the room. Beth has no idea where they’re going, or how they’re not causing some sort of domino crash as they plough through people, but Gwen doesn’t seem to worry. She walks with her head held high, smiling and nodding to people with an ease and grace Beth couldn’t ever match.
“Here,” Gwen says as they finally reach the refreshments.
Beth takes a glass of sweet wine gratefully. It’s cool and mellow, with just the lightest taste of alcohol—though from the warmth at the back of her neck, there’s plenty of alcohol in it. Beth takes another sip, desperate to relax even a little. Her run-in with Lord Psoris has put her on edge. Is this what it’s like—overbearing men leaning over you when you can’t get away?
“They get better,” Gwen says, pulling Beth from her bleak perusal of the room. She takes Beth’s elbow again and movesher toward the other side of the floor, away from where couples seem to be linking up for the first dance.
Beth can see Lord Psoris looking for her at the far end and curls closer to Gwen, who just laughs and nudges her. “You can always say no, you know.”
“And risk insulting one of my father’s oldest friends on the first night?” Beth says, her fingers worrying into her skirts. She wishes she’d brought a fan now, just for something to do with her hands.
“No one would begrudge you wanting to find someone closer to your age.”
“I suppose,” Beth says, glancing up at Gwen, who nods to their left.
Beth leans around her and notices a tall, gangly young man standing alone and looking as uncomfortable as she feels. “Him?”
Beth wrinkles her nose. “He’s very thin, isn’t he? And broody?”
Gwen purses her lips to keep from laughing. “Fair. All right, well, we should find you a good first dance. Come here.”
She leads Beth over to the wall and together they sidle back until they’re resting against it, out of the fray. Their skirts bump together and Beth feels her shoulders start to come down. She notices her mother across the room, still held in a circle of society mothers and looking bored to tears. Mother glances around and their eyes meet. Beth leans into Gwen to show she’s managed to find at least one person to talk to, and Mother smiles, giving her a little nod before turning back to more gossip.
“What about him?” Gwen asks.
Beth follows her gaze to an enormous young man with wide shoulders, at least six feet tall. She turns to Gwen, incredulous.
