“There’s many a young wife who has a constant companion, or one who visits often throughout the year. And many more a husband and wife who sleep separately. You can live your own life, should you find the right match. Your station could put you in a good situation to orchestrate a lifestyle.”
Companions, nothing more, stealing what time they can while their husbands are away in parliament or sleeping in the opposite wing.
“But, tonight, all you have to do is put on your gown and enjoy a dinner and evening at the opera with your father and your friend,” Mrs. Stelm says, sneaking in to tickle Gwen’s side and wipe her face of concern.
It half works.
“Yes, he did seem very excited to take Lady Demeroven out on a date.”
Gwen’s head swims for the second time. “This is a date?”
“Oh, you are rather hopeless, aren’t you?” Mrs. Gilpe says.
Gwen glares as the women laugh, helping her into her gown. But their smiles are soft, and she loves them so dearly. More dearly than she even thought she could—sisters in some other world than they are in now.
Chapter Eleven
Beth
Sitting beside Gwen in the opulent carriage is shockingly nerve-wracking. Their parents are all chatter, Mother trying to tease out their dinner reservations and getting increasingly competitive as Lord Havenfort refuses her at every guess. Lord Havenfort looks pleased as punch, obviously taken with Mother’s gorgeous gown, and hair, and besotted face.
Were Beth not excruciatingly aware of every minute movement from Gwen beside her, she’d be very excited that their parents seem so happy. That Mother even accepted the invitation was monumental on its own, but now she’s here and acting so girlish. Beth should be doing high kicks. But she can barely focus.
Gwen shifts in her deep navy skirt, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, and Beth feels the resulting wobble of her hoop like an earthquake. She risks a glance at Gwen, but Gwen’s staring out the window, lip between her teeth. Beth picks at her gloves, wrapping her own hands into her lap to stall the impulse to adjust the lay of Gwen’s skirts.
It’s been days since they’ve seen each other, and she can’t even push a hello out of her mouth without feeling like every confused, hopeful, desperate thought she’s ever had willcome tumbling out at once. She feels silly, and overheated, and anxious like she hasn’t been since the first ball of the season. Worse, actually.
Because it’sGwen. She kissed Gwen. Well, Gwen kissed her, and she kissed back, and then Gwen ran away and the whole world has turned upside down and now she’s just sitting there—
The carriage comes to a halt and Lord Havenfort promptly hops out and extends a hand back to Mother, who eagerly climbs out behind him. Beth thinks maybe he finally said where they were, but truth be told everything sounds a little like buzzing to her ears right now.
“You next.”
Beth nearly jumps out of her seat, startled as she meets Gwen’s amused expression. “Oh,” she says dazedly, following Gwen’s nod toward Lord Havenfort’s waiting hand. “Right.”
She takes his extended palm with numb fingers and climbs out of the carriage, staring up at the whitewashed walls of Wilton’s, which calls itself the premier oyster bar in London.
She’s never had an oyster before.
“This is the best seafood establishment in all of London,” Lord Havenfort tells them while he ushers their group toward the entrance.
Beth feels her pulse accelerate as Gwen’s hand brushes the small of her back to gently push her inside after her mother. The contact sends shivers up Beth’s spine. She hopes Gwen can’t tell.
The walls are lined with green velvet booths divided by white-linen-clothed tables with candles flickering at the center. There’s a broad oak bar along one wall, and servers in full uniform wander among the tables, dispensing plates of fish and crustaceans.
It smells like the ocean—close, salty, and a little sweet.
“Lord Havenfort, of course, right this way,” the host says, guiding them toward the back corner where the largest booth has been reserved.
Beth tenses, watching her mother and Lord Havenfort enter the booth on the same side, leaving Beth and Gwen to settle opposite. Their skirts press together again, shoulders touching. It sends a current up and down her arm, and Beth hopes no one can see her flaming cheeks in the flickering candlelight.
“I brought your mother to Wilton’s twenty-two years ago,” Lord Havenfort says, and it takes Beth a moment to realize he’s speaking to her.
“Really?” Beth wonders, trying to focus enough to enjoy the thought—trying to keep her head on straight enough to realize this is adate. He brought them here because it’s special to her mother.
“It was just a stand back then,” Mother adds, her face lit up at the memory. Beth hasn’t seen her look this lively in such a long time. “We ducked out of, what was it, dance lessons?”
“Badminton, maybe?” Lord Havenfort wonders. “Something organized. I convinced her to take a carriage with me to Great Ryder Street and we wandered up and down the shops. We got oysters here—”
