“What?”
“How would that even work?” Beth asks, grinning as Gwen cackles.
A few heads turn and they both quiet down, snickering as they take sips of their wine. Gwen has a lovely laugh and such a bright, open face. Instantly captivating, really. Beth is surprised she’s not on the floor already.
“He looks nice,” Beth says, gesturing discreetly to a tall fellow with a trim beard and a prominent chin.
“Go say hello,” Gwen says.
“For you,” Beth corrects. “His height, your hair, you’d have lovely children.” Gwen snorts. “What?”
“Well, his mother thinks I’m a menace, so that ship has sailed. And it’s just as likely our children would be hairy as anything and tiny. His father’s rather short, and my late mother had copious very dark hair.”
“Hmm,” Beth offers, trying to parse it all. “You’ve met then?”
“Two seasons ago we went on a few outings. It didn’t end well,” Gwen says, shrugging.
“Two seasons ago?”
“This is my fourth,” Gwen says, meeting her eyes with a brash grin that’s cracking at the edges. “I think if I make it to next season without a husband, I get a medal.”
Beth allows herself to laugh along. Four seasons, she can’t even imagine. And without a mother too. How trying that must be. “Maybe they just give you some land and let you run free.”
“Wouldn’t that be something,” Gwen says. “Big plot of land, nothing to do but read and eat.”
“Draw,” Beth says.
“Paint. Swim.”
“Oh, do you get a lake, or is that only if you make it to six?” Beth asks.
Gwen nudges her with her hip—at least, Beth assumes so from the way her skirts move. “If I make it to seven, I think maybe I get my own castle.”
“Oh, well, you should hold out for that, then,” Beth says. “Queen of your own castle surely beats a marriage to him.” She gestures with her empty glass toward a scrawny young man with a patchy beard who’s asking an equally awkward young lady to dance.
“That’s Albie’s younger brother, Bobby. Didn’t think he’d be out this year,” Gwen says with a frown. “Shame, he’s a nice kid. Another few years, he’d probably be a catch.”
“Albie?”
“Mr. Mason, my mother’s elder nephew. If I spot him, I’ll introduce you. Nice chap. Obnoxious most of the time, but a good lad.”
“Lady Gwen!”
Beth turns, following Gwen’s gaze. A young lady in a striking yellow gown hurries up to them, dragging over another young woman in blue. Both of them hold empty glasses of champagne, their cheeks pink.
“We’ve been looking for you for ages,” the woman in yellow says, a pout on her round face. She looks Gwen over. “You don’t have them!”
“Didn’t have time,” Gwen says with an apologetic shrug. She doesn’t look very sorry for whatever’s missing, Beth thinks, though both women look rather put out. “This is the Honorable Elizabeth Demeroven. Miss Demeroven, this is Lady Meredith and Lady Annabeth.”
“A pleasure,” Beth says, dipping in a curtsy.
Lady Meredith and Lady Annabeth curtsy with pleasant smiles before looking back at Gwen expectantly.
“Who’s winning?” Gwen asks.
“We don’t have the cards,” Lady Meredith says indignantly.
“So?”
