“We’ll see,” Gwen says, leaning against her. “If we win, you have to stay over again tonight.” Her fingers slip down to skate against Beth’s pulse.
“I thought the wager was five pounds,” Beth says, fighting against a shiver.
She shouldn’t be able to affect Beth like this, in public, with just her fingers on her wrist. But the thought of what else Gwen’s fingers can do, and vivid memories of where they were just a few hours ago have Beth shifting in her seat and Gwen grinning smugly.
She doesn’t know if they can manage another night together. Though with the way their parents are sitting, cozy and close, Beth thinks suddenly it might not be impossible. They simply need to get them together for a nightcap and feign exhaustion. She couldn’tpossiblyhaul herself all the wayacross the square, can’t she just bunk with Gwen again? The thought makes her equally bold and she’s about to lean back to Gwen and suggest their wager be exchanged for a promise of larger acts when someone taps her on the shoulder.
She turns and nearly falls out of her seat when Lord Montson appears there at her side, dapper and grinning with his top hat beneath his arm. He plops down beside her and takes her other hand, kissing its back. Gwen grips at her concealed palm.
“So glad I found you,” Lord Montson says, dropping her hand to lean around her. “Lady Gwen. Lady Demeroven, Lord Havenfort,” he adds.
Gwen manages a brusque nod and Beth hears Mother saying something, but she can’t quite make it out around the ringing in her ears. Or maybe that’s the starting pistol as the game begins reverberating around the pitch.
Lord Montson’s here. Beside her. Her suitor. Likely to propose within the month. He’s here, next to her, sitting there all tall and handsome, while Gwen grips at her hand with fingers that have been inside her and lips still slightly plumped from her fervid kisses and other—
Beth swallows against a massive lump in her throat. She can’t escape. She just has to sit here as Lord Montson goes on and on about the AEE and their superiority. Suddenly she wants to switch allegiances. Wants to root for Gwen’s team just to spite him, though he’s done absolutely nothing wrong.
“I’ll give you that Mortlock has the batting average, but Clarke is faster and more agile, and the UEE plays in worse conditions regularly. They’ll have no trouble on a day like today. See?” Gwen says, leaning around Beth as Clarke hits over the boundary and evades all the AEE fielders to run the wickets.
Beth blinks, hasn’t even been paying attention to the conversation or the game. She hadn’t realized Gwen had picked up where she had failed. She’s been talking amicably to Lord Montson for ten minutes, as though absolutely nothing is amiss. Their hands are still tangled together beneath their skirts, fingers gripping too hard, almost painful. But Gwen looks for all the world like everything’s perfectly normal.
“That’s just luck that Adams is on the bench, is all,” Lord Montson tosses back. “What do you think, Miss Demeroven? You think Clarke’s got them all?”
Beth struggles to find her voice, feeling Gwen’s thumb brushing over her pulse again. She glances at Gwen, who simply looks back at the game. But Beth can tell from the tension in Gwen’s jaw and shoulders that she knows what she’s doing. Toying with her with Lord Montson right beside them.
“I think Mortlock will win us the points back on our inning, and Clarke will trip up eventually. No one can run a perfect game.”
“Agreed,” Lord Montson says happily, his arm brushing her shoulder as he slips a bit closer, sandwiching Beth between himself and Gwen. “We had a chap at school who would run a perfect game all the way to the end of the second inning, and then fumble, every single match. Drove us all to drink.”
“I could use a drink now,” Gwen whispers, turning her cheek to whisper in Beth’s ear under the guise of stretching her back.
Beth just squeezes her hand and they sit and watch the match, ignoring their parents’ pleasant bickering. Lord Montson comments now and then, but Beth is happy to lose him to the match’s intrigue. It’s a close game. AEE looks set to win, but she couldn’t care less about the wagers—can’t imagine how they go back to their carefree disregard for the world now, notwith Lord Montson’s physical presence weighing them down like an anchor.
How foolish she was to think they could just live in their happy little bubble. Reality has crashed back in and it feels like someone has sat down on her chest, squeezing the happiness and breath from her until every movement makes her jolt and she could cry from the confusion, frustration, and heat.
“You see?”
Beth startles at Lord Havenfort’s bombastic crow, glancing his way to see him beaming proudly at her mother. Mother grudgingly hands him the wager, but she’s still smiling. Gwen doesn’t extend her hand, choosing to keep their tangled fingers beneath the mountain of their skirts instead. She doesn’t boast or brag either, both of them simply sitting there, sapped of energy. Lord Montson chuckles beside her.
“Well, that was invigorating, wasn’t it?” he asks. Beth manages to nod, glancing at him with a tight smile he doesn’t seem to notice. “I’ll send our carriage for you and your mother first thing tomorrow then.”
That brings her back to the moment. “Oh?”
“For our riding outing,” he adds, smiling softly at her.
“Oh, of course,” she manages. “Sorry, the excitement of the game. Yes, we’re looking forward to it,” she continues, forcing cheer into her voice. She’d entirely forgotten they were supposed to survey his London property tomorrow. How had she forgotten that?
“Lady Demeroven, my father and mother are most excited to take tea with you while Miss Demeroven and I ride,” Lord Montson adds, leaning around Beth to catch her mother’s eye. “Father has much he wants to discuss.”
Beth’s stomach drops as Mother gives her proper excited agreement. Beth watches more than feels Lord Montson turn back to her, kiss her free hand, and tell her he looks forward to the following morning. She nods, but can barely hear him. It’s like everything is moving through fog. He sets off with a jaunty grin before she can even unglue her mouth.
“Sounds like you’ll be getting a proposal,” Gwen says softly, her voice flat. Her fingers slip away from Beth’s so she can fold her hands tight into her lap.
Beth can barely swallow, barely blink. She can’t even chase after her hand. She can’t move. Aproposal.
“Oh, this is most exciting. My sincere apologies, Dashiell, but we’ll need to postpone your victory dinner. Beth and I must get to the modiste, add some decor to that riding dress.”
“Of course,” she hears Lord Havenfort murmur. “But you must let us know how it goes. Perhaps dinner tomorrow, if you’re not too tired.”
