“That would be lovely,” Mother says, even as Beth’s stomach sinks down to her feet. To go from a proposal to Gwen’s dining room, after losing every last bit of joy she could have—
“Come, darling, we’ve no time to waste. Good day, Lady Gwen,” Mother says as she slips in front of them, reaching down to take Beth’s frozen hand and pull her to standing.
“Good day, Lady Demeroven, Miss Demeroven,” Gwen says, her face entirely blank. Beth stares down at her.
“Gwen,” she manages before Mother pulls her away.
She goes, stumbling behind her, feeling weightless and detached, as if her legs and feet and body are moving without her. She’s still caught in the stands, staring into Gwen’s empty eyes.
Chapter Sixteen
Gwen
The carriage ride back to their townhouse is silent. Gwen stares out the window, trying to make sense of the cacophony of thoughts in her head. Her horror, her pain, her sadness, the overwhelming feeling of guilt and regret. And yet, all she can truly focus on is the feeling of Beth’s hands on her skin, and the complete peace of the two of them together. How can they give that up forMontson?
Father leads her from the carriage and up into their foyer. She stands there, thinking of the previous night, of taking Beth’s hand and dragging her upstairs. Of how she’ll never get to do that again, how last night was it. Forever.
She turns and finds herself enveloped in Father’s arms. She grips at his waistcoat, burying her face in his chest, soaking up the smell of his cigars and pomade—of home and safety and childhood. It makes her wish she was still small, that he could wipe the pain away with a kiss and a sweet. That he could swing her about by her arms and make her feel like she was flying and banish all bad thoughts away.
When it was just the two of them in her heart, and she needed nothing else at all. No one else.
He pulls back after a long moment and holds her by hershoulders, ducking his head to meet her eyes with a sad smile. “It’ll be all right, you’ll see.”
But she’s not four anymore, and he can’t fix this with a smile and a promise. “It won’t.”
Father sighs, considering her. “There can be more space in a marriage. You’ll remain friends. He’ll have to spend much of his time in London, and when he does, you can visit Beth in the country. It’s... normal for ladies to have companions. You’ll see her more than you think.”
Gwen watches his face, sees him trying so hard to make this right for her. But is that what she wants? To be a spinster—to be in love with someone married to another, kept as a dirty secret—acompanion? To be known to the world as the sad little friend who keeps company in the country? To be only a friend, forever?
“Would you do it?” she wonders.
Father blinks. “What?”
“If Lady Demeroven had married her husband and kept you on as a companion, to visit and lie with her when he was away, would you have done it?”
Her father’s face hardens for a moment, anger coming over him, before he takes a deep breath. He can be mad at the insinuation all he likes. She wants to know. Would he be content with this arrangement—to be a tawdry secret behind closed doors, second to a wife or a husband?
She knows that it’s her only option. Even were Beth financially settled, even if Gwen herself could inherit her father’s title, there’s no place for them together in the ton. No place for them together in the country, or anywhere. Two women cannot run a house, own land, live together and lie together inpublic view. Companions, yes. But there is no marriage for two women.
She doesn’t want to be a secret, to be second toLord Montsonof all people. To know Beth has felt his touch. To lie in the bed she’s lain in with him.
“Would you do it?” she asks again.
“No,” Father says softly.
“Then don’t ask me to,” Gwen says, pulling from his hold.
She can’t take the look in his eyes, the heartbreak on his face. She doesn’t want to make him hurt for her, when he’s been hurt enough by the Demerovens himself.
Instead she shuts herself up in her room. She stares at her crisply made bed, linens changed. At her tidied vanity, rearranged from the mess of last night. The pins she and Beth took from their hair are mixed together in her late mother’s dish. She doesn’t know which belong to her and which to Beth. She falls heavily onto the chair in front of the vanity, staring at this stupid pile of metal.
She knew the risks when she kissed Beth. She knew this was a pain charging at them when she invited her to stay last night. Knew it when they kissed, and undressed, and touched in her bed. Knew it as they came to know each other more intimately than she’s known anyone else—more intimately than she thinks she will ever know another person.
But knowing doesn’t make it easier. It feels like someone is prying her chest apart, ripping her open from the inside out and burrowing at her innards. Like a weight has settled upon her shoulders and the world has grown dimmer in just a few hours.
Gwen growls at herself and stands, ripping pins out of her hair for something to do with all of her hurt.
She wrestles her way out of her dress. Tosses her petticoat across the room. Undoes her hoop and leaves it in a pile on the floor. But the sight of her clothes, rumpled and scattered, just like her things were mixed with Beth’s last night, makes her stall out.
