“They could come visit,” he says gamely. “Anytime you wish. And then you could even stay at home when I return for the parliament season if you liked.”
“You wouldn’t mind?” Beth asks, her breath catching at the thought.
“Not at all. My father is always at the club making deals and negotiating. It’s dead boring for my mother. I wouldn’t want to subject you to that unless you had friends in town as well.”
“That’s very kind of you,” Beth says softly, her stomach clenching.
She could keep Gwen.
They could spend much of the year together at the estate. Avoiding Lord Montson’s mother, she supposes, but still. The two of them, cosseted in the country, away from prying eyes. Running across the magnificent Ashmond lands, rolling through the forests, splayed out in enormous beds—
“And of course, there would be space for your mother. She could live in your wing, if you both agreed, or there are a few guesthouses that could be staffed for her. I don’t know if you’d want to bring any of your staff as well.”
“Miss Wilson, certainly,” Beth says softly, a leaden weight starting to lift from her chest.
They set off at a slow amble back toward the house. Lord Montson returns to prattling about his various relatives andtheir massive estates. Beth’s mind whirs dizzily. She could have some kind of life with Gwen.
They could be near-constant companions. There’s nothing else for them to be, really. And with this arrangement she’ll have the money to spoil Gwen silly. To build up a corner of the world just for the two of them.
She’d so much rather marry Gwen, even if it meant their ruin. But she has Mother to consider. This sets Mother up. This provides for them both. It’s not the future she would choose, if she had the choice. But given what she has...
Hope fills her heart as they wend back through the house. She and Gwen are good at scheming. They’ll find ways to spend nearly all their time together. She’ll architect a life that contains as little of Lord Montson as possible, and fill all the empty space with Gwen.
She’ll get to have Gwen. She could almost do cartwheels.
She’s pulled from her plans when Lord Montson throws open the doors to the massive library. Beth breathes in the scent of the books, almost giddy. But then her shoulders rise, spotting Mother with the earl and countess. Lord Montson’s tall, but Lord Ashmond is even taller and broader, a beast of a man. She wonders if his wife finds that attractive, or if she too feels intimidated, and even a little threatened when he looms over her.
Lord Montson guides Beth into the room and they come to stand at the end of the low table that separates his parents’ two armchairs from her mother’s settee. Beth dips in what feels like a very unsteady curtsy and smiles as brightly as she can manage.
“I hope Harry showed you the best of the grounds,” Lord Ashmond says, his deep voice reverberating around them.
“He did,” Beth says, looking between Lord and Lady Ashmond. “Your lands and your home are so beautiful.”
“We’re delighted you approve,” Lord Ashmond says. “Unfortunately, Harry, we must be going. But, we have arranged for the two of you to meet in four days’ time. That should be more than long enough to have everything finalized with the solicitor. Say your goodbyes, son, and we’ll take our leave. Lady Demeroven,” he says, nodding to Mother, who curtsies.
Lord Montson takes Beth’s hand and kisses it, grinning at her. “I’ll see you soon,” he promises, looking so absurdly cheerful.
She nods, keeping that pasted smile wide on her cheeks as he and his father leave the room. Their footsteps gradually disappear. Even Lord Ashmond’s tread is heavy.
Beth turns back to her mother and Lady Ashmond. Four days? That’s all she has?
But she’ll have Gwen. She just has to keep reminding herself, she’ll have Gwen. She can live through anything if it will give her nights and days and sunrises with Gwen.
“We should be going as well,” Mother says softly. “Thank you so much for your time, Lady Ashmond.”
“You must call me Bess,” the woman says, smiling absently at them both. “And of course, of course. I’ll have a messenger sent over with details for the weekend. Have a good evening, both of you.”
“Thank you,” Beth manages, dipping in another curtsy before she takes Mother’s extended arm.
They walk slowly from the room, polite and courtly. Concerningly, Mother doesn’t say anything once they’re in the hall. She should be grinning, beaming. She should be ecstatic at the match they’ve just secured.
Instead, her face is curiously blank and their retreat from the estate is silent. Even once the carriage doors have shut, Mother doesn’t give anything away. Beth opens her mouth, but Mother shakes her head and closes her eyes, leaning back against the seat.
Beth vibrates with anxiety, forcing herself to breathe as she looks out at the passing city. It’s nearly a thirty-minute ride home from the Ashmond estate. But Mother won’t budge.
By the time they’ve arrived at their townhouse, Beth is ready to scream. This is her life they’re not talking about. She’s about to be married off for an estate and a title. She deserves to know how, and what for, and under what conditions. She deserves to know how to start planning her future.
Mother practically leaps from the carriage when they come to a stop. Beth struggles to unfold her skirts and climb down after her, hurrying up behind her even as her mother vaults up the stairs. She only manages to catch her arm once the front door slams behind them.
