The women exchange a look before Lady Meredith grins. “I’ve spotted five heirs and two spares.”
“I’ve only got three, but I swear it would have been four if I could have remembered the gray skinny one’s name,” Lady Annabeth says.
“Oh, Lord Frightan?”
“Lord Frightan!” the girls exclaim.
“That’s four for me then. Tied with Eloise. We’re about to sneak out to the gardens and meet up with the gents, do you want to join us?” Lady Annabeth asks.
Beth tightens her shoulders, preparing to lose her new acquaintance. How can she possibly compete with these glamorous ladies?
“I’m going to give Miss Demeroven the lay of the land tonight, but I’ll catch the next game,” Gwen says easily. Lady Meredith opens her mouth. “It’s no real challenge if you have all the names on the cards, is it?” Lady Meredith and Lady Annabeth frown. “Father almost grounded me last year.”
“Only because you followed him around to get all the heirs,” Lady Annabeth says.
Gwen shrugs playfully. “Let me know who wins.”
Lady Meredith rolls her eyes and Lady Annabeth winks before they curtsy and head for the back of the hall, presumably on their way to the gardens.
“You don’t need to stay,” Beth says perfunctorily, though she’s rather sure if Gwen abandons her now she might hide in the washroom for the rest of the night.
“Honestly, if Father catches me playing Spot-the-Scion again, he really might confiscate my pin money.”
“Spot-the—”
“Have to have fun at these things somehow,” Gwen says with a shrug. “I usually make cards, but I couldn’t be bothered this year.”
“Cards?”
“To pin to the back of the dance cards. I usually put together a list. First one to spot them all gets bragging rights for the season. A little awkward if you end up dancing with one of the scions, but still,” she says, eyes twinkling.
Beth considers her new, slightly eccentric friend. She has annual party games to play with numerous friends. Presumably some of them must be male, of marriageable age, and available. And yet here she is, four seasons deep, and clearly no interest in being on the floor. But surely a woman as stunning and charismatic as Gwen must have options.
“What?”
“Sorry,” Beth mumbles, looking away. She was staring.
“You can ask,” Gwen says more gently.
“I wasn’t—” Beth starts before shaking her head. “So, do you not want to get married, or are you just really choosy?”
Gwen huffs. “I’m discerning.”
“Can’t be your looks that scare them away,” Beth insists.
Gwen raises a hand to fluff at the dainty curls hanging down from her braided bun. “No, it’s all the personality. I blame my father. Terrible role model.”
Beth follows her look and spots the tall, blond man, Gwen’s father, standing among a gaggle of wives and mothers, smiling with charm and poise. “Has he remarried?” Beth asks.
Gwen shakes her head. “Never. A perpetual bachelor, with an upstart daughter.”
“Well, you both saved me, so I’ll give you a good reference if you need one, whatever that’s worth from me. My mother would too. At least she has friends here,” Beth says, nodding across the room. Mother’s facade is slipping. She’s starting to list like she does when she’s tired.
“Thank you,” Gwen says, smiling as Beth looks back at her. “But it’s you we should focus on. Find you a tolerable young man.”
Beth shrugs. “I’d just as happily stay on the sidelines tonight. Get the lay of the land.”
“Well, in that case, I think we’ll need more wine, and perhaps the profiteroles?”
