There’s no way out but forward. Like mother, like daughter.
Chapter Eighteen
Gwen
The Harringtons have embraced extravagance. Flowers seem to burst from every corner of their expansive back gardens. Ribbons and streamers have been artfully draped around the topiaries as well, with beautiful, enormous floral centerpieces on each of the two dozen round tables laid out along the lawn.
Half the ton must be attending and Gwen wishes for the fifth time that she and Father had been able to come up with a viable excuse. Lady Demeroven and Beth declined their last two invitations for dinner, and neither has heard a thing from them since the dreaded meeting with the Ashmonds. Lady Demeroven begged off with a light cold both times, but neither Gwen nor Father quite believes it.
But there’s no way Lady Demeroven would miss this tea and the opportunity to talk up her daughter’s most fortuitous match. For though they haven’t seen the Demerovens, the news that there’s an impending proposal certainly has reached them.
Gwen’s stomach feels permanently knotted. She sucks on her cheek as she looks around the garden, half desperate to speak with Beth, and half determined to avoid her at all costs. She doesn’t know if she’ll be able to smile brightly and congratulateher. Not when she knows it dooms them both to a half life without each other.
She’s been trying, she has, to convince herself that a half life is better than none, but the idea still settles sour in her mouth. Father’s been giving her extra attention—chess matches, fencing, even some low-level horse gambling ahead of the Ascot opening next week. But it hasn’t been enough to distract her. She’s horrible company.
And now she has to smile and nod and look at least passably interested as they approach the guests. It’s all she can promise, despite the fact that she and Father really should be ecstatic for the whole event. She feels Father start to pull away and holds fast to his elbow, unable to let go of his quiet steadiness.
“It’ll be fine,” Father murmurs, raising his other hand to squeeze hers in the crook of his arm. “Go and find Albie and Lady Meredith. Focus on them.”
“And watch them make mooning eyes at each other all afternoon until the big event?”
Father snorts. “You could spend the afternoon interrupting any time alone they get instead, wouldn’t that be fun?”
Gwen wrinkles her nose. It should be cruelly entertaining, but it’s not—she’d rather sneak off for her own time alone. The Harrington gardens are expansive and wending. Surely she can find an opportunity to steal Beth away to a quiet corner, at least to talk. Or to see how far she can press her into a hedgerow without damaging her hair.
Father nudges her shoulder and then pulls away, heading for the cluster of fathers once again on the deck. There are two distinct factions today; likely more to do with the MCA. When he hasn’t been trying to goad her into anything childish, it’s allFather’s spoken about for the last week. And she understands the import—would and perhaps will be grateful someday for the ability to seek an end to an unhappy marriage without needing to approach the church—but the politics of it all is fretfully boring.
Gwen allows herself a brief hesitation, teetering there on the edge of the lawn, before she settles her mask into place, all confidence and swagger. Just because her best friend and... lover is about to marry the season’s most eligible bachelor doesn’t mean she can’t still walk tall. She’d rather curl up in a ball and sob, but that’s as forbidden here as her relations with Beth.
She strides purposefully through the party, nodding to the happy couples at tables and on picnic blankets, pretending she has somewhere to be while desperately looking for a familiar face. She finally spots Albie and Meredith by the drinks table and hurries their way.
They look nauseatingly happy. Meredith’s a mountain of pale green tulle and lace with a comically large bonnet, but her smile is bright and her cheeks are fetchingly pink. Gwen’s never really noticed before how nice a blush looks on her. Albie is similarly flushed and grinning, looking as happy as she’s ever seen him. It’s almost enough to make her veer off for the gardens, but Albie spots her and waves her their way.
With a forced polite smile, Gwen steps up to join them, gratefully taking the flute of champagne Albie passes her way.
“Lovely party, isn’t it?” Albie offers.
Gwen nods and takes an overlarge sip, trying hard not to look like she’s searching behind them for Beth. “Have you been here preparing?”
“About an hour,” Albie says. “You and Lord Havenfort are fashionably late.”
“My apologies,” Gwen says, giving Albie a look before meeting Meredith’s gaze. “Father got caught up in some politics. It’s a wonderful spread. Your mother should be very proud.”
“Oh, Mother had nothing to do with it,” Meredith says with a laugh. “It was all me and our housekeeper.”
“Then you should be proud,” Gwen insists.
Much as it’s not at all her scene, and she finds the entire notion of planning parties abhorrent, it is a lovely picnic. The gardens are resplendent. Care has been taken, it’s clear.
“Well, I wanted to make sure everything was perfect for today,” Meredith says, glancing up at Albie, who beams back at her.
Gwen forces an excited smile, unwilling to spoil whatever tension lies between them—whatever anticipation. She doesn’t want her displeasure to show, that she’ll be obligated to stay to the bitter end, with her cousin getting engaged in the middle. No ducking out early.
“Miss Demeroven went for a walk in the topiaries, if you’d like to see her,” Albie says, offering it casually, though she can see some glimmer in his eye. Is it obvious to everyone how attached they’ve become?
“I wouldn’t want to miss anything,” Gwen says slowly. Her whole body nearly vibrates with the urge to throw herself toward the maze of hedges at the back end of the garden.
“I think you’re safe with an hour or so of wandering,” Meredith says with a shrug, glancing up at Albie. “Wouldn’t you say?”
