“An hour and a half, even,” Albie hedges. “We’re expecting a few stragglers.”
“Of course,” Gwen says, barely keeping from shaking her head at their obvious delight. “I’ll see you later then.”
“Bye,” Meredith says vaguely, and the two are lost again in each other’s eyes.
Moony lovebirds, the two of them, Gwen grouses as she glances toward the open doors to the solarium. She can just see Lady Demeroven pulling her father aside. He grins at her and ducks his head to listen. Gwen bites at her cheek, unable to watch them so happy when her own insides feel so twisted.
She skirts the large hedgerow until she gets to the back of the garden, where the Harrington property opens up into a maze of green topiaries, flower bushes, and fountains. Hardly appropriate to roam on her own were it evening, but she thinks she can get away with it in daylight, especially if it’s in search of a friend.
Or whatever it is she and Beth are to each other.
She walks down the central row and then pauses at the first fountain, unsure which way to check first. Unsure if she truly wants to find Beth here. For now that she’s alone among the flowers, she’s not confident at all that she’ll be able to keep her cool when she sees Beth, nor that she’ll be able to keep her hands to herself. And while this was exactly her fantasy upon entering the party, she finds the longer she wanders the hedges the more that fantasy turns to knots in her stomach.
By the time she comes around another endless corner and discovers Beth loitering at a dead end, nail between her teeth, Gwen’s broken out in a cold sweat. She stares, watching Beth pace.
Beth is radiant in a pale blue dress with low-capped sleeves and a plunging vee across her collarbones, bareheaded and bare-armed—her bonnet is on the ground a few feet behind her, along with her gloves. The entire effect is wonderfully fetching and pretty and so beautiful it actually hurts. Gwen thinks she could watch Beth for hours—could think about pressing her lips to every inch of her exposed skin—could fantasize about leaning her back against the hedgerow and climbing beneath her skirts to make her moan.
“Oh!”
Gwen startles as Beth jumps, spotting her with a hand to her heart. “Sorry,” Gwen manages.
“You scared me,” Beth says, her voice rough.
Gwen shrugs guiltily and finds her feet moving of their own accord until she’s an arm’s length away. She wants to grab Beth by the waist and pull her in for a kiss, but Beth steps back, worrying her hands together.
Gwen rocks on her heels, balling her own hands into her purple skirts. She watches Beth, notes the way she’s biting at her lip.
“So, how was it?” Gwen asks, wincing the moment the words come out.
“What?”
She sighs. “The—riding with Lord Montson. His grounds are something, aren’t they?” she continues, going for interested and genuine. She can be supportive. She can. What other choice does she have?
“They’re... fine,” Beth says. “They’re—a lot.”
“Good view of the city,” Gwen agrees.
“Yes. Nice to be out of it at the least, I suppose,” Beth says with a listless shrug.
“Was it the perfect spot for a proposal?”
Damn it, why is her mouth like this? Beth’s face falls and Gwen falters, trying to find the words to repair it.
“It’s not some trivial little thing,” Beth hisses.
“I know,” Gwen says quickly.
“It’s sacrifices and planning and paperwork,” Beth rattles off. “So much arranging, and discussion.”
Gwen blinks, feeling as though her heart has fallen all the way to her toes. “Did he really ask you already?”
Beth meets her eyes, surprised, and shakes her head. “Not yet.”
“But soon,” Gwen surmises.
“By the end of the weekend,” Beth says, both their voices suddenly low and hushed.
Gwen can distantly hear the party, but it’s nothing to the thud of her pulse against her ears. “That’s before Ascot. I guess you’ll be in his enclosure then, rather than on the grounds with us?”
