Heartbreak wins and Gwen wraps her arms around Beth, turning her cheek into the side of Beth’s face, staring at the leaves of the hedge, almost too close to see distinctly. Or maybe that’s the tears in her eyes.
She thought she’d at least get to keep half of Beth—all this time convincing herself that she could live that phantom life, sneaking happiness in snippets and snatches. That they could live together among the hedgerows, secret and illicit. Never what they should have had, but so much more than nothing. And now—
There’s nothing she can offer that would stop this match. Their only solution has been struck down by the earl. Their parents won’t marry, so that Beth can. And Beth has to marry Montson. She has to be married by season’s end.
Gwen’s been living in a fantasy—clinging to a childish, stubborn belief that they could outplay the odds, could create a fairy-tale ending.
But it’s not to be. Like a knife to the heart, Gwen has to let her go. She loves her too much to hold on, to damn her to the mercy of friends and family. And even if she could—if she could twist destitution into romance, Lady Demeroven would never allow it. Beth will marry Lord Montson.
“I can’t,” Beth murmurs into her neck.
Gwen sucks in a breath, turning to press her lips to Beth’s slightly sweaty head. “He’ll—” She pauses, dragging the words up her throat. “He’ll be good to you.”
“I don’t care.”
“You’ll have money, and time, and children,” Gwen continues, staring blankly at the fuzzy leaves.
“He won’t be you,” Beth says, lips against her skin.
Gwen shudders and pulls back, wanting one moment to savor, one moment to remember. “We’ll write letters,” she says.
“Stop comforting me,” Beth exclaims and Gwen blinks.
“What?”
“You should be yelling,” Beth says, voice stuffed but eyes blazing. “You should be angry.”
“Of course I’m angry,” Gwen says, able to feel her rage beneath the brimming sadness. “But what do you want me to do? Go punch Montson or his father?” Beth snorts wetly. “Run away and be a seamstress?”
“You can’t sew,” Beth reminds her.
“You want me to be mad? Want me to yell at you? Want me to tell you you can’t, and that I hate you? Is that how you want this to go?”
“No,” Beth says roughly.
“Then what?”
She stumbles as Beth surges forward, taking Gwen’s face in her hands to drag her down into a searing kiss. Gwen gasps, her body going slack in shock, before instinct takes over and she’s gripping back. Beth spins them and pushes her into the hedges, just as Gwen dreamed of doing to her. She clutches at Beth’s waist, drinking from her lips, their breath in hot pulses between them as they kiss. Heady and illicit and forever forever forever.
Just as she begins to think maybe they could stay like this, in a liminal, timeless eternity, there’s a cough that seems to echo through the hedges. Beth jerks away from her, stumbling backward, both of their eyes wide and horrified—if anyone saw—
“We must be going now.”
Gwen wilts in relief when she spots Father standing at the mouth of the dead end. He looks utterly reserved and unruffled at finding his daughter pressed up against the leaves by her lover, his first love’s daughter.
“Right,” Gwen manages, standing up tall and smoothing out her skirts. Beth blushes and wipes at her face, bending quickly to grab her bonnet. “Miss Demeroven.”
She dips in a clumsy curtsy, can’t think of anything else to do or say—any true way to say goodbye.
Beth stares back at her, anguished, before stooping in her own curtsy as she wipes at her eyes.
“Lady Gwen.”
They stand for a moment, just staring at each other. Gwen tries to memorize how the sunlight hits her face, sparkling against the tears she’s missed. How Beth’s breath still hitches after their kisses—the pink in her cheeks and the flush on her neck. She’ll remember her this way, lightly debauched and tearful after a blissful, horrid, beautiful goodbye.
Father coughs discreetly again and Gwen tears her gaze from Beth to turn on her heel and walk as calmly as she can to her father’s waiting arm. She doesn’t hear Beth move behind them and Gwen lets Father lead her from the hedgerow. But he doesn’t take them back to the party yet, winding them instead deeper into the far side of the maze.
Gwen sniffles gratefully and Father tugs her to a gentle stop halfway down another dead end. He takes out his handkerchief and cups her cheek to wipe her tears. Gwen meets his eyes, finding nothing but a twin sadness and understanding staring back at her.
