“Oh, but you must have someone to dance with for the reception,” Meredith says quickly.
Gwen starts back for the ballroom, striding up the corridor. Meredith scurries behind her, trying to catch up.
“I’m sure Bobby would dance with me,” Gwen says over her shoulder.
“Bobby’s actually—”
Gwen stumbles, arms pinwheeling as she collides with another body. She manages to stay standing, turning to give the inconsiderate blighter what for, only to find a horrified Beth staring back at her and gripping at her waist.
“I’m so sorry,” Beth says.
She’s even prettier up close. Her cheeks are flushed and eyes a little wild, whisps of hair falling from her intricate braided updo. Her off-white gown only highlights her dark hair and lashes. Gwen lurches backward and out of her hold, unsteady.
“Miss Demeroven, lovely to see you,” Meredith says as she steps up next to Gwen.
“And you as well,” Beth replies quickly, curtsying. “Lady Gwen.”
Gwen manages to nod, but it feels like her head is disconnected from her body. Her tongue feels too big for her mouth. And it makes her angry.
She shouldn’t have to feel like this, not when Beth’s chosen someone else. Not when Beth and her mother tossed the Havenforts aside like trash in the face of some money.
And protection, and stability.
Gwen finally unglues her tongue. “I’m surprised to see you without your fiancé.”
Meredith winces beside her. Beth meets her gaze. Gwen forces herself to keep their eye contact, even though the subtle hurt in Beth’s eyes makes her want to shrink back.
“I was looking for the lavatory. We were stuck in traffic on the way here.”
“Of course, it’s just down there,” Meredith says kindly, pointing down the hall while she takes Gwen’s arm. “Congratulations, by the way.”
“Thank you,” Beth says softly, her hands twisting together, that giant engagement ring glinting in the gaslight.
“Your mother must be overjoyed.”
“She is,” Beth says, smiling at Meredith, though Gwen cantell it’s forced. “And congratulations to you. I don’t know if I’ve said. Mr. Mason’s a lucky man.”
Meredith grins. “I know.”
They stand for a moment in stilted silence. Maybe Meredith expects Gwen to offer some pleasant congratulations of her own, but she can’t. It’s either keep her mouth shut or say something truly horrible, and she’s already done enough. Anyone could walk by. Meredith doesn’t deserve the scandal.
“I should . . .” Beth says, nodding toward the lavatory.
“Of course,” Meredith says, pulling Gwen rather roughly aside so Beth can shuffle past, all of their skirts bumping awkwardly in the narrow hall. “Have a good evening.”
“You too,” Beth says, smiling at her before cutting her eyes to Gwen’s.
“Don’t trip” is what falls out of her mouth, and she winces as Beth’s eyes dim.
“Thanks,” she mumbles before hurrying off.
“Honestly, it’s like you were raised in a barn,” Meredith mutters, yanking on Gwen’s arm to steer her back to the ballroom.
Gwen lets herself be dragged along, feeling utterly awful. It’s not Beth’s fault. It’s not Gwen’s fault. It’s horrible circumstance and society and their stupid parents—but she needs someone to be angry with or she has nowhere for all the hatred in her heart to go. If she doesn’t do something soon, it’s going to eat through everything and she’ll be weeping at the side of the ballroom.
“Drink.” She blinks and finds Meredith pressing a glass of champagne into her hand. “And for goodness’ sake, try and look less like your puppy has been strangled.”
Gwen swallows around a snort, coughing as the champagne hits the back of her throat and fizzes up to her nose. “Excuse me?”
