“Oh, absolutely,” Beth says, chuffed that Gwen would rather spend her evening as a wallflower with her than with her friends outside. Gwen grins and takes her hand, leading her back toward the refreshments, the two of them giggling and chatting as the ball swirls on around them.
And though she’s tired, and still a bit jittery, pressed against the wall sharing profiteroles and sips of Gwen’s brandy, she’s almost having fun. Not succeeding so much in garnering dances, but she’s made a contact, and that feels like something. Maybe she’s even made a friend, she thinks, as Gwen laughs in her ear, both of them flushed and a little tipsy.
“You should dance,” Gwen says an hour or two later, when they’re leaning against each other, sleepy.
“Next ball,” Beth says. Gwen nudges her. “I can’t leave you here alone.”
Gwen arches a cool brow. “Think I’d waste away without you?”
Beth nods toward the broody, gangly boy, whose latest partner has clearly abandoned him. “I could always tell him you’d like a dance,” she says, starting to raise her hand to flag him down.
“Don’t you dare,” Gwen hisses, grabbing her hand, eyes wide. Beth giggles in triumph and Gwen looks her up and down in light approval. “You’re a little bit evil, aren’t you?”
“Thank you,” Beth preens.
“I’ll get you back,” Gwen says.
“We’ll see.”
Gwen wraps her hand into the crook of Beth’s arm with a smirk and they fall into a contented silence, watching the whirl of the couples on the floor.
After a few minutes, Gwen sighs. “You should at least dance one. I’ll hold your wine.”
Beth shakes her head as Gwen opens her mouth to argue. “You didn’t have to present today.”
Gwen shudders in understanding. “God, the waiting in carriages is the worst, isn’t it?”
“I needed the loo by the second hour, and then it was two more before we got inside, and forty minutes before I saw the queen. I thought I might pee on the drawing room floor,” Beth admits.
Gwen snorts. “A girl did my year, actually. Not in the drawing room, but on the stairs. Horrid. Never came back.”
“Oh, Lord, I can’t even imagine,” Beth says, feeling a pit in her stomach just at the thought. That poor girl.
“Father says my mother used to have dreams about it. Would wake up in a panic thinking she was late.”
“Understandable,” Beth says, watching as the couples twirl around the floor. There’s not a lot of room with the newly fashionable hoops, so they’re more swaying than anything. It’s pretty. “Your mother didn’t like the season either?”
“Father says she didn’t,” Gwen says, shifting a little. “Your mother?”
“I don’t think so,” Beth says, noting Mother fidgeting as well. This marble floor does nothing for the feet. “She and my father—I can’t really imagine them courting.”
“He wasn’t romantic?”
Beth snorts. “Hardly. He’d hand her money to buy something nice for her birthday. Sometimes he brought home jewelry, but she never liked much of it,” she admits, feeling a little heady. “Is your father romantic?”
“He’s suave,” Gwen says after a moment. “And utterly charming. I don’t know if he’s romantic though. Never seen him want to be.”
“He hasn’t courted at all?”
Gwen sucks on her cheek before glancing down at Beth. “You’ll hear about his reputation soon enough, I think.”
Beth nods once and looks back out at the floor. He has danced with a fair number of the debutantes tonight, but his face has always been affable, polite, charming. Nothing like the leer she’s noticed Lord Psoris giving the girls. His look leaves her feeling slimy. But Gwen’s father simply seems like a nice, handsome older man.
“But you like him,” Beth says, noting Gwen’s fond look as her father twirls one of the society matrons around.
“I do,” Gwen says, shrugging. “He’s fun.”
“That’s nice,” Beth admits. Father was anything but fun.
