“That’s good,” Father says after he swigs back the swallow. “And I’m well. Glorious, in fact. I just had a large return on a recent investment. Gwennie, how would you like to own one of the Ascot horses?”
Gwen stares up at him. “Really?”
“Why not?” he says, grinning down at her. “We’ve money and opportunity and the whole of the ton to impress. We’ll make our picks tomorrow and then cheer the jockey on next week, what do you say?”
“I say that deserves a toast,” Bobby says, gamely refilling all of their glasses.
“The fastest one?” she asks Father.
“The fastest one,” he assures her, his hand falling to her shoulder as he sways in place. “To your good health and a happy marriage, Bobby,” he adds.
Bobby laughs and they sloppily clink glasses. “And to your good fortune,” Bobby says, pouring another round.
“To your growth spurt last summer,” Gwen declares, reaching out to grab the bottle only to send it toppling to the ground in a spectacular crash. She jumps at the sound and manages to knock into the vase at her back, sending that sprawling as well.
“Damn,” Father exclaims, loud enough to attract the half of the room that didn’t turn at the sound of shattering glass.
“And that’s enough for the three of you,” Albie says, stepping up to block them from view. He plucks the glasses from their hands and slams them none-too-gently onto the table. “I think it’s time the two of you headed home, and Bobby, you can see yourself out.”
“It’s early yet,” Father argues, his voice bouncing around them.
Albie steps in close, completely blocking Gwen from view. She’s never seen his face like that—dark and brooding and just a bit intimidating. It’s not a word she’s ever associated with him.
“You are making a spectacle of yourself and your daughter,” Albie says, his voice low and hard.
“Nonsense, I—”
“I would hate for you to end such a triumphant night as the ton gossip. Gwen has enough against her this season without your behavior playing in. Now, I’ll escort you and your daughter out.”
Father locks eyes with Albie, pulling up to his full height. “I am your uncle, young man—”
“And you’ve taught me better than this,” Albie cuts him off. “Now come on, both of you,” he says, reaching out to tug Gwen up.
She stumbles, the whole room tilting beneath her feet. She’s drunker than she thought. Everything’s hazy and spinny.
“Grab onto your father. Bobby, you get her other side, discreetly,” Albie hisses.
As an awkward group, they skirt the side of the ballroom, moving slowly. Heads turn as they pass, mothers gawp, fathers shake their heads. She can see the other girls tittering, but she hardly cares. And drunk as she is, it isn’t until they’re nearly at the grand entrance that she thinks to try and look for Beth.
But turning her head makes the sloshing, swaying room worse and it’s all she can do to keep moving, Father and Bobby holding her up as Albie escorts them up the stairs. When they reach the top and step into the foyer, Gwen groans, feeling her stomach swirling.
“Do you realize what a spectacle you just made of us?”Father demands as Albie ushers them outside and raises his hand to hail one of the waiting coaches.
Albie turns to meet Father’s eyes head on. “No more of a scandal than you loudly boasting about your bets and your bribes. Half the room is against the MCA—you know that. And you getting drunk and sloppy, rubbing it in their faces, won’t make you any more beloved. Your methods are just short of shady.”
Gwen lists into Bobby. Her mouth is dry and stale, her stomach sour, and her legs feel unsteady. She’s never seen Father look quite so indignant or drunk before, now that she thinks of it. His hair is a mess and his cravat is askew. What goes on in the parlors during these dances?
“You have no right,” her father says around a hiccough.
Albie’s look hardens further just as the carriage pulls up to their side. “I’d hate to see you become my father, sir. It’s hard enough with one in the family, don’t you think? For Gwen’s sake?”
Father glowers but doesn’t argue. Instead, she’s roughly passed up and into the carriage, Father vaulting unsteadily in after her. Albie shuts the door with a sharp bang. They both wince. Albie taps the side of the carriage, setting them off at a lurching rumble that’s destined to steal what little she ate for dinner.
Did she eat? She should have.
She could have eaten Beth. She looked like a flouncy dessert.
“Albie’s grown a pair, hasn’t he?” Father asks, sitting at an angle in his seat as Gwen clutches at her head. “How much did you drink?”
