“You and I can have a grand adventure while your husband is here for the winter, maybe,” Mother says with a shrug. “Go to the Continent.”
Beth stares at her mother, the slight slump of her shoulders, the lines by her eyes. Exhausted, just like she is.
“We could go now,” Beth says softly. “Run away.”
Mother stands up tall again, that brief open expression gone from her face and eyes and smile. “I should make some rounds,” she says, barely even looking at Beth before she begins the arduous process of fighting her way through the cluster of bodies and hoops.
Beth stands there, bereft. So much has been lost, none of it tangible. She glances across the track and finds herself at last under Gwen’s gaze. They stare at each other for a long moment before Gwen takes a slug of something and turns away, back to her father and friends and family, while Beth stands alone, surrounded by people.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Gwen
“I did not!” Gwen insists. Father fumbles with his key to unlock their front door, scraping it against the panel twice before managing to insert it into the keyhole.
“You most certainly did,” Father says, crowing when he gets the lock open and pushes into the foyer, dragging Gwen with him. “You count your cards. Where did you learn to do that?”
“You!” Gwen says before slapping her free hand over her mouth.
“I knew it!” he shouts. “You’re a cheat.”
“No more than you. You had cards up your sleeve,” she shoots back, letting the door slam shut behind them.
“How would you know?” he asks.
“Because I spent hours learning to do it before you told me women never wear coattails and they’ve done away with the long sleeves. It’s a travesty.”
Everything’s a bit fuzzy, even Father as she turns to regard him, rumpled but grinning in the middle of the foyer. The room is brighter than she would have expected. It’s very late, she thinks, or possibly very early. Mr. Mason had port, and it was good port. She cleaned up, even if she did count her cards a few times.
“A lack of sleeves wouldn’t stop a true cheater,” Father says, laughing when she tries to scowl at him.
Her face feels a bit numb, now that she thinks of it.
“You’re finally back.”
They both swing around, unsteady, and find Mrs. Gilpe standing in the archway to the dining room, glaring at them with bloodshot eyes.
“It’s only, what?” Father says, twirling around to squint at the clock above the mantel.
“It’s nearly gone five,” Mrs. Gilpe says, marching into the foyer, her slippers making a definite smack against the marble floor. “We thought you’d crashed or fallen down into the Thames.”
“We’re nowhere near the Thames,” Gwen says before an enormous belch surprises her. It rings around the room. Father snickers.
“You’ve gone and gotten her pissed again,” Mrs. Gilpe deduces, glaring at Father. “Did anyone see you?”
“We were just at Albie’s,” Gwen says, trying to look demure and contrite even as she sways on her feet. She’d quite like to go to sleep now.
“No one saw us,” Father says, rolling his eyes. “Go on back to sleep, Mrs. Gilpe. I’ll get Gwennie upstairs.”
“I haven’t been to sleep,” Mrs. Gilpe says loudly. Gwen and Father wince; the loudness hurts her brain. “No one has been to sleep. We’ve been worried sick.”
“Whatever for?” Father exclaims. “You cannot decide we’ve died every time we’re not home before one.”
“Home at two would have been fine. But three, four, five? What respectable lady is out until five in the morning?”
“I was just at Albie’s,” Gwen repeats, confused by her housekeeper’s ire.
Father’s face darkens. “With her father? A proper chaperone?”
