“You’re in no state to be considered a proper chaperone,” Mrs. Gilpe says tightly. “Gwen, go to bed,” she snaps, turning her hard look on Gwen.
“But I—”
“Now. Mrs. Stelm has left water by your bedside. Drink a full glass, then go to sleep.”
“It really isn’t his fault, I wanted to play—”
“Bed,” Mrs. Gilpe insists, pointing toward the stairs.
Gwen looks to Father, but he just sighs and nods, waving her away, like she’s a child. It’sherreputation they’re fighting over.
But she can’t quite make her mouth form the words in her head, and her soft bed does sound inviting, and she’s actually quite parched. So she goes, leaving Mrs. Gilpe and Father bickering behind her as she slowly climbs the stairs with her leaden feet.
“It’s unconscionable that you would be this reckless with her already difficult position. We’ve had no morning calls all season.”
“What did you expect?” she hears Father ask. “She’s not a show pony. None of them are good enough for her.”
“Well they’re all you’ve got. The poor thing’s heartbroken enough without ending up thoroughly alone.”
“I’m here!” Father returns.
Gwen rounds the bend and continues up the stairs to the second floor. It’s not like she’s pathetic. She’s fun. She’s a hoot. The life of every party. And so what if Beth’s about to bemarried off? She’s not going to get married just to soothe her ego—or whatever she’s been telling herself isn’t an utterly broken heart.
“And was Samantha’s father enough to keep her out of trouble?”
Gwen pauses, heart in her throat.
“It’s not the same,” Father says gruffly.
“No? Your heart was broken,” Mrs. Gilpe counters.
Gwen slowly slides herself down to sit on the stairs, head pounding.
“It’s not the same,” Father repeats. “Gwen isn’t me.”
“No, she’s both of you. Samantha made choices as well. I’m telling you to be careful.”
“Gwen’s not going to get in trouble,” Father insists.
Gwen covers her mouth, her other hand clenched into her skirts. She’s always suspected, but never knew. No one talks much of her mother, only that she wasn’t what any of them would have expected for Dashiell Bertram. Now she knows why.
But Father’s right. It’s not the same. She can’t get in trouble, because the only person she’ll ever sleep with is Beth, and that’s no longer an option. The thought sends a stab of pain through her heart and she starts to cry.
Beth’s are the only arms she ever wants around her. She’s not about to drown her sorrows in a man, in a fumble, in something painful and stupid and dangerous. The very last thing she wants is to be saddled with a child in addition to a husband.
Her stomach roils as her tears turn to sobs. She heaves in air, her heartache rising in her chest like a rapid tide, with an enormous wave now waiting to come in behind it. Is that what happened to her father? He was saddled with a wife, anda child, all dreams of love and happiness gone, because of one moment of recklessness?
“You’re drinking like a fish and letting her do it with you. You turn your back in the wrong place and who knows what could happen,” Mrs. Gilpe says.
“Gwen isn’t interested—she would never,” Father spits.
“If she’s blind drunk she won’t know up from down, and you’d best hope there’s no young man trying to forget his own heartache with her.”
“How dare you—”
Gwen’s stomach tightens without warning and she vomits all over her dress and the stairs, snot and tears running down her face as she gags. She hears footsteps as she tries to right herself, tries to aim her heaves away from her dress, tries not to slip down the stairs, her narrow hoopskirt shifting this way and that as she squirms.
“Sweetheart,” Father says softly, kneeling on the step below her to brace a hand on her back.
