“Here.”
Bobby appears on her other side with two flutes of champagne for her and Father. She grabs hers gratefully, taking a large sip. Bobby settles into the chair behind them, downing his own glass.
“Horrid, isn’t he?” Bobby says, nodding toward Lord Ashmond, who has now attracted a small horde of equally low-minded parliamentarians.
“Quite,” Father agrees. “Now, who are you rooting for, Bobby?” he asks, turning to regard her younger cousin.
“Oh, the London Rowing Club, for sure. They’re going to trounce the Leander Club. Apologies—I know you had said they’re your favorite, Raverson,” he adds to a younger gentleman next to him.
“Oh, I’ll take a skirmish, no matter who wins,” the man says, smirking at Bobby. His deep brown eyes are quite striking. “I don’t think we’ve met,” he adds to Father.
“Lord Havenfort,” Father says, extending an awkwardly angled hand. “And this is my daughter, Lady Gwen.”
“A pleasure,” the man says, nodding to Gwen so a lock of almost-black hair falls over his face. “Viscount Raverson.”
She feels she should probably think him quite handsome. But he pales in absurd comparison to Beth and no amount of straight white teeth and broad shoulders will sway her on that fact.
“Ah, I knew your father. I’m sorry for your loss,” Father says quickly. “Will you be joining the Lords in his stead?”
“Thank you,” Viscount Raverson says rather flatly. Gwen gets the feeling he doesn’t harbor deep grief over the loss. “I will. It’s actually why I’m here today. I wanted to get your opinion on this Matrimonial Causes Act. Father was vehemently opposed as you know, but I’m not so sure.”
She watches in resignation as Father’s face lights up. “Of course, of course. Help me gather food for my lovely single daughter, and we’ll discuss,” he says, winking at Gwen as he stands.
She only just refrains from swatting him. She wants no part in his matchmaking, especially not when it’s taking him decidedly away from her own plans. She slumps in her seat as he and the viscount make their way back toward the catered buffet at the rear of the tent. She looks out over the water and spots Montson entering one of the sculls, along with a crew of three other young men. She hopes the LRC trounces them viciously.
“Want to make it interesting?” Albie asks.
Gwen sighs and digs in her skirts, pulling out a few pounds and handing them over without looking at Albie. “Put that on the LRC on top of whatever Father’s bet.”
“Don’t worry. Raverson seems malleable,” Bobby says as Albie turns back to Meredith, pocketing Gwen’s money. “He may be a handsome face, but I didn’t get the sense he has any real interest.”
“I suppose that’s good,” Gwen mumbles. Bobby leans onto Father’s chair, his face level with her own. “Do you know him?”
“He was a year above me at Oxford, I think. Didn’t get to know him well. But if your father can convince him, that might be the deciding vote.”
“Perhaps I should have made more of an effort,” Gwen says, glancing back at them. She may not be swayed by the man’s smile, but she could help in gathering votes. Men have some uses, after all.
“I think we should focus on whatever it is you and Miss Demeroven have planned.”
Gwen goes still. “What?” she manages inelegantly.
“You’ve been glancing at her every minute or so, and she’s been staring at you for the past five. Her mother looks awful.”
Despite herself, Gwen flicks her eyes over to the next tent.Lady Demeroven does look like she’s only a few minutes from passing out. “Beth and I are just . . . acquaintances,” Gwen says slowly, dragging her gaze back to meet Bobby’s, so close he’s almost blurry.
Far too close for comfort.
Gwen stands up, tugging her own fan from her skirts. She fans herself and leans out of the tent under the guise of watching the lineup. They’re pushing off from the docks, so the first heat can’t be too long now.
“Do you need a distraction?”
“Do you mind?” she asks Bobby, leaning around him to get a look at Beth.
He grins, rocking back and forth on his feet where he’s sidled up beside her. “What’s the aim?”
Gwen sighs, glancing behind him to try and catch Albie’s attention, but he’s thoroughly engrossed in conversation with one of Meredith’s cousins now. She doesn’t want Bobby underfoot for this, but she can’t make too much of a fuss. Father may be at the back of the tent, but it’s not that far, and his hearing’s too good.
“You promise not to say anything?” she mutters.
