They should have asked for help a month ago. She’s been telling herself she’s losing Albie to Meredith—and possibly losing Bobby by extension. But they’ve been there the whole time, hoping and speculating. Albie would have said yes, if she’d asked. He could probably have even convinced Meredith too. She’s just been too busy wallowing in self-pity to notice.
“Let’s focus on your parents this season, and you can turn your sights on me next year,” Bobby says, taking her arm to pull her back toward their tent, where Albie and Meredith are now standing at the edge. “Oh, look, they’re about to start.”
Gwen doesn’t look at the boats. Instead, she steps back so she can watch the Ashmonds watch their son. Lord and Lady Ashmond stand at the edge of their tent along with their hangers-on, leaving Beth and Lady Demeroven a row behind, and likely unable to see. Gwen notes that neither looks particularly put out about this. Lady Demeroven’s fanning herself like it’s the end of days, and Beth—
Beth looks straight at Gwen. She offers a slight smile and then turns to her mother. Gwen looks back at the river just as the starting gun goes off. They’re well and truly underway of this ridiculous charade, and there’s nothing left but to see it through and hope Bobby can deliver.
Montson and Jordan row like there’s no tomorrow. As Bobby predicted, Leander easily wins the first match, outpacing the LRC’s scull by at least a full length. Her tent is groaning but the Ashmonds are cavorting. She can hear champagne being popped, whoops spilling through the air.
“Yeah, let’s see if they can do it again,” Bobby says loudly, nudging Albie next to him. “Beginners’ luck.”
Albie stares at his brother for a moment and Gwen watches them exchange a series of nods and small gestures. She’s never paid much attention to their relationship. Bobby’s never been much more than a nuisance, but now—now it seems he’s sly and clever and persuasive.
“Jordan can’t make another round, and I’d be surprised if Montson’s not keeling over already,” Albie adds, his voice echoing across the water.
She glances over and spots Lord Ashmond frowning at them. “I don’t know, they won by a full length,” Gwen says, her voice light and easy, but louder than perhaps it should be.
She hears Lady Demeroven agreeing and has to hide a smile. Gwen glances over at them and Beth stares back at her, perplexed.
“Two rowers simply filling in—there’s no way Leander makes it another round,” Bobby says quickly.
“The LRC’s got this locked up. You wait and see,” Albie adds.
Lord Ashmond scoffs absurdly loudly and both boys lean around Gwen to make eye contact.
“You don’t agree?” Bobby calls over.
“Well, his son’s racing. He’s bound to be biased,” Albie says, smiling affably at Lord Ashmond.
“I am no such thing,” Lord Ashmond exclaims.
Bobby steps around Gwen and Albie squeezes her waist as he follows, the two of them beginning a tirade of challenges and statistics that Lord Ashmond meets with glee. She supposes besting her father’s nephews will only add to his sanctimonious disdain. Make him feel tall.
She wonders if he’s poorly endowed. What else could make a man so rich this pompous?
“What are they up to?” Meredith asks, stepping up to Gwen’s side as the argument escalates, just as Bobby predicted it would.
“Have they had much to drink?” Gwen asks, going for innocent.
“No more than you or I, seeing as it’s not even noon,” Meredith says flatly. “Oh dear.”
Bobby has stepped into Lord Ashmond’s space, the two of them nearly chest to chest. Of course, Lord Ashmond towers over Bobby. He looks absurdly childish squared off that way and Gwen feels her bubble of excitement deflating into anxiety.
Father may actually have to step in.
She glances around and finds him already moving toward her, his eyes on the escalating altercation. Lady Ashmond’s wringing her hands and Gwen notices a few older gentlemen moving toward the cluster, as tall and intimidating as Lord Ashmond, and possibly less concerned with appearances.
She may have just aided and abetted a brawl.
“What are your cousins doing?” Father asks as he reaches Gwen.
“I’m really not sure,” she says honestly, watching Albie brace Bobby from behind. Lord Ashmond leans down, spilling vitriol about the boys’ father and how Ashmond used to trounce both Viscount Mason and Father in scull racing when they were lads.
As if any of them could do damage in a boat these days.
“Sod it all,” Father says, starting forward just as Lady Demeroven drags Beth out from the tent, the two of them stepping back carefully into the sun. One of Lord Ashmond’s men knocks over a chair.
“Father, don’t make a—” Gwen starts, but he’s already striding across the small gap of lawn between the tents.
