Gwen winces, but Lady Demeroven simply pulls a lace kerchief from her skirts, stepping up to dab at a trickle of blood that’s making its way down Father’s face. Lord Ashmond must have nicked him with a ring.
“What were you thinking?” Lady Demeroven asks. Beth steps close to Gwen, hiding their hands amid their skirts as they glance at each other.
“You’d rather I let that man hit my nephew?” Father asks, making no move to stop her ministrations. “Should you be doing this?”
Lady Demeroven stills for a moment before shrugging. “I doubt this will be the most exciting part of the story. Boys, go get some cold water,” she instructs, leaning around Father to look firmly at Bobby and Albie.
The boys jolt into action, slipping off into the tent.
“Are you staying the night here?” Lady Demeroven asks.
“We took the train,” Father says, gently taking the handkerchief from her to press it hard against his temple.
Gwen watches as Lady Demeroven hovers close, a hand on his chest for a long moment before she steps back. “You’ll want to get a steak from the inn before you head back.”
“Yes, I’ll certainly look a sight beside Gwen then,” he says, chuckling. “Violence is never the answer,” he adds, looking at Gwen and Beth.
“Fat lot of good that advice has done you,” Gwen says, the words slipping out.
Father merely laughs. “I’m just fine. Though, Miss Demeroven, I suppose you should watch the rest of the race, cheer on your intended, as his parents—”
They all glance into the Ashmond tent, utterly empty.
“Yes, someone should support Lord Montson, I guess,” Lady Demeroven agrees. “Girls, why don’t you join—Lady Meredith, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” Beth startles as Meredith appears beside them. “We’dbe happy to have Miss Demeroven with us for a few hours if you’d like to, um, see to things, Lady Demeroven?” Meredith offers.
“Thank you, dear,” Lady Demeroven says kindly. “Walk me to the boathouse?” she asks Father.
“Are you sure that’s wise?” Father asks.
“I’m simply making sure you aren’t going to involve the authorities. He made the first move against your nephew. I’m smoothing things over,” Lady Demeroven says archly.
Father just shakes his head. “All right. Gwen, take good care of Miss Demeroven. We’ll be back,” he says, gesturing for Lady Demeroven to precede him.
Gwen watches as they move through the empty Ashmond tent and out of sight, walking close but unconnected. Holy hell—
“Did that actually work?” Meredith asks.
Gwen gapes at Meredith.
“Did what work?” Beth asks.
“Oh, it took all of two seconds to realize Bobby was up to something. Come on, I could use a drink.”
She takes Gwen’s free arm and strides back toward the tent, forcing Gwen to tug Beth along behind her.
“Did you plan that?” Beth hisses as they cluster back under the tent.
They huddle by the refreshments, far from Albie and Bobby. The boys are preening under the attention of their schoolmates. Beyond them, the next heat lines up on the river. Gwen couldn’t possibly care less about the race.
“No,” Gwen tells Beth. Meredith quirks an eyebrow and passes them each a flute of champagne. “Well, not—not likethat. Bobby thought he could distract Lord Ashmond and we’d get your mother to faint, like we planned,” she tells Beth, deflating at her flat look. “It made sense at the time.”
“Who could have known Lord Ashmond would get that drunk this early in the day,” Meredith says, shrugging.
“He could have been badly hurt,” Beth says softly.
“Father wouldn’t injure him too badly,” Gwen protests.
