“I’m just fine. Bobby’s man of the hour now. And I think your father will be fine. I spotted him sitting on a bench with Lady Demeroven behind the boathouse. She found him a steak for his eye.”
“Good,” Gwen says, tension leaking out of her.
“So I hear we’ll be seeing you in a few days?” Albie asks, winking at Beth.
Beth has the gumption to wink back, her hand squeezing Gwen’s. Perhaps all is not lost, even if today was utter chaos.
“I think you just might,” Beth says gamely.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Beth
Meredith, Bobby, and Albie are a force to be reckoned with. Beth watches in awe as they expertly maneuver their respective relatives. Meredith pairs off her mother with Albie’s aunt. Bobby and Albie drag their uncle away to discuss the order of the groomsmen. And then Meredith swoops back in to pull Beth and Gwen into conversation so artfully that Mother and Lord Havenfort are almost required to at least exchange pleasantries.
The Harringtons aren’t personae non gratae to Lord Ashmond, but the Masons surely are. These visits are a risk, but they’re chances Mother seems eager to take. Their “accidental” picnic at the botanical gardens with Meredith, Albie, Gwen, and Lord Havenfort last week was a thorough delight, and Mother readily agreed to come take tea today. Beth’s hopes are rising fast, as well as her chagrin.
“Does all this make you feel exceedingly unclever?” Gwen whispers as Meredith pours them tea, going on loudly about dress hems.
“Painfully,” Beth agrees.
She’s spent the last month and a half practically glued to Lord Montson’s side, and all this time, if they’d just asked Gwen’scousins, they could have been having teas and listening to everyone laugh. It’s almost enough to make her vomit.
Her mother and Lord Havenfort are chatting by the open window today, a shade too close together. Lord Havenfort’s eye is still slightly purple, but Mother doesn’t seem to mind. She’s laughing, actually. It’s her genuine laugh too—a sound Beth’s barely heard in a month.
“Have you picked out a dress yet?” Meredith asks, bringing Beth’s gaze back to her.
“What?” she mumbles.
Meredith chuckles. “A dress. You must have one at least in process.”
“My mother’s wedding dress,” Beth says absently. “They’re taking it in around the bust and removing the sleeves.” She pauses, glancing at Gwen.
“I bet you look quite beautiful,” Gwen says, smiling softly at her.
They’ve allowed themselves more than one quiet minute of peace this afternoon, sitting close together, hands tangled in their skirts. Beth’s mind keeps wandering, visions of the two of them sneaking off into this cavernous townhouse to find somewhere—some dark corner—where they could slide beneath each other’s skirts and—
“Beth,” Gwen says, laughing a little.
“Oh, yes. Right. It does look nice,” Beth agrees. “Nothing like it looked on my mother. Father insisted she wear it for their portrait and she looks amazing. I look like a flat little frump.”
“You absolutely do not,” Mother says as she and Lord Havenfort appear around their side of the table.
Beth looks up at her mother—her always poised, alwaysglamorous mother. “I don’t look half so beautiful as you did,” Beth says.
Mother rolls her eyes. But she looks so relaxed and happy. They have to make this work; Beth would try just for the look on her mother’s face.
“You are beautiful in entirely your own way,” Mother argues.
“I’m sure you look very lovely,” Lord Havenfort adds. “You’re having it done by Mistress Grinley, I assume?”
“Of course,” Mother says quickly. “Only the very best for Beth.”
Beth forces herself to maintain her smile. It’s costing them a fortune to use the most expensive modiste in London for the alterations, for a wedding she’s rather hoping she won’t be attending. They’re down to a phantom staff, poor Miss Wilson’s working herself bloody, and for what?
Gwen squeezes her hand and she blows out a breath, pretending not to worry. If they pull this off—and their parents do look rather cozy—the Havenforts have more than enough to reimburse Mother for the expense.
“Remind me of the wedding date?” Lord Havenfort prompts.
