In fact, everyone looks blissfully happy to be here. Prince laughs, that rich baritone bouncing around the garden. It sends shivers down Bobby’s spine in a way none of the ladies’ polite giggles ever seem to elicit. Bobby’s last sandwich loses some of its appeal and he sags against the hedge. It’s going to be a long season.
But just as he’s contemplating slipping into the house to peruse Lord Kingsman’s books, he notices Uncle Dashiell, Gwen, and Beth arriving fashionably late, as always. Finally, some entertainment.
He strides across the lawn toward them, thinking it’s a shameAunt Cordelia is so heavily with child and won’t be attending most of these events. She’s a right laugh. Of course, in her absence, Gwen and Beth will suffice, and Bobby grins as they spot him, their eyes lighting up.
It’s nice to knowsomeoneis happy to see him, even if it’s just his cousin and her partner.
Uncle Dashiell extends his hand and Bobby shakes it, smiling up at him. Uncle Dashiell smiles back, though Bobby can see there’s a tightness around his eyes. Even when he’s at something as simple as a garden party, he always has more to worry about.
“Good to see you, Bobby,” he says.
“You too, sir. Please give my best to my aunt. I hope she’s feeling well?”
“She’ll appreciate it,” Uncle Dashiell says. “And she sends her best. She was tired this morning.”
“Just tired,” Gwen puts in. “Father’s being overprotective.”
Uncle Dashiell frowns down at Gwen, but she’s immune to his disapproval.
“She’s all right,” Beth adds, linking her arm through Gwen’s. “But it’s probably best she stays off her feet for a day. We’ve multiple dinners to attend this week.”
“Right,” Uncle Dashiell says. “Speaking of which, Bobby, may I have a word?”
Bobby nods, surprised, and lets his uncle guide him over to an uncrowded part of the garden. Beth and Gwen meander toward the drinks, deep in renewed conversation. He wonders what they’re up to this time, always scheming.
“Is everything all right?” Bobby asks as he looks back up at his uncle, whose face has taken on a more serious set.
“Oh, yes, of course,” Uncle Dashiell says quickly. But his blue eyes remain a little distant. “I wondered if I might ask a favor of you.”
Bobby straightens his shoulders eagerly. “Of course. Anything I can do to help.”
“I wondered if you might be able to help James fit in a bit more.”
Bobby’s stomach sinks straight to his toes. This is about Demeroven? “Oh?” he manages, keeping his face neutral.
“He doesn’t seem to be making many connections,” Uncle Dashiell says, glancing back to the patio where, it’s true, Demeroven is standing awkwardly alone, sipping his drink while the lords talk around him. “Perhaps if you took him out, introduced him to some of your friends and their older brothers, he might make better acquaintances and feel a bit more at ease. I think his demeanor might be off-putting if he remains so unattached.”
“And you think I’m the best person to help him make connections?” Bobby asks, struggling to maintain his poise.
Of course the favor he can do isn’t actually about him. Of course it’s about babysitting James sodding Demeroven.
“I think you are an affable young man with many good connections, and the kind of poise and demeanor I wish my nephew-in-law to have,” Uncle Dashiell says.
Bobby forces himself to smile. He’s being very kind, but the message that Bobby’s good qualities only matter if they have power attached rings loud and clear.
Still, he can hardly refuse. Uncle Dashiell has been so generous and deeply supportive of both Bobby and Albie. Paid for their education when their father defaulted on payments. Pays for their lodging at events. Takes them out with Gwen. He can’t say no. Even if it smarts, he owes his uncle this.
“Thank you, Uncle,” he says, smiling and humble. “I’ll do my best to make sure he falls in with the right crowd.”
“I appreciate it,” Uncle Dashiell says, clapping him on theshoulder and squeezing. But then he turns on his heel and marches toward the patio and the waiting lords, leaving Bobby alone with only his thoughts and his lack of political worth.
It seems his one purpose this season is to make sure James Demeroven makes the most of his connections. Uncle DashiellandBeth are counting on him.
Bobby takes a moment to let himself mourn his own pride, knocking back the rest of his whisky, before he plasters on a smile and turns to find Beth and Gwen—to pretend nothing’s amiss.
“I’m just not sure I want to bother,” Gwen says as Bobby steps up to her and Beth, idling by the refreshments.
“All right, but the alternative is spending the season with my mother, listening to her talk about her swollen ankles and all the parties weshouldbe attending.”
