Gwen winces and takes a sip of her champagne.
“What are we debating?” Bobby asks, looking between them.
“We’re trying to decide on a charity to volunteer with for the season,” Beth says, adjusting her pale blue skirt so it’s not crumpled against Bobby’s leg.
“Oh, that sounds fun. Could I join you?” Bobby asks, delighted by the idea. It would give him something todo.
“You can hardly join us at the women’s charities,” Gwen says archly. “And I’m not convinced. For the first year ever there’s no pressure. Why celebrate that by working?”
“Why celebrate it by becoming slovenly either?” Beth counters. “And again, I remind you, the alternative is being with my mother.”
“I like your mother,” Bobby puts in playfully. He does so love fueling their arguments, like the devious, annoying younger cousin he is.
Gwen sniffs and brushes back a lock of her blond hair. “Isuppose it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to have somewhere to go on days without events.”
“An honest day’s work could be rewarding,” Bobby agrees, laughing when Gwen frowns at him. She hates it when he plays both sides.
“Speaking of honest work,” Beth says, raising her hand and motioning someone over.
Bobby nearly groans. Demeroven’s reluctantly heading their way. “That is not what I meant,” Bobby tells Beth.
Beth winks at him and offers her cousin a wide smile. Demeroven steps up to their little circle, looking uncomfortably buttoned up in a tight blue frock coat, starched shirt, and black bow tie. Even his hair looks stiff with pomade.
“Cousin,” he greets. “Lady Gwen.”
“Lovely party, isn’t it?” Beth asks.
Demeroven bobs his head and they stand in awkward silence for a disquietingly long beat. Bobby would wait them all out, but he’s now promised Uncle Dashiell and Beth that he’ll try, and he can’t leave all the effort on Beth’s shoulders, especially since he knows Gwen won’t be the one to break the silence. She delights in awkward pauses.
“Do you remember that strange professor at Oxford, who taught medieval history? Always wore a bright-red bow tie?”
Demeroven blinks, as if surprised Bobby’s addressing him. “Professor Marchbank.”
“Yes,” Bobby says with forced cheer. “Did you hear that he’s moved to Stratford-upon-Avon and is apparently compiling a new Shakespearean folio?”
“Really?” Beth asks. “How exciting. That class must have been fascinating.”
All three of them look to Demeroven, but he merely offers a bland smile.
“It was,” Bobby says after a moment. “You know, Gwen and Beth love Shakespeare.”
Another bland smile. Bobby looks to the girls, praying for help. But Gwen’s just sucking on her cheek to keep from laughing at his efforts, and Beth is watching him imploringly.
“Did you ever go to that club he liked? The White Rabbit?” Bobby continues, watching Demeroven for...anysign of engagement.
He doesn’t think it was common knowledge that there were sometimes gatherings in the basement of the White Rabbit—he highly doubts Demeroven would know anything about them. But the main club was good for a pint on a cold day, whether or not you wanted to try and pick up a nice gentleman for an afternoon treat.
Demeroven shakes his head stiffly. “No.”
Bobby waits, but he doesn’t elaborate. It’s going to be a long season if this is the only way the man cares to communicate, or... not.
Bobby glances at Beth with a small shrug as if to sayI tried. Beth frowns and then looks to Gwen, raising an eyebrow. Gwen sighs dramatically and swallows the rest of her champagne, unceremoniously handing her glass to a confused Demeroven.
“All right,” she calls out, making Demeroven jump, which is, honestly, a little entertaining. “Let’s have some festivities,” she continues, turning to face the rest of the party and beckoning the young ton to her side.
Lady Eloise leads Prous over, both of them looking dangerously amused. “Are you going to cause a scene at every one of my mother’s garden parties, then?” Lady Eloise asks.
Bobby vaguely recalls something about Aunt Cordelia accidentally whacking Uncle Dashiell in the knackers last yearwith a croquet mallet at the Kingsmans’ first season tea, well before they were even engaged. It was... probably an accident.
