Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

Beth

Gwen snorts and pulls back, batting Beth’s hands away to place the final pins to keep her sleep-and-other-activities-mussed hair artfully piled on top of her head. Gwen’s hands are gentle and precise, doing an admirable job that just makes Beth want to push her back down to the bed. But then they’d rub the makeup hiding their tired eyes into Gwen’s white sheets. She already feels strange enough that they’ll be laundered as they are, smelling of a mix of the two of them.

Beth rolls her eyes and reaches up to adjust Gwen’s hair as well. Her blond curls have better recovered from their tousle, but both of them still look windswept. Hopefully Mother and Lord Havenfort won’t ask questions. They can simply assume Gwen and Beth were up talking all night. Which they were, of a sort, in between all of the . . . decidedly not talking.

Beth feels herself blush, images of the previous evening flitting across her mind, hot and joyful and heady.

Beth huffs, noting the flush climbing Gwen’s neck as well. “You stop.”

Gwen laughs and pulls her in for a kiss. Beth squeaks, a little ungainly in her hoop after an evening in nothing but her skin. And though it’s less than they were able to have in bed, it’s still lovely, Gwen’s hands on her cheeks, her hands gripping at Gwen’s skirts. Gwen’s mouth is hot against Beth’s and she thinks maybe they should skip breakfast altogether, pretend to have a lie-in. Maybe actually have a—

They jump apart at the firm rap on the door. Beth presses her hands to her cheeks, as if someone could tell just by looking at her what they’ve been doing. But the door doesn’t open, and she hears footsteps retreating down the hall.

Time to return to the world.

She hesitates, not quite ready—unwilling to consider the greater reality, that this is likely the first and last—no, no, she can’t let herself go there, or she’ll weep into her breakfast.

Gwen reaches out and takes her hand, twining their fingers together. She opens the door and confidently guides Beth down the hall. It isn’t so strange, to hold hands with a friend. They can get away with at least that through the halls. And so Beth focuses on the knock of their knuckles and the warmth of Gwen’s palm. She lets herself be led down the staircase and through the grand entryway to the dining room.

Gwen comes to a halt so suddenly Beth bumps into her back, the two of them teetering there in the doorway to the massive dining room. She’d marvel at the enormous mahogany table set and chandelier, but it’s the sight of her mother and Lord Havenfort cozily ensconced at the far end, chairs close together and hands a breath apart on the tabletop, that steals her focus.

Her mother is giggling while Lord Havenfort watches her so fondly it almost makes Beth’s chest hurt. Father never looked at her mother that way, and Mother never looked that free in their own dining room. The only time she’s ever been that at ease around food is in the kitchens, baking with Mrs. Mildred or taking breakfast with Beth, far from her father’s reach.

Gwen’s hand grips at Beth’s as they watch their parents interact. Their parents, who they want to get married, so they could become—Beth swallows hard, her throat tight. They were meant to be getting their parents engaged, not engaging in . . . it themselves. Suddenly their silly plan seems to have manifested, but everything’s been turned upside down.

Gwen slowly drags Beth into the room, guiding her around to sit opposite Mother and dropping her hand as they get to their respective chairs. Beth feels the loss of her fingers keenly, barely able to meet her mother’s happy eyes. If Mother knew what they’d done—

Beth glances over at her mother, still feeling at sea. But Mother’s look brooks no surrender, and she’s not about to let Mother get ganged up on, even by their respective . . . whatever the Havenforts are to the Demerovens these days.

Beth settles in to listen as their parents bicker and explain the matches they attended twenty years ago. How they were almost expelled once for poor behavior and Mother was kept on the world’s shortest leash for the next week by her governess. Beth and Gwen eat, exchanging easy smiles. It almost feels . . . normal. As if nothing happened the night before—as if their plan is simply going swimmingly, and they could all be eating at this table, taking bets and teasing as one big happy family.

But as they all sidle into the stands together hours later, freshly dressed and trussed up for a public outing, that ease disappears. In public, in the face of all that they’ve done, Beth feels distinctly uncomfortable.

Can people tell that they’ve lain together? That the way Gwen presses up against her is less than innocent? That her body still tingles with the memory of the previous night, and the blush on her cheeks has nothing to do with the heat and her skirts, and everything to do with the hand Gwen slips into her own?

Mother and Lord Havenfort pay them little mind, sitting too close together on their own and nudging back and forth as the teams step onto the field for the captains to shake hands. The stands are full to bursting, the whole ton out to see this auspicious match. The AEE under new management, the UEE still considered an upstart even five years later—the crowd is wild and she can hear more than one wager being made around them in absolute excess.

She shouldn’t be able to affect Beth like this, in public, with just her fingers on her wrist. But the thought of what else Gwen’s fingers can do, and vivid memories of where they were just a few hours ago have Beth shifting in her seat and Gwen grinning smugly.

She doesn’t know if they can manage another night together. Though with the way their parents are sitting, cozy and close, Beth thinks suddenly it might not be impossible. They simply need to get them together for a nightcap and feign exhaustion. She couldn’t possibly haul herself all the way across the square, can’t she just bunk with Gwen again? The thought makes her equally bold and she’s about to lean back to Gwen and suggest their wager be exchanged for a promise of larger acts when someone taps her on the shoulder.

She turns and nearly falls out of her seat when Lord Montson appears there at her side, dapper and grinning with his top hat beneath his arm. He plops down beside her and takes her other hand, kissing its back. Gwen grips at her concealed palm.

Gwen manages a brusque nod and Beth hears Mother saying something, but she can’t quite make it out around the ringing in her ears. Or maybe that’s the starting pistol as the game begins reverberating around the pitch.

Lord Montson’s here. Beside her. Her suitor. Likely to propose within the month. He’s here, next to her, sitting there all tall and handsome, while Gwen grips at her hand with fingers that have been inside her and lips still slightly plumped from her fervid kisses and other—

Beth swallows against a massive lump in her throat. She can’t escape. She just has to sit here as Lord Montson goes on and on about the AEE and their superiority. Suddenly she wants to switch allegiances. Wants to root for Gwen’s team just to spite him, though he’s done absolutely nothing wrong.

Beth blinks, hasn’t even been paying attention to the conversation or the game. She hadn’t realized Gwen had picked up where she had failed. She’s been talking amicably to Lord Montson for ten minutes, as though absolutely nothing is amiss. Their hands are still tangled together beneath their skirts, fingers gripping too hard, almost painful. But Gwen looks for all the world like everything’s perfectly normal.

Beth struggles to find her voice, feeling Gwen’s thumb brushing over her pulse again. She glances at Gwen, who simply looks back at the game. But Beth can tell from the tension in Gwen’s jaw and shoulders that she knows what she’s doing. Toying with her with Lord Montson right beside them.

Beth just squeezes her hand and they sit and watch the match, ignoring their parents’ pleasant bickering. Lord Montson comments now and then, but Beth is happy to lose him to the match’s intrigue. It’s a close game. AEE looks set to win, but she couldn’t care less about the wagers—can’t imagine how they go back to their carefree disregard for the world now, not with Lord Montson’s physical presence weighing them down like an anchor.

How foolish she was to think they could just live in their happy little bubble. Reality has crashed back in and it feels like someone has sat down on her chest, squeezing the happiness and breath from her until every movement makes her jolt and she could cry from the confusion, frustration, and heat.

Beth startles at Lord Havenfort’s bombastic crow, glancing his way to see him beaming proudly at her mother. Mother grudgingly hands him the wager, but she’s still smiling. Gwen doesn’t extend her hand, choosing to keep their tangled fingers beneath the mountain of their skirts instead. She doesn’t boast or brag either, both of them simply sitting there, sapped of energy. Lord Montson chuckles beside her.

That brings her back to the moment. “Oh?”

Beth’s stomach drops as Mother gives her proper excited agreement. Beth watches more than feels Lord Montson turn back to her, kiss her free hand, and tell her he looks forward to the following morning. She nods, but can barely hear him. It’s like everything is moving through fog. He sets off with a jaunty grin before she can even unglue her mouth.

Beth can barely swallow, barely blink. She can’t even chase after her hand. She can’t move. A proposal.

She goes, stumbling behind her, feeling weightless and detached, as if her legs and feet and body are moving without her. She’s still caught in the stands, staring into Gwen’s empty eyes.