Chapter Seventeen
Beth
Beth stares out at London, watching the distant carriages rumble along the city outskirts and the smoke rise from untold numbers of chimneys. The city stretches out before them like a winding industrial labyrinth and Beth finds herself wishing she could simply escape into it and never return.
Because the Ashmond lands are gorgeous. Apparently the estate by the Peak District is five times as large, with its own lake and farmland and orchard. But the estate just outside of London is splendid enough. Miles of riding trails both on and off the property they’re given leave to use, and with the trees in full bloom and the greenery, it’s absolutely stunning. She’ll admit she’s entirely taken by the land.
Lord Montson’s been gentlemanly to a fault all afternoon, accommodating and cheerful. She’s listened as he details the land, the value, their normal schedules, and everything to do with his family. Part of her mind has dutifully noted down the various aunts and uncles and relations she should know, kept track of every detail. But the larger part of her has been off in a daydream, wishing it was her and Gwen out riding instead.
Wishing she’s simply fallen asleep in Gwen’s arms and this is all just a nightmare. For though the berm on which they’ve stopped provides a wonderful view, and though Lord Montson is a lovely man, and though she’d be richer than God and have every luxury, Beth wants nothing to do with any of it.
She can hear their chaperones behind them, a pair of stable hands tasked with following at a discreet distance. They’re chatting about crop yields, she thinks. She’d rather discuss that than continue to discuss the Ashmond family as if it’s about to be her own.
Because it is. Their parents are at the house, and his father is discussing the terms of the arrangement with Mother now. Taking tea in the vaulted library with its massive shelves—two months ago, Beth would have happily said yes based on the books alone. Lord Montson is a kind man with land, and titles, and status, and security. He is everything—this is everything they wanted, and more than she and her mother could ever have hoped to get.
“What do you think?”
Beth looks over and finds Lord Montson waiting eagerly, arms outstretched at the view. “It’s amazing,” she says honestly.
He grins, so pleased by her approval. He’s charming and kind and seems genuinely interested and invested in her opinion. He’s perfect, and she still feels thoroughly empty inside about him.
“When I can see it like this, it always makes me long for the country, with nothing around for miles.”
“But then you can’t see the hustle and bustle and be glad you’re not in it,” she returns, watching as he chuckles.
“Entirely fair. Do you think you’d miss it?”
“The city?”
“Of course, I have to spend some of the year here, but I do prefer the country. Would you miss the city, staying north for most of the year?”
“Not at all,” she says quickly. “I don’t enjoy London, much less the season. But I would miss my friends,” she says, her chest aching at the thought of calling Gwen something as mundane as friend.
“They could come visit,” he says gamely. “Anytime you wish. And then you could even stay at home when I return for the parliament season if you liked.”
“You wouldn’t mind?” Beth asks, her breath catching at the thought.
“Not at all. My father is always at the club making deals and negotiating. It’s dead boring for my mother. I wouldn’t want to subject you to that unless you had friends in town as well.”
“That’s very kind of you,” Beth says softly, her stomach clenching.
She could keep Gwen.
They could spend much of the year together at the estate. Avoiding Lord Montson’s mother, she supposes, but still. The two of them, cosseted in the country, away from prying eyes. Running across the magnificent Ashmond lands, rolling through the forests, splayed out in enormous beds—
“And of course, there would be space for your mother. She could live in your wing, if you both agreed, or there are a few guesthouses that could be staffed for her. I don’t know if you’d want to bring any of your staff as well.”
“Miss Wilson, certainly,” Beth says softly, a leaden weight starting to lift from her chest.
They set off at a slow amble back toward the house. Lord Montson returns to prattling about his various relatives and their massive estates. Beth’s mind whirs dizzily. She could have some kind of life with Gwen.
They could be near-constant companions. There’s nothing else for them to be, really. And with this arrangement she’ll have the money to spoil Gwen silly. To build up a corner of the world just for the two of them.
She’d so much rather marry Gwen, even if it meant their ruin. But she has Mother to consider. This sets Mother up. This provides for them both. It’s not the future she would choose, if she had the choice. But given what she has . . .
Hope fills her heart as they wend back through the house. She and Gwen are good at scheming. They’ll find ways to spend nearly all their time together. She’ll architect a life that contains as little of Lord Montson as possible, and fill all the empty space with Gwen.
She’ll get to have Gwen. She could almost do cartwheels.
She’s pulled from her plans when Lord Montson throws open the doors to the massive library. Beth breathes in the scent of the books, almost giddy. But then her shoulders rise, spotting Mother with the earl and countess. Lord Montson’s tall, but Lord Ashmond is even taller and broader, a beast of a man. She wonders if his wife finds that attractive, or if she too feels intimidated, and even a little threatened when he looms over her.
Lord Montson guides Beth into the room and they come to stand at the end of the low table that separates his parents’ two armchairs from her mother’s settee. Beth dips in what feels like a very unsteady curtsy and smiles as brightly as she can manage.
“I hope Harry showed you the best of the grounds,” Lord Ashmond says, his deep voice reverberating around them.
“He did,” Beth says, looking between Lord and Lady Ashmond. “Your lands and your home are so beautiful.”
“We’re delighted you approve,” Lord Ashmond says. “Unfortunately, Harry, we must be going. But, we have arranged for the two of you to meet in four days’ time. That should be more than long enough to have everything finalized with the solicitor. Say your goodbyes, son, and we’ll take our leave. Lady Demeroven,” he says, nodding to Mother, who curtsies.
Lord Montson takes Beth’s hand and kisses it, grinning at her. “I’ll see you soon,” he promises, looking so absurdly cheerful.
She nods, keeping that pasted smile wide on her cheeks as he and his father leave the room. Their footsteps gradually disappear. Even Lord Ashmond’s tread is heavy.
Beth turns back to her mother and Lady Ashmond. Four days? That’s all she has?
But she’ll have Gwen. She just has to keep reminding herself, she’ll have Gwen. She can live through anything if it will give her nights and days and sunrises with Gwen.
“We should be going as well,” Mother says softly. “Thank you so much for your time, Lady Ashmond.”
“You must call me Bess,” the woman says, smiling absently at them both. “And of course, of course. I’ll have a messenger sent over with details for the weekend. Have a good evening, both of you.”
“Thank you,” Beth manages, dipping in another curtsy before she takes Mother’s extended arm.
They walk slowly from the room, polite and courtly. Concerningly, Mother doesn’t say anything once they’re in the hall. She should be grinning, beaming. She should be ecstatic at the match they’ve just secured.
Instead, her face is curiously blank and their retreat from the estate is silent. Even once the carriage doors have shut, Mother doesn’t give anything away. Beth opens her mouth, but Mother shakes her head and closes her eyes, leaning back against the seat.
Beth vibrates with anxiety, forcing herself to breathe as she looks out at the passing city. It’s nearly a thirty-minute ride home from the Ashmond estate. But Mother won’t budge.
By the time they’ve arrived at their townhouse, Beth is ready to scream. This is her life they’re not talking about. She’s about to be married off for an estate and a title. She deserves to know how, and what for, and under what conditions. She deserves to know how to start planning her future.
Mother practically leaps from the carriage when they come to a stop. Beth struggles to unfold her skirts and climb down after her, hurrying up behind her even as her mother vaults up the stairs. She only manages to catch her arm once the front door slams behind them.
“What happened?” Beth demands, holding fast even as Mother tries to pull away.
It’s like she wants to run from Beth, and if either of them should have that right, Beth thinks it should be her.
“Lord Ashmond said it was all arranged. Did something go wrong—are they not agreeing?”
“Everything’s fine,” Mother says, still turned away from her, her shoulders high.
“Mother,” Beth insists.
But when she turns back, Beth wishes she hadn’t. There’s something wrong there on her mother’s face, something broken and bruised. She looks the way she did the only time Beth recalls Father hitting her. She didn’t see it, but she heard the slap when Mother tried to argue Beth should be presented early, to give her a season to get used to the ton. Father said that they needn’t waste money on Beth that way. Mother said Father wasted money on frivolities every day; how could he be so cruel and capricious about Beth? And he slapped her.
Her face looks the way it did when she walked out of his study and found Beth in the hallway. It’s a cracked look, like the worst of the damage is below the skin. And Beth remembers how Mother retreated into herself after that, for months and months. How she lost her sparkle and slowly turned into this version of her mother, with her single-minded focus and intensity.
“What happened?” Beth presses.
“Lord Montson will propose on Saturday. You’ll have all the land you could ever want, a fortune for generations, and they’ll put me up somewhere lavish, I’m sure.”
“Isn’t that what you wanted?” Beth asks. “What we wanted,” she corrects quickly.
She gets Gwen. She can live through any of it if she can have Gwen.
“It is,” Mother agrees.
“Then—”
Mother closes her eyes, taking a deep breath. When she opens them, they’re harder. “We cannot see the Havenforts anymore.”
It’s the absolute last thing Beth expects to hear. She thought maybe someone was dying. “What?”
“Dashiell has been instrumental in garnering support for the Matrimonial Causes Act, and Lord Ashmond is vehemently opposed. Apparently there’s been some bribery, I’m not sure on whose side, but the blood has gone bad between them. It was his one demand.”
Beth stares at her mother. “He demanded it?”
Mother nods slowly. “I planned to find a gentler way to break it to you. I know how fond you are of Lady Gwen.”
“That’s absurd,” Beth says, her voice ringing around the room. How petty and vindictive and absolutely ridiculous—
“If we continue consorting with the Havenforts I am certain he will rescind his approval and that will mark you for the rest of the season,” Mother says.
Beth just stares at her, her eyes stinging with rising tears. Mother steps forward, obviously able to see the brimming anguish on her face, but Beth steps back.
“I’ll stop seeing Dashiell as well,” Mother says, like it’s some sort of consolation that they’ll both be miserable.
“I can’t give up Gwen,” Beth says, her voice raw, fists clenched. “I won’t.”
“Beth.”
“And you,” she adds, swiping at her cheeks and shaking her head. She won’t, she won’t believe this. “You can’t just stop seeing Lord Havenfort. You like him so much. He makes you smile.”
“I’m not worried about—”
“He makes you happy. You’ve never been happy!” Beth exclaims roughly. “And you want to give that up just so I can marry someone?”
“What else are we supposed to do?” Mother snaps, her voice a dampened shout that reverberates around them. “Your uncle wants the residence as soon as the season’s over. He’s already arranging for deliveries to the estate. We’re about to be out of a house and what’s left of my settlement won’t get us through six months. We cannot throw away our one chance for stability for—”
“For what?” Beth shouts back. “For love, friendship, meaningful connection?”
“You’d rather we be on the streets than marry the heir to the Ashmond fortune?” Mother returns.
“We wouldn’t be on the streets. I’m sure we could stay with the Havenforts.”
“And seal your fate away to be a burden of charity on your friend until you die? We would never survive the scandal,” Mother says firmly.
“I don’t care,” Beth says.
“Lord Ashmond will ensure there isn’t another offer for you if you refuse his son. Not this season, not next, possibly not ever,” Mother continues, like Beth hasn’t even spoken.
“I don’t care,” Beth yells, her words bouncing around the room. “I can’t—we can’t just give them up because Lord Ashmond is angry about some stupid act!”
Mother opens her mouth and then shuts it, jaw clenched. She raises a hand to rub at the back of her neck. She must be getting a headache. Beth feels one coming on herself. But they will stand here until Mother is disabused of this ridiculous notion that they have to give up their only happiness—that Beth has to give up Gwen for some stupid fight Lord Ashmond has with—
“Lord Montson is a nice man,” Mother says, so much more than exhaustion in her voice now.
“What?” Beth asks, ripped from her own sinking thoughts.
“He’s a nice man. He dotes on you. He’ll be kind to you, give you everything you could want in life.”
Beth hesitates. Of course Lord Montson is nice. But he’s simply that, nice, nothing more, nothing less.
“You’ll have a safe, happy marriage. What more is it you want, Beth? Explain it to me.”
Just because her mother has given up doesn’t mean Beth has to.
“I want to be loved,” Beth says without hesitation. “I want to feel more than bland fondness for the man who’ll be in my bed and own me.”
Mother steps toward her. “You could grow to love him.”
“Like you grew to love Father?” Beth spits back, watching as Mother stops cold, the burgeoning look of understanding sliding from her face.
“The man we have found for you is gentle and kind. If you cannot grow to love him, you will be secure knowing he will never hurt you. It is so much more than most girls get to ask, and he’s throwing it all at your feet.”
“So it doesn’t matter if I never love him,” Beth says, fists curling into her skirts as she stares at her mother.
She sees it so clearly now. Love has never been part of the equation in her mother’s mind. A happy accident, possible, but never the goal, not ever, not once. All those platitudes, all those apologies, and she never expected Beth to have it. Because she’s never expected it for herself.
“It is the most we can get and you should—we should both be grateful,” Mother says, stepping forward to hold her by the shoulders, ducking her head to catch Beth’s eyes. “You’ll be safe.”
Regret lives in her mother’s gaze and she steps forward, sliding her hands around to pull Beth against her. Beth holds stiff in her arms, fighting against her comfort.
The one true hope for her mother’s happiness will have to be shoved aside just as Beth’s will. Theirs will be a strangely mutual grief and loss, as they depart for a life beneath another thumb. It should make it hurt less, the solidarity. But it just makes her angrier.
“You could grow to love Lord Montson,” Mother whispers, stroking at her back like she used to do when Beth was small. “Affection can blossom over time. You haven’t felt love yet, you might be surprised.”
“I know what love is,” Beth says, feeling the words like a slap against her face. She pulls back so she can step out of her mother’s arms. “Like mother, like daughter.”
“Beth,” Mother says softly.
“I need to lie down. You’ll have to tell me what you told Lord Havenfort last time. I can say the same to Gwen.”
The heartbreak on her mother’s face should give her some kind of victory, but all it serves to do is make her own chest ache as she skirts around Mother and marches up the stairs. Her body is heavy and her head hurts. When she finally makes it to her room, she hasn’t even the energy to slam the door.
Instead, she lets it snick shut behind her and stumbles over to her bed. She slides to the floor to brace her back against the footboard, poked and prodded by her hoop and buttons. Her skirt is a mound of cotton and starching around her. She stares at the empty wall and then leans her head back to look blankly up at the ceiling.
She had convinced herself she could live with all of it if it meant she could have Gwen. Companions—such a meager word. But it was a word. It was a relationship. It was something.
It was her one chance at love. And now it’s gone in one brutal strike.
In this room that isn’t hers, this house that isn’t hers, she sits with a life ahead that won’t be hers either, devoid of all happiness and desire. No love, no hope, no Gwen.
There’s no way out but forward. Like mother, like daughter.