Chapter Twenty-Three
Beth
Beth wends through the hedgerows, stomping a bit and listening to Gwen shuffle along behind her. She’s not ready to face her yet and so keeps winding them deeper into the labyrinth. Lord Montson abandoned her, and Gwen was goading her, and she’s trussed up and hot and tired and she just wants to keep storming away until she fades into these stupid hedges forever.
“Beth, Jesus, stop.”
She whips around, startled by Gwen’s hoarse whisper, and finds the other woman only feet away. She’s slightly sweaty and a little disheveled by now, but utterly, wrenchingly gorgeous. Her blond hair has fallen in whisps around her face with the rest of it piled up in a twisted braid on her head. Her collarbones catch the moonlight above them and her eyes seem bigger and darker here, alone in the hedges.
She’s so beautiful, and so wonderful, and there just in front of her, and Beth can’t have her. The frustration makes her itch to punch something. “No champagne for the hedges?”
She feels vicious, like if she jabs Gwen hard enough maybe she can pull her down into her pit of despair. Because while Beth’s been miserable and alone, it’s looked like Gwen’s been having a marvelous time being “ill” with drink, cavorting with her cousins and father, one big happy family.
“I’m refraining,” Gwen says tightly. “I’m surprised you let Albie force you in here. You must have people to talk to, invitations to give out, flowers to pick.”
“Well we can’t all gamble and drink our feelings away. Some of us have responsibilities.”
“Yes, like condemning decades of women to unhappy marriages. Can’t let that one go by.”
“Don’t talk politics now,” Beth says quickly. “I’m sick of it. It’s all they talk about.”
“You weren’t sick of it in the ballroom,” Gwen counters. “More than happy to take Montson’s side now, aren’t you?”
“What else am I supposed to do?” Beth exclaims, her voice rising above their heated whisper. “If it’s not talk of the wedding, it’s talk of that stupid act. You get to drink and run wild, and I’m trapped with them all the time.”
“I haven’t been running wild,” Gwen argues.
“You’ve been having a gay old time forgetting about me, and I’m trapped in hell,” Beth spits back.
“You think I’m having fun, watching you parade around with Montson? You think this isn’t ripping me apart? You left me, like yesterday’s trash,” Gwen says, stepping closer, her face dark and tight. “You threw me away, threw my father away, and you want to judge how we’re coping while you’re the talk of the ton?”
“I didn’t throw you away,” Beth says quickly, the fight sapped out of her now that she’s this close to Gwen. Now that she can see the tears running down her lover’s face. Now that she can see she’s lost weight, can see the bags beneath her eyes.
“You get this big life, with the pride of the ton. Luxury and happiness. And I’m stuck watching you have it while everyone else around me goes off to their stupid happy endings. And I’m just standing there with no one. You don’t think it’s killing me?”
Beth finds herself reaching out before she can think about it, cupping Gwen’s jaw in her hand and stepping forward until their skirts press together. “You look worse than Mother,” Beth whispers, searching Gwen’s eyes.
“What?” Gwen asks, the word soft, her whole body gone slack at Beth’s touch.
“She’s been taking laudanum,” Beth admits, all her anger and hurt dissolving to a quiet peace now that they’re together here, alone, just for a moment. “And even then she’s barely sleeping. But she won’t talk about it.”
“Why?” Gwen wonders.
Beth almost smiles as Gwen’s hands settle on her hips, too many hoops and skirts to feel more than the pressure, but it’s there. “You think it’s all happiness and wedding planning, but I envy you. Mother envies you and your father, laughing and drinking while we’re trapped in this waking nightmare with these terrible people that just . . . goes on forever,” she says, wrapping her other arm around Gwen’s neck until their foreheads press together.
“So we’re in mutual misery,” Gwen murmurs, curling closer until her hands meet behind Beth’s back.
“I miss you,” Beth admits, looking up to meet Gwen’s eyes, almost too close, a little blurry.
Gwen nods and leans down, pressing her lips to Beth’s in a chaste kiss. In the moonlight, at the back of this hedge maze at the biggest ball of the season, it feels like they’re in a moment outside of time. A détente from all the pain and acrimony and separation.
“I miss you too,” Gwen says. She pulls back so they can see each other. Even the moon is helping, unusually bright. “Maybe you could see Meredith sometimes, and I could happen to be there, and no one needs to know.”
Beth sighs, the moment shattered. It’s not enough.
“I don’t want that,” Beth mumbles. Gwen goes to pull away, but Beth shakes her head, sliding her hand to cup the back of Gwen’s neck. “I don’t want just that,” she amends. “I want—this is so stupid. All of us miserable, and for what?”
Gwen sighs. “So we don’t end up destitute with our parents ruined.”
Beth blinks. Their parents.
The proper marriage presented itself, and Beth just . . . accepted defeat. Submitted to this terrible future because her mother told her they should—told her it was the only way. She trusted that her mother knew best. That she had truly considered every possible option. But her mother was wrong.
This—all of them devastated and heartbroken—can’t be the only way out. Beth refuses to believe it. Refuses to stand by and watch them all suffer forever because they weren’t brave enough even to hope.
If Mother could just open her eyes—could believe she’s worthy of Lord Havenfort’s affections—if Beth can just make her see reason, they can change this. She and Gwen had a plan, and they just—
“We surrendered!” Beth exclaims, wincing as the sound bounces around their little hedgerow.
“What?”
“Our parents. We—God, Gwen. We just gave up. We could still—would your father still propose, do you think?”
Gwen gapes at her. “Would my—you want to get our parents together, now? We tried, it was a miserable failure,” she says slowly.
Beth shakes her head. “It wasn’t though. In the beginning, maybe. But once they started talking again—Mother cried all the way home the day we had to break off our friendship with you. She was so happy before that. They were in love, I’m sure of it.” Gwen stares at her. “Your father’s been drunk as a skunk for weeks. Is that normal behavior?”
“Well, not normal, exactly—”
“And my mother, taking laudanum? I’ve been telling myself it’s just exhaustion and resignation—the Ashmonds really are quite dull and their opinions—but she’s sad. She’s heartbroken, just like I am.”
Gwen blinks down at her, head cocked to the side, and Beth surges up in renewed joy, pressing a hard kiss to her mouth. She pulls away before Gwen lists into her, sliding her hands around to take Gwen’s so they can see each other fully.
“We can still do this, can’t we?” Beth slots their fingers together until they’re clutched knuckle to knuckle.
Gwen hesitates. “I’m not sure.”
“Can’t we try?” Beth insists. “The wedding is in three weeks. We could still do it.”
Gwen sucks on her cheek, considering her. Beth fills up with hope, planning already. They’ll force their parents together. Everyone gets to be happy.
“Do you think your mother would allow it?”
“Allow what?” Beth asks.
“The scandal. You dumping Montson will inflame tensions that are already there. And my father’s votes for the MCA are so precarious—”
“You’re really citing that damn act as a reason not to do this?” Beth exclaims, gaping at Gwen and trying to tug her hands free. “You can’t be serious.”
“I’m not saying we can’t try,” Gwen says, holding tight and sighing. “I just—you’re about to marry one of the most influential men in the whole of London. Breaking your engagement is no small matter.”
“I know that,” Beth snaps back, unnerved by Gwen’s calm, detached tone. “But if it would make our parents happy, and us happy, what does it matter? Your father can pass the bill. Lord Ashmond wouldn’t be blustering about it if he wasn’t worried.”
“I suppose,” Gwen says slowly.
“So sod it. Get your father to propose and I’ll break it off with Lord Montson and they’ll vote and we can leave London, the four of us together.”
Gwen gently pulls her hands from Beth’s. “You know it’s not that simple. We got lucky before. I’m not sure we’ll get lucky again.”
Beth curls her empty hands into her skirts, the hope deflating in her chest. But she’s not going to give this up without a fight again. She’s not going to let Gwen become a drunk and let herself become a broodmare for Lord Montson.
It wasn’t just luck. There was something there. There had to be. They can change this.
“Does your father not love my mother anymore?”
Gwen meets her eyes, startled. “What?”
“I can still see it, the way he looks at her. Like you’re looking at me right now,” she adds, appealing to what she knows Gwen is trying to hide. What she herself has been trying to hide for weeks. “If he thought he stood a chance, would he try again?”
Gwen shifts her shoulders, glancing around their little hideaway. “Would your mother say yes?” Beth hesitates for a moment. “Because I won’t put him through this a third time.”
“I can convince her,” Beth says firmly, though it sounds weak even to her own ears.
Can she convince her mother to give up the security of an alliance with the Ashmonds? Can she convince her that the four of them would withstand the resulting scandal? Convince her that Lord Havenfort would never leave them in the situation her father did?
Because Beth doesn’t care if there’s insecurity down the way. This stolen, fraught moment with Gwen is the best she’s felt in weeks. Like the aching loneliness has been punched out of her chest, leaving nothing but joy in its wake. And if having Gwen means being invited to fewer balls, all the better. If it means watching her mother relax, watching her be treated well, watching her be loved? After more than Beth’s lifetime of sadness, isolation, and abuse, Mother deserves some happiness, whatever the cost.
“Can you really?” Gwen presses. “I’m not going to get his hopes up again. I can’t—I can’t get my own hopes up again.”
Beth resolves then that it’s happiness or bust. They’ll make this work. They’ll get their parents to admit their love, to commit to each other, and then she and Gwen can walk into the sunset together. Society will no longer care about them, daughters of two joined empires.
“I’ll convince her,” Beth says again, pushing all her hope and desire into the words. “All you need to do is convince him there’s hope.”
Gwen considers her for a long, painful pause. Beth pulls herself up to her tallest, her most confident. They can do this. She’s sure.
At least, she’s sure she wants to be sure.
“All right,” Gwen says.
“Really?” Beth asks.
Gwen laughs softly and steps back up to her, wrapping her in her arms. Beth buries her face in Gwen’s shoulder, careful of her gown, and breathes her in. She smells like lilacs and sweat, sweet and tangy.
“If you’re convinced, I’m convinced,” Gwen tells the side of her head. “I’m really not strong enough to lose you again.”
“That makes two of us,” Beth says, pulling back to meet her eyes. “So we’ll try?”
“We’ll try,” Gwen agrees. She glances over her shoulder to confirm they’re still alone and then looks back, her gaze distinctly more predatory. “How long do you think we’ve been here?”
“Ten minutes, maybe?” Beth posits, stepping back toward the hedges and tugging Gwen with her. “We could stand another ten, couldn’t we? We got lost.”
“Terribly lost,” Gwen agrees, following Beth and dipping her head down to skate her lips up Beth’s throat.
Beth sighs when her back hits the hedge. Gwen grunts as she’s momentarily knocked away from her.
“These damn skirts,” Beth growls, tugging Gwen in and bumping her hoop off to the left while hers shifts to the right.
Gwen hums in approval and crashes their mouths back together. And then they’re lost in the heat of lips and teeth and tongue. In their private sighs and moans. In their mutual frustration of all the layers and the silks and that no, neither of them can get on the ground right now, and there’s not a bench, and, God, did no one think about the poor ladies itching to—
Well of course they didn’t.
They content themselves with ten minutes of fiercely traded kisses until even the heat of each other’s hands can’t distract them from their responsibilities inside.
Gwen steps back first, her lips too plump and bodice askew. “We should get you back to Lord Montson. He’ll have had time to miss you now.”
“Shut up,” Beth says, shaking her head as she rights her own bodice and gingerly touches her hair. “All right?”
“You’re fine. I think you did a number on mine though,” Gwen says, patting at the braid Beth accidentally tugged down from her updo.
“Oh, damn, here, let me,” Beth says, stepping forward just as Mr. Mason appears at the end of their hedgerow.
“I’ve got her. You need to get back.” His eyes flick over them and Beth tries to step into the shadows so he can’t see her flushed cheeks and kiss-raw lips. “You’re more than invigorated enough by the air.”
“Mr.—Albie, it . . . isn’t,” Beth starts.
“You two made up?” he asks, cutting her off with a knowing look.
Beth glances back at Gwen, who just rolls her eyes. “Um, yes,” she says slowly.
“Good. Gwen can fill me in. Bobby will escort you back to Meredith, who’s waiting to bring you back inside.”
“Thank you, I—” Beth starts, stepping toward him with a final glance back at Gwen—beautiful, disheveled, so kissable Gwen—
“Hurt her again and I won’t be the one hauling you out of the bushes,” he says lowly as she reaches his side.
“I’ll do my best,” Beth says honestly, reaching out to squeeze his arm before hurrying through the maze. Because now that she knows at least Gwen’s cousins approve, there’s even less calling her to return to her fake life.
They just have to survive the next few weeks, convince their parents to marry, and then undergo the scandal. That’s all. Easy.