Chapter Twenty-Eight
Gwen
“You’re not expecting visitors, are you?” Mrs. Stelm asks as she, Gwen, and Mrs. Gilpe traipse from their card game in the kitchen toward the front door.
“It’s gone nine, rude to be calling without an invitation,” Mrs. Gilpe mutters, though Gwen’s rather sure it’s just carried-over frustration from the thorough trouncing Mrs. Stelm was giving them.
“Could be something political,” Gwen offers.
Father’s in his study, though she believes he has plans to be at the club later. Something about rubbing the act’s passage into some smug conservative faces.
Another knock rings around the foyer and Mrs. Gilpe sighs gustily, marching to the door and flinging it open—the porter’s on his night off—with Gwen and Mrs. Stelm right behind. She’s clearly ready to give the visitor a dressing-down, but her words die in her throat.
Beth and Lady Demeroven stare anxiously back at them there on the front stoop.
“Beth?” Gwen whispers.
“Is Lord Havenfort at home?” Lady Demeroven asks, her voice shaking but stance tall and proud.
Mrs. Stelm, Mrs. Gilpe, and Gwen just stare at her, all of them a little slack-jawed.
“I apologize for our . . . forward arrival, but it really is urgent.”
“Right. Yes, I’ll, ah, I’ll go get him, shall I?” Mrs. Stelm says, glancing at Mrs. Gilpe and Gwen before hurrying off down the hall.
“Come in, please,” Mrs. Gilpe says, ushering the two women inside.
They’re dressed for a fine evening out, in full hoops and silk, hair piled high and makeup perfectly done. Gwen, by comparison, is wearing an old pair of stays and a housedress, Mrs. Gilpe’s in an apron, and Mrs. Stelm’s lucky she’s not in a dressing gown at this point.
“What . . .” Gwen begins as Beth separates from her mother to come stand at her side.
Beth takes her hand, nearly vibrating, and Gwen glances between Lady Demeroven and her daughter. Lady Demeroven’s practically shaking as well, but looks far less sanguine than Beth, who’s almost . . . radiant beside her. Lady Demeroven looks like she’s about to go to the gallows, actually.
“What are you doing here?” Gwen asks, turning back to Beth.
“What we should have done months ago,” Beth says simply, squeezing her hand. “Watch,” she adds, nudging Gwen to look toward the hall where Father has paused by the staircase, staring at them all, Mrs. Stelm hovering behind him.
Silence hangs over the foyer, interrupted only by the shifting of fabric. Gwen would break the quiet, but she can’t seem to open her mouth, not with the violent hope swirling in her stomach.
“Has something happened?” Father finally asks after the shock has worn off.
He hurries toward them. Mrs. Gilpe moves with Mrs. Stelm to respectfully vacate the foyer, though Gwen’s sure they’ll be leaving the door to the serving hall open and hovering just out of sight.
“Is everything all right?” Father asks again, striding purposefully toward Lady Demeroven, who’s just . . . staring at him. “The girls?”
He glances at Beth, who gives him a wave and a smile. Gwen wonders how she can be so blasé when this feels—momentous, precious, precarious.
“Is it the engagement?” he prompts, turning back to Lady Demeroven, now only steps away, and still standing frozen. “Cordelia, you’re scaring me,” he insists.
Her name seems to unglue her jaw and Gwen watches as she takes a very deep breath. It looks for a moment like she’s about to curtsy, but she keeps sinking, until she’s knelt in front of Father, on one—
Gwen gasps and Beth elbows her. But it doesn’t matter. Father’s now the one shaking, staring down at this woman who has broken his heart, and given him joy, and stayed with him in memory all these years.
“I, um,” Lady Demeroven starts. Father’s whole body jolts, like she’s brought him out of some kind of temporary stasis. “I realize this is . . . abrupt, and forward, and possibly futile. But I, ah, I wanted to apologize, for the hurt I’ve caused. To ask your forgiveness, if you can give it. And to offer—” She pauses, glancing over at Beth, who gives her a thumbs-up.
Gwen can’t believe this. It can’t be happening. Did she fall asleep and get carried upstairs and is now living some sort of fever dream?
“Well, to offer myself,” Lady Demeroven says, scrunching her nose while Beth laughs quietly. “That sounds terrible. I meant—I mean, I am here to ask you to trust me once more, with the promise that I will never break your trust again, or your heart.”
“Cordelia—” Father starts, but Lady Demeroven shakes her head.
“Will you marry me?” she asks, looking up at him, her face broken open, young and shy and hopeful.
She looks a little like Beth and it makes Gwen’s chest ache. Say yes, she wants to scream. Oh, please, say yes.
“Is this—is this for the girls?” Father asks, glancing back at them, his eyes softening at what must be the sight of them, clutching at each other hopefully.
“If it was?” Lady Demeroven asks.
Father looks back down at her. “An arrangement for their sake could be made, but do not ask me thus if it isn’t for yourself.”
Lady Demeroven’s face brightens and she looks up at Father with such adoration and open emotion that Gwen almost wants to turn and give them privacy. Almost, but not enough, because she’s desperate to see Father say—
“Then yes,” Father says softly, reaching down to take Lady Demeroven’s hand and pull her up from the floor.
He tugs her close and plants a kiss on her that makes her squeak and then melt into him, the two of them held tight together.
“Oh my God,” Gwen hears herself say. Beth shrieks, the sound bouncing around the room and breaking their parents apart.
Gwen whacks Beth, but she’s giggling too much to do more. Giggling, giddy, shocked, and stunned. Their—they did it. Their parents are—
“Happy, girls?” Father asks, turning to regard them with Lady Demeroven still in his arms.
Beth nods and rushes to hug her mother, who only just steps away from Father to receive her, both of them laughing in delight.
Father watches them fondly before stepping aside, arms outstretched. Gwen finds herself hurrying across the floor in much the same way, wrapping Father up tight in a hug that feels like freedom.
“I’m so happy for you,” Gwen tells him as she pulls back.
“Me too,” Father says, chuckling down at her. He can’t stop smiling, his eyes all crinkled. “And happy for you as well.”
“Yes,” Lady Demeroven says, and Gwen turns, Father’s arm sliding around her shoulders as they face their—what, exactly? She watches Lady Demeroven give Beth a soft smile. Beth’s grin widens. “We’ll need to discuss the particulars, and obviously you girls understand the charade that will have to continue?” Lady Demeroven asks.
“That we’re stepsisters, or that we’re still looking for husbands?” Beth asks, looking gleeful.
“Both,” Lady Demeroven says, glancing at Father, who nods. “Though perhaps we can forget the rest of this season, and possibly the next.”
Gwen feels herself relax into Father’s side. “So, you don’t mind?” she asks Lady Demeroven, feeling shy but bold at once.
“No,” Lady Demeroven says softly, squeezing Beth. Beth’s shoulders seem to come down, chin high. “If you’re both happy, that’s all that matters, and I’m just as happy for you. And better—goodness, better you’re together than out there. The things Lord Ashmond said tonight,” she says, glancing at Beth, whose smile dims.
“I hope his wife is all right,” she says.
“What happened?” Father asks.
Lady Demeroven wrinkles her nose. “I think I’ve ensured this is a spectacular scandal. I suppose I should have opened with that. We’ll be . . . we’ll be dragging your reputation through quite a lot. God, we have to formally end your engagement,” she adds, looking to Beth.
“I do think storming out rather did that for us,” Beth counters.
Father chuckles and all three of them turn to look at him. “Don’t worry about our collective reputation. We’ll be the talk of the ton for a cycle and then they’ll forget us. I would be happy—no, honored, to pen a refusal for Beth, if you’d like.”
Lady Demeroven’s grin is positively evil. “That sounds wonderful.”
“Excellent,” Father says, squeezing Gwen to his side before stepping away and holding out his hand for his . . . good Lord . . . fiancée. “Shall we? Breakfast in the morning, girls?”
“We’re staying?” Beth asks.
Lady Demeroven takes Father’s hand. “I hardly think one more scandal can hurt us, do you?”
“Agreed,” Father says, grinning at her before looking back at them. “Have a good night, ladies.”
And with that, Father sweeps Lady Demeroven off down the hall toward his study, leaving a flabbergasted Gwen and Beth alone in the front hall, staring after them. They listen as the study door opens and shuts, and then it’s just silence, the two of them there, clutching at each other in shock.
“What the absolute hell?” Gwen finally exclaims, turning to look Beth over, the relief and happiness and confusion of the last few minutes skittering over her skin.
“Surprise?” Beth says, laughing as Gwen shakes herself, unsure if she wants to whack her or kiss her senseless.
“How?” she asks, searching for better words, but coming up empty.
“Lord Ashmond and Mother got in a heated row, and that was kind of the last straw. We stormed out, and then she was panicking and I thought, well, why not try just one more time and . . . it worked.”
“It worked,” Gwen repeats, glancing toward the closed study. They actually did it.
She feels Beth’s fingers trailing down her arms and turns back, tangling their hands together. They’re both wide-eyed and breathless. Gwen swallows, too many words caught in her throat. Beth is so beautiful, and so brilliant, in her foyer, hers to have and—
“I hope it’s all right with you that we’re here forever. I really don’t think I could stand to say goodbye to you a third time.”
Gwen tugs her in, instinctive and awkward. She wraps her arms tight around Beth’s shoulders and Beth laughs. “No more goodbyes, ever,” Gwen says firmly, the thought burning bright through her chest.
Beth giggles into her neck, lips brushing over her pulse. “Yeah?”
“I’m keeping you.”
Beth presses closer, squeezing her waist. “Forever and always?”
“Forever and always and eternity and infinity,” Gwen promises, a rush of heady, desperate joy descending through her shock that makes her pull back to see Beth’s face.
“For centuries, and eons, and epochs?” Beth asks, her eyes sparkling.
“For every season, and year, and decade, and—” She’s halfway onto bended knee before she even thinks about it.
“Come here,” Beth says, hauling her up into a thoroughly, exultantly, ridiculously perfect kiss. The silk of her gown beneath Gwen’s palms, the press of her lips, the pressure of her hips—it’s heaven, and they stay there kissing like it’s the end of the world for what feels like ages.
Hers. Hers. Hers. Forever.
“You have a room.”
They break apart, stumbling out of each other’s arms. No longer alone, Gwen looks up to find Mrs. Gilpe and Mrs. Stelm standing in the doorway to the serving hall.
“Right,” Gwen says, wiping at her mouth as Beth goes crimson.
“Good to see you, Miss Demeroven. Gwen, you have a shift she can use?” Mrs. Stelm adds.
“I do, yes, right. Thank you. Um, good night. We’ll—oh, Beth, you’ll love playing cards with—right. This is Mrs. Stelm, and Mrs. Gilpe, our housekeepers,” she says, bumbling around the words. Beth laughs, and the two women regard her in fond exasperation.
“Very pleased to make your acquaintance,” Beth says, dipping in a curtsy that makes both women grin.
“I like her,” Mrs. Stelm says brightly.
“I’m assuming you heard . . . all of that?” Gwen asks.
Mrs. Gilpe rolls her eyes. “If your parents agree, we’ll prepare your room for two, otherwise she can have the empty one next to you. And Miss Demeroven—”
“Beth, please,” Beth says softly.
Mrs. Gilpe nods. “If you have need of anything, our quarters are down this hall, past the kitchens, and to the left.”
“Thank you,” Beth says, her eyes going a bit wide.
Gwen reasons the reality of how much has changed has just hit her. She can tell in a few minutes she’ll be in her own complete state of paralysis. Best they get upstairs before they’re too overwhelmed to bother. And she doesn’t particularly like the gleeful look on Mrs. Gilpe’s and Mrs. Stelm’s faces. Beth is fresh meat, another young woman to embarrass and spoil, and tonight, that’s entirely Gwen’s job.
“Come on,” she says, taking Beth’s hand to start the trek to her—their—room.
Beth waves at Mrs. Stelm and Mrs. Gilpe and then laughs as Gwen tugs on her arm, practically dragging her up the stairs. Of course, as soon as they round the first landing, Beth’s as eager as she is, the two of them sharing one look before bursting into giggles. They all but sprint up the stairs and down her—their—wing until they reach Gwen’s room.
Gwen pauses, Beth’s hand warm in hers, the two of them flushed and happy and gloriously free.
“Gwen,” Beth prompts. She reaches out and opens the door, nudging Gwen through.
Gwen lets herself be handled and watches as Beth flips the lock with confidence and then comes to stand with her in the middle of the room. It’s a mess, with clothing everywhere and a few dishes left about. She’s been in a funk for weeks and it shows.
But Beth just grins at her, stepping forward until she can slide her hands up Gwen’s chest and draw her into another fiery kiss. And then Gwen doesn’t care so much about the cleanliness of the room, or where they’ll put all of Beth’s things, or how they’re going to balance their public and private lives, or what exactly they’re likely to face after a letter penned by both of their parents goes to the Ashmonds.
“I love you,” Beth whispers against her mouth.
Gwen clutches at Beth’s waist and pulls back so she can meet her eyes. “I love you too.”
Beth smiles and then slowly spins in her arms. “Help me out of this godforsaken thing?”
“With so much pleasure,” Gwen says, reaching out with eager fingers to start undoing Beth’s dress. She’s going to kiss her lover, and undress her, and touch her, in their bedroom, for the first of many, many wonderful nights to come.