Chapter Two
Gwen
“Are you going to explain what happened?” Gwen demands as the steward shuts the door to their carriage.
Father looks over at her, unimpressed, and Gwen crosses her arms, tempted to throw a fit. It’s been two hours since he froze like a deer caught in the crosshairs when Beth’s mother showed up. Two hours he made them stay to avoid her questions. She had to dance with both Albie and Bobby. Twice.
“Father,” she presses.
“Just an old acquaintance,” he says with an uninterested shrug, looking out the window at absolutely nothing in the dark predawn.
“Who almost threw herself out of the party at the sight of you?”
“She always was a bit high-strung,” he dismisses, feigning interest in his cufflinks next. “How was your evening?”
Gwen rolls her eyes. “As dull as the last three opening balls. Saw Meredith and Annabeth briefly, but most of my friends are married in the country now. And the only new friend I met is apparently the spawn of your arch enemy.”
“Lady Demeroven isn’t my arch enemy,” he scoffs, glancing up to meet her eyes. “She’s—no one. Her husband was an arse though.”
“I got that feeling from Beth.”
“Really?” Father asks, surprised.
Gwen shrugs. “She didn’t say much, but it sounds like he was lackluster at best. How did you know him?”
“We sat in the Lords together. Awful man. Flatulent too.”
Gwen wrinkles her nose. It’s hard to imagine the glamorous Lady Demeroven with some overaged, gaseous man. She’s so beautiful, it boggles the mind. “She must have had other options,” Gwen says without thought.
Father’s face tightens. “Yes, well, let’s hope you do better this year, or perhaps you’ll be Lord Psoris’ next victim. Young Miss Demeroven got away all right?”
Gwen snorts. “Just fine. She’s lovely. Funny.”
“Cordelia had a sharp wit.” Gwen watches as he seems to hear himself and then straightens up. “Well, time for bed.”
The carriage pulls to a rough stop outside their manor. “Father—”
But he’s out of the carriage and reaching back for her before she can blink, obviously eager to be rid of her questions. The sun’s starting to come up as it is. They never stay this late; she could have been asleep hours ago. She isn’t about to let this go.
“How do you know Lady Demeroven?” Gwen asks, following her father up the grand steps, holding her skirts higher than she should to keep up.
It’s like he’s actually trying to run away from her. He throws the door open and hurries into the foyer, only to skid to a halt at Mrs. Gilpe’s unimpressed look. Gwen slides in behind him, covering her mouth against a laugh. Mrs. Gilpe scowls at her father, intimidating in her tartan robe and braided hair.
“It’s nearly five,” she says.
“And?” Father replies, going for dismissive but failing as his face splits in a yawn.
“You’re never home later than two from these infernal balls. We were worried sick,” Mrs. Gilpe says sternly.
“Father didn’t want to risk running back into Lady Demeroven,” Gwen says, diligently noting Mrs. Gilpe’s slight reaction to the name. She must know more.
“I’m going to bed,” Father says, shaking his head as Gwen opens her mouth. “And so should you. We’ve promenading to do far too soon.”
“No, we’re not actually going to promenade, are we? Can’t we just linger in the parlor? It’s so much less work for the same result.”
“If I had to be up all night and then prepare a luncheon, the least you can do is walk around the park,” Mrs. Gilpe puts in.
“See,” Father says. “Can’t go disappointing Mrs. Gilpe.” He salutes them and then takes off for the stairs.
“You hate promenading!” Gwen calls after him. Father just shrugs dramatically and then disappears around the corner of the landing, leaving her protest hanging in the air.
“Come along, you can harass him later today,” Mrs. Gilpe says, reaching out to take Gwen’s arm and guide her up the stairs after him.
“Do you know who Lady Demeroven is?”
“Wife of Lord Demeroven, I’d imagine,” Mrs. Gilpe says flatly.
“Really. To Father. He almost fell over when he saw her and she couldn’t get away fast enough. She practically dragged her daughter, Beth, out of the room.”
Mrs. Gilpe purses her lips. They clear the landing to the second floor and head down the hall. Father’s door is already firmly shut. Gwen goes to prod, but Mrs. Stelm leans out of Gwen’s room.
“Didn’t die in a carriage crash then,” Mrs. Stelm says gamely, grinning beneath her bonnet cap, a few of her ribbons half fallen out and framing her face.
“You weren’t really worried, were you?” Gwen asks as Mrs. Gilpe ushers her into her room and the two of them get her situated to begin releasing her from the monstrosity that is her dress.
“Not really,” Mrs. Stelm assures her. “Though Mrs. Gilpe was . . . concerned.”
“For you,” Mrs. Gilpe puts in, passing behind Mrs. Stelm with a nudge to her waist to begin unlacing Gwen’s skirt. “Your father can stay out all night if he likes. You still have some honor to protect.”
“Some?” Gwen exclaims. Mrs. Stelm slaps Mrs. Gilpe’s arm.
“As long as your father was in eyesight, it doesn’t much matter,” Mrs. Gilpe says.
“Barely let me out of it for the second half of the evening,” Gwen grumbles as Mrs. Gilpe finishes undoing her buttons. “It was like he thought if I turned away Lady Demeroven would somehow appear again.”
“Lady Demeroven?” Mrs. Stelm repeats. They briefly disappear when they lift her skirt over her head. “They spoke?”
Gwen glances between her housekeeper and lady’s maid as they exchange a series of narrowed eyes and eyebrow raises. “Who is this woman, what did she do?”
“No one,” Mrs. Gilpe says firmly.
Mrs. Stelm rolls her eyes, laying out Gwen’s skirt and bodice to air overnight.
“But—” Gwen says, looking to Mrs. Stelm.
Mrs. Stelm just shrugs and turns back to undoing clasps of her corset while Mrs. Gilpe undoes the hoop cage and lowers it to the ground.
“An old acquaintance, I’m sure he was just surprised.”
“He was more than surprised, it was like—”
“Time for bed,” Mrs. Gilpe insists as she deftly pulls the pins from Gwen’s hair. “You need to look at least somewhat rested for this afternoon. You’re not sixteen anymore.”
Gwen gapes and Mrs. Stelm scoffs. “Mrs. Gilpe, really.”
“Bed,” Mrs. Gilpe says firmly, pushing Gwen toward her already turned-down sheets. “Good night.”
“It’s morning,” Gwen protests, watching Mrs. Gilpe take Mrs. Stelm’s arm and practically drag her out of the room.
“Sleep,” Mrs. Gilpe says sternly, before shuffling Mrs. Stelm out into the hall.
The door shuts, and Gwen stands staring out at her slightly disheveled room completely nonplussed.
* * *
Gwen twists her hands together as she and Father trod along the walking path beside the Long Water. The clouds haven’t lifted and the park is awash in a dull gray-hued light that does nothing for either of their moods. She barely slept, and Father doesn’t look much better.
All her plans of subtly divining information out of him seem to fall flat against his listless mood. She stares around at the other families set up along the path, with their overlarge tea sets and tarps, the girls in bright colors, mothers equally done up. She feels a bit shabby by comparison in her dark navy dress and cape—but it’s cold.
She can see one of the younger girls shivering. She looks back pleadingly, but her mother forces her to stand at the edge of their wilting picnic blanket to smile at the young men, who are more interested in the sculls on the lake than the girls along the path.
“We should have stayed home,” Father mutters, taking her arm and leaning into her against a gale of wind that whips through the park.
“Agreed,” Gwen says, tugging him closer as they continue to stroll. “We could play chess?”
Father smiles, nudging her. “You’re on. Continue our wager?”
“Obviously,” Gwen says with a grin. One of the lads tossing a ball on the lawn misses and goes tumbling into the grass. Gwen smothers a laugh.
Father has no such compunction and guffaws loudly, ignoring the scowls from the matriarchs on benches along the river. He shrugs at them, his charming grin thawing their disdain. Somehow when Gwen gives that grin when she’s in trouble it never comes off well. But Father could smile his way out of an execution if he wanted.
“Shall we take the fork and walk you past the pitch?” he suggests as they come up on Carriage Drive, presenting them with the choice to stay along the lake or cross the park to wend toward the opposite boulevard.
Gwen hesitates. She does enjoy watching a game of cricket, and there’s bound to be at least one on the pitches. But then she spots Beth and Lady Demeroven standing by the bridge. A much more engaging pastime, to be sure.
She begins leading her father in their direction without comment. He doesn’t seem to see them, and Gwen holds her breath, hoping she can get within shouting distance to grab Beth.
Surely her mother would want Beth to promenade. Two young ladies attract more attention together than separately with their chaperones after all. Everyone knows that.
And that will leave Father with nothing to do but talk to the mysterious Lady Demeroven.
Beth spots her first and turns to wave. Gwen feels Father stiffen and automatically jerk to the side, as if he really does want to turn tail and run away. But they’re far too close for that to be proper now, and Gwen withholds her grin. Beth drags her mother over, both of them physically hauling their respective parents together until they’re all standing to the side of the walking path.
Beth and Lady Demeroven look wonderful, bright spots of pastel against the dreary day. Beth’s light blue gown is fetching, highlighting her dark swept-up hair, while Lady Demeroven’s lavender dress is appropriate but cheerful all the same. Beth grins at Gwen, while Lady Demeroven looks a bit like she’s swallowed poison.
“You both look lovely,” Gwen says quickly. Her father seems to stall now that they’re within speaking distance. He looks like he’s been struck in the stomach, actually.
“Mother, could I promenade with Lady Gwen?” Beth asks, turning her bright smile on her mother. “I’m sure Lord Havenfort would keep you company.”
The adults exchange something . . . close to a look. Gwen’s rather sure their eyes never meet. She can see Lady Demeroven searching for a rebuttal while Father splutters.
“Miss Demeroven and I could go walk by the pitch, pick a few lads to cheer for—start the season off as positive influences on them?”
Father shoots Gwen a look. She’s never once cheered for a gentleman in a game. Jeered with Father, taunted Albie, but never offered the slightest encouragement. But Beth should give it a try.
“Please,” Beth cajoles.
“Yes, fine, go,” Lady Demeroven says with a sigh, releasing Beth.
Gwen grins and snags her arm, hurrying them a few steps away to walk ahead of their parents. Beth squeezes her arm and they set off at a slow amble. Their parents tortured them last night; it’s time for payback.
“How was the rest of your evening?” Beth asks.
“Boring. Father forced me into a few dances, but they stopped serving food and it got hot.”
“Any nice gentlemen?” Beth asks, her voice full of innocence. She doesn’t know what she’s in for this season, even with the slightly ignominious introduction she got last night.
“Of course not,” Gwen says, laughing as Beth gives her a shocked look. “Remember, I have exacting standards.”
“Apparently,” Beth says, but there’s no malice in her words.
“Picking a husband is serious business. Hard to get to know someone in all that commotion anyway,” Gwen says, turning to look at Beth so she can glance back at their parents.
They’re almost a meter apart, not looking at each other. Father’s walking stiffly and it looks like Lady Demeroven may permanently damage her leather gloves with the way her hands are clenched.
“Did your mother say anything last night? Look at them.”
Beth glances back in the guise of fixing her skirts. “Oh dear, Mother looks like she’s about to break her teeth.”
“She didn’t tell you anything?”
“Nothing,” Beth says, shaking her head as they turn toward the pitch. “Barely spoke at all this morning too. Did your father say anything?”
“Only that she was an old acquaintance. He tried to pretend of no importance, but clearly something happened.”
Beth worries her lip, her arm still snug in Gwen’s. It’s helping with the chill of the air, and Gwen finds their height difference rather charming. Beth fits against her nicely.
“Did your father and mine spend much time together? He had a fair few enemies. Maybe he ran afoul of Lord Havenfort.”
Gwen glances back at her father to make sure he’s out of earshot. He’s glaring so forcefully at the grass he probably wouldn’t notice anyway. No need to scrutinize her when she’s away from male company. Not that he tries that hard otherwise really. He’s rarely had the need.
“He said they didn’t get along, but that’s not unusual with Father. He tends to rub people the wrong way.”
“He seems lovely,” Beth says softly. “And you two get along.”
“We do,” Gwen agrees, noting her new friend’s downcast face. “I’m sure you could join us when we go riding later this week. He’s always happy to have my friends come to visit. You could even stay over if you like. See if you’re really the whist player you say you are.”
Beth glances at her with narrowed eyes. “You doubt me?”
“I just think you haven’t met your match yet.”
Beth laughs. “I look forward to proving you wrong.”
“This weekend?” Gwen suggests, already planning out treats to make with Mrs. Stelm, so she can trounce Beth and stuff her face all at once.
“I’d like that,” Beth says, smiling up at her before glancing back at their parents. “Though I don’t know that Mother would let me spend the night so early in the season. She’s sure we’re about to be flooded with visitors and wants me available first thing in the mornings from now on,” Beth says, looking distinctly uncomfortable at the thought.
“Another time then,” Gwen says easily. Beth nods, her smile slipping. “And I’m sure she’s right. A beautiful girl like you is sure to be overwhelmed with suitors once they get their heads straight,” she adds, smiling as Beth blushes. “In fact, who knows, you might find a suitor today. Run, boys, run!” Gwen calls out as they reach the edge of the pitch.
She hears her father snort behind them but pays him no mind. She doesn’t want to see Lady Demeroven’s reaction, even if Beth is giggling again, her face still a pretty shade of pink.
A gaggle of the ton’s most eligible young men wrestle over the ball on the muddy field, already deep into a game of rugby. It leaves them sweaty, dirty, and high-spirited every time, and Beth and Gwen aren’t the only girls watching. Huddles of pastel- and brightly clad debutantes stand around the field, waving handkerchiefs and giving modest encouragement. Gwen can already see their mothers glaring at her.
She’s always been disruptive, but honestly, the boys seem to enjoy it.
“Go on, Mason, give it a try!” she calls, smirking as Albie glares over at her. He’s sweating like a pig and covered in more mud than anyone else.
“Don’t be mean,” Beth says, nudging her. “He’s trying very hard.”
Gwen laughs. “Don’t worry about Albie. It’s my prerogative as cousin—he doesn’t have sisters. The one next to him though, Lord Brightly, he’s single, first in line to inherit, and not wholly irritating. And he’s looking your way.”
Beth stiffens next to her, her playful blush falling off her face as her smile disappears.
“Not your type?” Gwen asks, glancing over the other assembled gentlemen. “Too stocky?” Beth just remains still next to her. “Too tall?” Beth shakes her head. “Too—”
“It’s his eyes,” Beth says quietly.
Gwen feels herself frown. “His eyes?”
“They’re cold.”
Gwen looks over at Beth, but the woman doesn’t meet her gaze, simply staring across the pitch at the other girls along the far side, all simpering and sweet.
“Men with eyes like that are cruel,” Beth explains.
Chilled by her soft-spoken wisdom, Gwen pulls her closer and Beth relaxes. Gwen tries to shake off the pall and glances back, hiding her smirk as she spots their parents standing two meters apart now, watching the game with disinterest.
She’s about to say that it seems their parents are mortal enemies when she notices her father isn’t actually following the game. He’s looking toward it, but every few seconds his eyes cut sideways to watch Lady Demeroven. And Lady Demeroven’s face is not the stoic pale mask she thought it was.
“I don’t think this has anything to do with your father,” Gwen says.
Beth startles. “What?”
“Look at them.” Gwen angles herself toward Beth so she can turn her head and consider their parents. Her perfume is lovely. “Something happened between the two of them. I’m sure of it.”
“My mother’s blushing,” Beth says, shocked. She looks back at Gwen. “I’ve never seen her blush like that.”
Gwen grins and together they look back at the game, just as Albie takes a whapping hit to the back. He goes sprawling face-first into the mud and Gwen withholds her cackle. Beth covers her mouth, concerned.
“Is he all right?”
“He’ll be fine. Get up, Mason! Show ’em what for!”
“Gwen!” Beth exclaims as Albie glowers over at them, his face dripping mud.
Father chuckles behind them and she can see Bobby, equally covered in mud, grinning at his brother’s plight.
Gwen just shrugs, giving Bobby a thumbs-up before looking back at Beth. “Someone has to cheer for the poor thing.” Beth frowns at her, but the corner of her mouth is tilted up. “I like rooting for the underdog.”
“You’re not rooting, you’re heckling.”
“Perhaps,” Gwen agrees, glancing back at their parents. Lady Demeroven’s lost her blush, but Father’s looking a little pleased. “But I do like rooting for the dark horse, and I think my father is your mother’s dark horse.”
Beth looks over at her. “What?”
“I think maybe Father is a bit sweet on her.”
“She couldn’t have pulled me out of the ball fast enough,” Beth argues, glancing back. “She’s twirling her hair!”
“So?” Gwen wonders, looking over her shoulder again to see that the stalwart lady is indeed toying with her hair.
“She never does that.”
“See?”
“I don’t think that means they were sweet on each other,” Beth says slowly.
“He’s sweet on her. She’s still an unknown,” Gwen corrects. “But I bet we can figure it out.” Beth hesitates as she watches another violent tackle. “Please? I need something to liven up this season. The balls and parties get boring otherwise.”
“And this is more interesting?”
“Figuring out why they act as though they hate each other but look like smitten schoolchildren? Of course! It’s a mystery. I love a good mystery. Promise you’ll at least try and find out?”
Beth shifts, biting at her lip, unsure.
“It’ll be fun,” Gwen needles, thinking solving a mystery with Beth might be the perfect remedy for the drudgery of the season.
Beth snorts. “Fine. It couldn’t hurt to talk about something other than hoop circumference over breakfast,” she says.
“Excellent,” Gwen says, jostling her arm just as Albie tumbles back to the ground. “Get up, Mason! Get up!”
Beth laughs and covers her mouth with her hand. Albie just rolls his eyes and stumbles up, lumbering back toward the scrum.
“See? Fun,” Gwen insists, winking at Beth.
Beth can’t seem to help herself and grins back, her eyes alight. “Fun,” she agrees.