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May 19 - June 5, 2025
They both hate balls,
Beauty and poise and accomplishment she can fake, but deep down, she knows she’ll make a horrid wife. She’s sure they can smell it on her, like dogs do fear.
“Father and I make rather a sport of saving young debs from his clutches.
“I think if I make it to next season without a husband, I get a medal.”
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.
“Men with eyes like that are cruel,” Beth explains.
Chilled by her soft-spoken wisdom, Gwen pulls her closer and Beth relaxes.
Her perfume is lovely.
And she’s heaps more intelligent, witty, and charming than the other girls with their proper mothers anyway.
Mother did pick her father, and picked poorly.
Any of them might feel lucky to have her. But she doubts she’ll feel as lucky in return to be had.
It hardly seems worth the upset to let go of her friend simply to appease a few mothers.
Beth would shy away if she could. His look has turned a bit predatory, and all he’s managed to do thus far is insult her interests.
“Figures. Don’t know why I thought one of Lady Gwen’s friends would be a nice girl.”
“Don’t know why I thought a viscount might have more manners.”
What a conceited, possessive, sniveling little man. “Arse?” “Arse,”
“If your mother married my father, we have enough money for you to attend ten seasons,”
She’d never have to marry if Mother had a son that could inherit. She could become the old spinster aunt she’s always wanted to be.
But if her mother, with all her various assets, couldn’t fall in love with the right man, what chance does Beth have? The only company she’s enjoyed so far is Gwen’s.
he’s very pretty, for a boy.
“I see,” Gwen says, looking out at the overpacked room. “That’s . . . good.” “Yes,” Beth agrees, though Gwen hears little enthusiasm there.
Gwen watches Beth move confidently through the crowds. It’s like something new has come over her, a confidence she didn’t have before. Gwen hopes it’s not just because Montson asked her to dance.
Beth is here to get a husband. That’s the point. It shouldn’t be anything but good that she’s found a dancing partner.
But now—now they must get them back together.
someone. God forbid she does get married someday, what would he do all alone, rattling around their manor?
He deserves a chance at love too.
“We’ll just need to think of activities that require no coordination.”
pulling Gwen from thoughts of steadying Beth on the back of an enormous horse, of the two of them in breeches.
out of the fray
We gotta stop w this phrase
Beth deserves so much more than mediocre Lord Montson.
“She’ll be well taken care of,” Father says softly. “She could be happy instead,” Gwen argues, glancing up to find her father looking across at Lady Demeroven. “Wouldn’t you rather I was happy than secure?”
“Happiness is not the only thing that matters,” he says, his voice tight.
“Faith doesn’t pay bills,”
Gwen looks up at him and watches him shutter something away. It looks a lot like heartbreak—the crease of his brow, the arc of his frown, the sheen on his eyes.
She and Father can’t both end this season heartbroken. One of them deserves a happy ending.
Gwen holds on to the tips of Beth’s fingers and squeezes, before letting go with a chagrined smile as the two of them are pulled apart by their parents.
Ladies are nothing but grateful for male attention.
He’s swoon-worthy, she can tell. But there’s no swoon in her.
She won’t have her own lands after this at all, even if they do marry. Even if he comes into a thousand acres, they won’t be hers.
Nothing’s felt as good as sitting here with Beth, soft and close and thrumming.
She shouldn’t be anything but happy for her friend, and yet she feels as if she’d like to stamp her feet in frustration.
Beth leans into her, giggling. It sends a little spark through her chest, that laughter just for her.
Beth allows, her thumb stroking against Gwen’s wrist. The sensation almost makes her shiver.
All the while, her thumb continues to draw hypnotic patterns against Gwen’s pulse. She wonders if Beth can feel the way her heartbeat is jumping through her gloves.
The scent of her lavender perfume pervades Gwen’s senses, sweet and lovely.
Wishes she and Beth could simply sit at their own table, pressed up close. Wishes she could spend the afternoon with Beth’s gloveless fingers tangled in her own, cheeks pink, breathless from laughter.
“You look absolutely smitten,” she decides finally, unable to rein it in any longer. He looks like a child. Father rolls his eyes. “No worse than you do.” Gwen stills. “Excuse me?” “You and Miss Demeroven, thick as thieves. I’m surprised Montson got a word in edgewise.”
Gwen swings the door to the kitchen wide and then stops cold, staring at Mrs. Gilpe and Mrs. Stelm, pressed up as they are against the counter, covered in flour and kissing like they’re drinking oxygen from each other’s mouths.
Is that why he had her clear the plates? He wanted her to see?
Does Father think she’s so inclined? Think she wants to be like Mrs. Stelm and Mrs. Gilpe—happily living together in secret beneath their roof since she was small? Loving, caring, adoring women who’ve helped her grow—does Father think that she feels—that she wants—that—with Beth?
