Don't Want You Like a Best Friend (Mischief & Matchmaking, #1)

by Emma R. Alban

Gwen finds their height difference rather charming. Beth fits against her nicely.

“Men with eyes like that are cruel,” Beth explains.

Any of them might feel lucky to have her. But she doubts she’ll feel as lucky in return to be had.

She thinks Beth’s likely to be a more amiable partner, and far nicer to look at.

“I’ve already had my great love,” Mother says a few minutes later. Beth looks up, startled, and finds Mother regarding her softly. Was it Lord Havenfort? Beth’s afraid to ask. “You,” Mother says with a little smile.

She knew. Of course she knew—has known since she was small. They never discuss it, but the women share a room and trade affections with little disguise. But she’s never—in all her years somehow she’s never seen them together.

Father wasn’t mad. He wasn’t disgusted. He wasn’t judgmental. But he saw it. Sees it. Sees what she’s been telling herself she doesn’t feel for weeks—feelings she shouldn’t have. Feelings society won’t want. Feelings she’s sure Beth won’t want either. Feelings that could get them both terribly hurt.

“I’m not jealous of your beau,” Gwen mutters. And then her lips crash onto Beth’s. Beth gasps against her mouth, frozen in shock. Her mind goes totally blank. Gwen, kissing, wine, jealous—oh. Oh. Gwen goes to pull back but Beth’s hands shoot out, quite of their own accord, clutching at her waist, anchoring Gwen against her. Beth rises on her toes, pressing their lips back together, the warm, soft pleasure of it trickling through her. This is what it’s supposed to be. This is what it’s supposed to feel like. Swoony and bright and everything.

“Perhaps that’s the best way,” Beth decides, smiling as Lord Montson pulls back, looking amused. “Simply remain lightly intoxicated always. You’d be very merry.”

“I thought I heard you come into the kitchen a few nights ago,” Mrs. Gilpe says idly. She bends to raise the hoop cage, stepping behind Gwen to secure it. “Your father asked you to bring in the dishes?”

“It was our wish to find a way to be married together,” Mrs. Gilpe tells her, meeting her eyes in the mirror. The two of them step close behind her. “But, and this is the only time in your life I’ll say this, it was simpler for us as commoners than it will ever be for you.”

“But, to be fair, your father is no ordinary lord. Certainly in another house we would not have survived. Your mother never caught on,” Mrs. Stelm adds after a moment. “Oh, she would have had us both thrown in the asylum,” Mrs. Gilpe says with a snort. “We were simply careful.”

“I think she was very unhappy,” Mrs. Stelm says softly, reaching out to squeeze Gwen’s shoulder. “Unhappy people are often cruel to avoid the cruelty within.”

Gwen snorts. “Do you need more light?” “I’m perfectly capable,” Beth says, managing two eyelets in quick succession before getting stuck on the third. “How much do you like this dress?” “Do not rip it,” Gwen says on a laugh, her body quaking beneath Beth’s hands. “Honestly.”

She wants to know what Gwen tastes like everywhere.

“I love you too,” Beth whispers, leaning down to press her forehead to Gwen’s. “I want to stay right here forever.”

“Would you do it?” she asks again. “No,” Father says softly. “Then don’t ask me to,” Gwen says, pulling from his hold.

“Do you regret it?” Mrs. Gilpe asks, the question loud against the quiet room. “No,” Gwen says, the answer immediate and firm. She wouldn’t give up last night for anything. To know that joy—even if this is the heartache she feels forever as a result—it’s worth having known it even once. “Then it’s worth the pain,” Mrs. Gilpe says easily.

“Your father loves you,” Mrs. Stelm says. “And we love you. And no, it isn’t fair. But you won’t be thrown in prison.” “That’s a grim silver lining,” Mrs. Gilpe agrees.

“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.”

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.

I mean shes been telling you

“You’ll have money, and time, and children,” Gwen continues, staring blankly at the fuzzy leaves. “He won’t be you,” Beth says, lips against her skin.

They stand for a moment, just staring at each other. Gwen tries to memorize how the sunlight hits her face, sparkling against the tears she’s missed. How Beth’s breath still hitches after their kisses—the pink in her cheeks and the flush on her neck. She’ll remember her this way, lightly debauched and tearful after a blissful, horrid, beautiful goodbye.

At least she had one brief moment of love and joy and affection before a life without.

He’s always looked out for me, even if I pretend it’s the other way around.” Meredith beams at her. “Please never tell him I said that.” “Oh, I’ll pick my moment someday,” Meredith says, waving off her frown. “I’ll use it for good, promise. One day when he’s very angry at you, I’ll tell him you actually love him very much and he’s your most favorite cousin. It will be fun to watch his head explode.”

The very last thing she wants is to be saddled with a child in addition to a husband.

“You let her have five glasses?” Mrs. Stelm asks, appearing at their side with a towel. She pats over Gwen to mop up most of the mess.

“That’s how friendship works once you’re married, darling,” Mother says, her face carefully flat. Beth clenches her jaw. “She’s not my friend,” she insists, staring Mother down. But her expression doesn’t change—blank and serene, as if Beth’s words are sliding down a rainy window, impervious to everything without. “You’ll get to see her. Isn’t that what matters?”

“Yes, seeing the person I hold dearest in the world a few days a year makes everything better. Spending the rest of forever with the Ashmonds now feels thoroughly tolerable.”

“It’s like what, Elizabeth?” Mother asks, her voice sharp now. Beth straightens her back. This wasn’t part of the plan, but someone needs to say it. “It’s like he’s Father, all over again. You agree with everything he says, even when I know you don’t. You laugh like he’s funny. And you let him talk down to you all the time, like you’re unworthy of his consideration and should simply be grateful he looks on you at all.”

“I can hope for more,” Beth says, her voice rough as the tears finally fall, as anger gives way to desperation. “You should hope for more.”

“I just wanted to see you one more time,” Beth whispers, pulling back only to rise into a kiss that makes Gwen stumble back into the door, hands gripping at Beth’s waist to steady them both.

And then she’s gone, and Meredith snaps the door shut, leaving Gwen leaning against the empty dresser in the dim sunlight from the street above, thoroughly ravished and utterly broken. They were supposed to have three more days.

Gwen meets her understanding eyes. “Thank you.” Meredith smiles sadly. “You would do the same for Albie, and I hope someday for me, if we needed you to.” “I would,” Gwen says quickly, grabbing her hand. “If you ever need anything—” “Be a good cousin to our children, a friend to me, to Albie, that’s all I ask,” Meredith says, her round face serene and earnest.

“How you and Beth deal with the pain is your business, but I did my time. I let that woman stomp all over my heart, twice. I won’t do it a third time.”

Lord Ashmond works his jaw, not wanting, it seems, to insult his son’s bride-to-be. He really might think it’s the right of the husband to beat a wife bloody if he wants. Barbaric.

“Lady Demeroven?” Lord Ashmond prompts. “I know your late husband agreed. Stand-up man, he was.” And that, somehow, seems to be the last straw. “My husband was a lout who spouted the same abhorrent drivel and used to backhand me for every slight. If I could have taken him to court and gotten half of his estate, I would have, and I would tell Beth to do the same should your son ever, ever,” Mother says, turning a hard look on Lord Montson, “raise a hand to her. And I would support her use of the new law immediately.”

“Then we have a problem,” Mother says, her voice even and devoid of emotion. “Beth, gather your things. We’ll be leaving now.”

Lord Ashmond pushes back his seat and Lord Montson finally, finally stands up. “Father,” he cautions. Beth slips out of her seat and scurries behind her chair. “Get out,” Lord Ashmond booms. “Get out.” “With pleasure,” Mother says, nodding to Beth. “Lady Ashmond, if you ever need help,” she adds.

“Yes,” Mother says, reaching out to brush a stray hair from Beth’s face. “Yes, you’re right. You’ve been right for a long time, and I thought—I thought I could do this, live this way again, but I can’t. You were right, Beth,” she repeats.

She has no interest whatsoever in marrying a man who would simply tolerate her “friendship” with Beth. But marrying a man who has a “friendship” of his own? That has promise.

Beth shakes her head. “Not—God, not that. Just—he’ll need to marry and have an heir, that’s all. Unfortunate in that sense. Otherwise, well, I mean, men are generally terrible so there’s that too,” she says, twisting her fingers together. “You really think?”

“Your old estate. Bobby has a property not far down the way.” “Convenient,” Beth mutters. “And you’d be all right with . . . James?” “I wouldn’t be with James,” Gwen says quickly. “It would be in name only. They’d live in one, we’d live in the other, and make appearances when necessary. The perfect disguise.”