“Mother…” she began, but she didn’t know what to say. Her future suddenly reared up in all its hideous lack of possibility. Which is when Gwen finally understood what the term “adult” actually meant. “You don’t mean that I’m no longer a child. You mean that I’mon the shelf.”
Her mother pursed her lips. “You are twenty-eight today, and we both know men prefer the dewy ones.”
“I’m not exactly wilting on the vine!” Gwen exclaimed.
“And you’ve done nothing but disdain every party, read at all hours until you are cross-eyed, and you ignore your bonnet such that your freckles grow to the size of pies! Face it, Gwen, I have tried and tried to keep you as fresh as a sixteen-year-old, but you have thwarted me at every turn. So now we are here. You are an adult, and I cannot fight you anymore.”
“You mean I’m a spinster.”
“Yes.” Finally, her mother let her tears slip free. Big fat droplets quivered on her lashes until they trailed down her cheeks. She wiped them away with as if she were on the stage mourning the death of a fictional child. “I tried, Gwen. I did everything I know how to do, but you wouldn’t listen.”
Good Lord, once again her mother had made something as simple as a birthday into a drama of epic proportions. And worse, Gwen was hard-pressed to argue. It would be a disaster for them to live together in a tiny cottage. The only reason they got along now was because they had a buffer between them. It was unusual, to be sure, but her father’s by-blow Lilah had been raised in her family since her birth mother died over twenty years before. She was the youngest sister in the Rees family, and the sweetest, kindest person on the planet.
“Lilah will keep us from killing one another,” Gwen said. Though what a burden to put on her half-sister.
“No!” her mother gasped. “I cannot fail her as well. I won’t!”
“But—” Her words were cut off as her mother grabbed Gwen’s hands.
“You must help me with her. She’s not too old yet.”
No, but she was a by-blow. Not many bastard girls got selected in the Marriage Mart.
“You’re going to take her to parties this Season. Go without me because it’s always so awkward when I’m there with her.”
True enough. It wasn’t unheard of for a man to acknowledge a bastard child, but his wife was always viewed as an object of pity whenever that happened. And though her mother had never treated Lilah as anything but one of her own, society viewed things very differently.
“Of course, I will help. I want her to be happy.”
“You must act as her chaperone. It’s proper now.”
Now that she wason the shelfand therefore no longer in need of constant supervision.
“She’s been talking about that masquerade party. I know it was a disaster last year, but it’s a good place for her to catch a man’s eye. You go as chaperone, but don’t be too strict with her. We need Lilah to entice someone and a masquerade is the perfect place. Anyone who attends one of those will be improper enough to make advances but elevated enough to be a good catch for her. You understand?”
Gwen nodded. She did understand. Her mother thought Gwen too old to be improper and Lilah too stupid to manage herself. Which was rich because Lilah had been managing the two of them since she’d first joined their home.
Gwen smiled, though the expression felt brittle. “I will do everything I can for Lilah.” Then she frowned. “But aren’t you afraid that I shall become improper at a masquerade?”
Her mother threw up her hands in disgust. “If only! You are more likely to inspect some rare bit of shrubbery than dance with someone even remotely interesting.”
“That’s because shrubbery usually is more interesting than any man.”
“Oh Gwen,” her mother said as she wiped away another tear. “That is exactly why I have failed you. Not once in ten Seasons was there a man who could drag your attention away from the greenery.”
“I think that’s the men’s failing, not mine.”
Her mother continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “But I thought—I prayed—that if God had made you, then certainly He would have made someone to interest you.” She blew out a breath. “Well, if that man exists, I certainly don’t see him.”
And at that moment, Gwen finally spoke her truth. She said the words that had been pushing forward with more and more urgency of late. “Perhaps I am the one who should be looking for a husband, not you on my behalf.”
Her mother stared at her. “Yes, but you never did. And now you’re too old.”
Gwen winced, but she didn’t argue. She very much feared her mother was right. Lately she’d felt a yearning for connection, but she was a soul perpetually on the outside. She did not comprehend how people worked, and so she always said the wrong thing, did the wrong thing, or just stood there feeling stupid while other people turned away. It was a lonely existence.
“Mother, I’m sorry,” she said. She was trying to find words to heal the divide between them, but as usual her words were wholly inadequate. Meanwhile, her mother pushed to her feet.
“I believe I shall go back to bed. This sun is surely going to dry my skin to the bone. Happy Birthday.”