Page 38 of In With a Chance

“Stripes?” she said in horror.

“Blue and a slight purple, and yes, stripes,” said Lord Frasemere with a smile. “The blue perfectly matches your eyes, and that purple? It adds a sheen to your hair.”

His eyes flickered to her dark-brown, almost-black hair, and Gwen could not help the tug that lilted her lips. “Do… Do you think so?”

Lord Ravenshurst had never mentioned her hair. He had never seemed to notice it particularly, as though as long as she did not appear at his side bald, he could not have cared less what color her hair was.

Which was a shame. Gwen had very few faults, as far as she could see, but pride in her hair was one of them. There were few people with such a brilliant dark shade.

“But it doesn’t really matter which fabric you choose.”

Gwen blinked. Lord Frasemere came back into focus, and he was smiling at her wistfully. “It… It doesn’t?”

“No,” the tall gentleman with the cutting jawline said softly. “He’ll be the luckiest man in the world, no matter what you wear.”

The ground tilted.

Gwen fell.

Not quite fell; it was just that her knees gave out from under her and the floor started to race toward her and it was only because someone grabbed her arm and held her steady that Gwen did not find herself on the ground in tatters.

Someone’s hand burned on her arm. “Miss Gwendoline?”

Gwen cleared her throat and wrenched her arm away from the baron. “I’m fine.”

“But you almost—”

“I said, ‘I’m fine,’” Gwen said firmly.

Far more firmly than she felt.

Lord Frasemere looked at her closely with darting eyes. “I have offended you.”

“You have not—No one could be offended by…” Swallowing hard, Gwen let her gaze dart about her to check that she had not committed the ultimate faux paus and meandered from her sister.

No, there she was, chattering away with Cousins Lucy and Evelyn—the Viscountesses Moray and Sempill, that was. And Teddy wasn’t actually saying anything, now that Gwen came to concentrate on her. She was just standing there, listening.

Still, the point was, Gwen had not absconded from her chaperone.

So that meant she could remain here, by the buttons, and talk to Baron Frasemere. Didn’t it?

“Besides,” Gwen said smartly, as though continuing a conversation, “it is not about the gown itself.”

The baron raised an eyebrow. “It is not?”

“No! No, the wedding is just one day. A day that will hopefully be pleasant,” added Gwen with a shrug, picking up a smart gold oval button and twisting it around with her fingers. “But it is not the day which I look forward to.”

A wistful tone entered her voice as she thought with longing of all that would come after. A home, a family, a place she could make her own…

For some reason, Lord Frasemere’s cheeks were crimson. “Oh.”

Gwen stared for a moment, puzzled. What on earth could have made him so—

Then she realized what he had presumed, and her own cheeks burned. “I meant the marriage! The whole marriage, the years and years together, that is what I am looking forward to! Obviously!”

“Oh.” The baron looked, if possible, even more embarrassed. He was even shuffling one of his feet. “Obviously.”

Saints preserve me…