Page 40 of In With a Chance

For a moment, just a moment, everything stilled. Everything was as it should be. Everything was silent.

And she was looking into the eyes of Ernest Quintrell, Baron Frasemere, friend of her brother and most definitely not her betrothed, and Gwen had never felt so…so understood, so seen and held in all her life.

The years had gone by and her family had tried; she knew they had. But they had not understood.

But this man did.

Lord Frasemere swallowed, his throat bobbing. “I hope you get all your hopes and dreams, Miss Gwendoline.”

Gwen’s words caught in her throat. “I know I will.”

Their hands—their hands were so close together. How had she not noticed that? The button boxes from which they had taken their samples were mere inches apart, and if she just moved her thumb—

The baron moved his thumb.

Gwen gasped, the noise lost in the bustling haberdasher’s, but he’d heard it. Lord Frasemere. His eyes bore into hers, an intensity within them she had never known before, and the air in her lungs was lost as she stared at the man who had understood her so completely with such a small acquaintance.

Lord Ravenshurst had never understood her like this.

And it was that thought that made her stagger backward, scattering buttons everywhere.

“Miss Gwendoline!” gasped Lord Frasemere.

“Gwen!” called out her sister.

“My buttons!” wailed Mr. Rivers.

Gwen blinked blindly at the cascade of gold buttons that were now covering the floor. “Oh—Oh, dear!”

“Let me help you—”

“Oh, careful—you’ll trip!”

“Oh, Lord!”

A woman slipped and crashed to the ground, grabbing at her companion and pulling her down with her. Their yelps of shock caused screams from a trio of ladies who had arrived to collect their packages, and as Teddy, Evelyn, and Lucy hastened toward Gwen, the former slipped herself and dragged her cousins down with her. The wiry Mr. Rivers attempted to reach them but slipped himself and all Gwen could do was stare at Lord Frasemere and—

Definitely not laugh. This was not a laughing matter—she was not laughing.

Lord Frasemere began to laugh.

Their chuckles joined each other and roared around the room as everyone started laughing too—all except Teddy, who looked utterly mortified, tangled as she was in her own skirts on the floor.

“I think I had better escort you two home,” the baron said easily, holding out a hand for Gwen’s sister, who took it with flaming cheeks and swiftly dropped it as she stepped protectively toward their cousins.

“I suppose so, after I introduce you to my cousins,” Gwen said brightly, telling herself that her lift in spirits had been the button debacle, and not because the man she so liked would be spending even more time with them. “And on the way home, you can tell me all about these oaks you’re tending.”

Chapter Eight

September 20, 1841

“Oh, be our guest,” said the Dowager Viscount Pernrith with a shrug as he pored over a ledger in his study. “I’m sure it’s in there.”

“And you don’t mind?” Ernest asked awkwardly.

Well. It was a little strange, needing to ask to borrow that particular book when staying as a guest in another man’s house.

The older man looked up, a smile creasing the wrinkles around his eyes as he shook his head. “You are a practical man, Frasemere. I like that. I can quite understand the predicament in which you find yourself.”