Page 41 of In With a Chance

Which was mostly encouraging. Ernest tried to smile. “You can?”

“Marrying a wealthy wife is often the only way us lower nobility keep the estates together,” pointed out the older man, without any hint of embarrassment. “I was fortunate, indeed, that the woman I loved came with a fortune. Most are not so lucky.”

Ernest’s thoughts turned treacherously to Lord Pernrith’s daughter. “No, I… I suppose not.”

“So it makes complete sense to me that you would like to do your research,” said his host genially, waving toward the door and turning back to his ledger. “Go, read.”

And with that, Ernest considered himself dismissed.

He supposed, as he left Lord Pernrith’s study and walked slowly down the corridor, he could have purchased his own copy of The Eligible Ladies of High Society—but that would have cost him a great deal, especially the full detailed edition, which was only printed with gold foiling. Ernest was far too conscious of the money he spent while staying in London seeking a wealthy wife, and if the Pernriths already had a copy…

Of course they did. Ernest had smiled nervously when he’d first asked the dowager viscountess about it, but not only had she heard of The Eligible Ladies of High Society, but she had—in her own words—a well-worn copy.

“We had initially purchased it for Michael, initially,” the woman with kind and rather teasing eyes had said over that morning’s breakfast. “But he made his own match, and I must say, I cannot think of a better.”

Ernest reached the library and opened the door, breathing in the heady scents of yesterday’s candles and the best scent of all: books.

It was not a particularly large library. Nothing about the Pernrith home was large; it was a place for family, not ostentatious showing off. And yet the room contained everything a library required: wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling bookcases absolutely rammed with books, a large fire, and high-backed chairs dotted about the place.

Right. First of all, Ernest thought vaguely, I have to work out what, if any, organizational system this family has. He was looking for The Eligible Ladies of High Society by Amberleen Trinkett. So would that be under ‘Eligible’? Or ‘Ladies’? Or ‘Society’? Or ‘Trinkett’?

Did this family even organize their books?

“If you are looking for something in particular,” came a voice from a high-backed chair near the fireplace, “then I’d suggest asking myself or Mrs. Kinley. We’re the only ones who know where anything is.”

And Ernest’s pulse skipped a beat.

He had not exactly been avoiding Miss Gwendoline Chance. Not avoiding.

Not exactly.

But it was so much easier to hide his growing interest in her if he was never actually situated within her presence.

The visit to the haberdashery had been a mistake. He had not known the two Chances ladies had been there, but the moment he had, Ernest should have turned around and vacated.

There were plenty of other haberdashers in London, after all.

But no. He’d had to go in and make a fool of himself. And now Gwen—Miss Gwendoline would undoubtedly think him a fool in the first degree, after all his oaks nonsense and would certainly laugh at him.

She would most definitely laugh at him once she realized he was looking for The Eligible Ladies of High Society by Amberleen Trinkett.

“So which book are you looking for?” asked Miss Gwendoline as she peered around the wing of her armchair. “If we have it, of course. If not, there’s a perfectly adequate circulating library in Mayfair near the Aylesburys’.”

“‘Aylesburys’?” Ernest was still struggling to keep track of the wide social circle that the Chances moved in. “Friends of yours?”

“Chances, really, but they’re the Aylesbury branch, so it’s easy to keep track that way,” said Gwen—blast, Miss Gwendoline with a smile. “So what were you looking for?”

You.

No, no, Ernest held himself back from saying the outrageous syllable. No, that was not what he was looking for.

He certainly hadn’t come to London in the expectation that after looking up an old friend, he would start to have utterly outrageous feelings for the man’s sister.

A sister who was engaged to another man.

“A book,” were the only legible words that were uttered by Ernest’s mouth, but he groaned internally as he said them.

Dear God, had he left his brain in her father’s study?