Page 6 of In With a Chance

And that was not how she felt with this man. Lord Ravenshurst did not adore her, nor need her. Perhaps there was mutual appreciation, but only just—and Gwen had never been more aware of the rain as they had sat here, nor did she feel in any way complete.

“You accept, of course,” the man said politely.

Again, it was not a question, and why that irked Gwen so thoroughly, she did not know. Was this to be her life going forward?

You like the new decoration of the drawing room, of course.

You approve of the new rose garden, of course.

You agree to summer at Lake Como, of course.

Gwen sighed. The trouble was, she wanted those things. She wanted her own drawing room, a home of her own that was not her mother’s, or her sister-in-law’s now, technically, but hers. She wanted her own country estate, a place where she could retreat from the heat of the summer. She wanted to travel, to see the world, to experience the fashionable parts and go off the beaten track.

And she would never have those things…without the Marquess of Ravenshurst.

“Of course I accept,” Gwen said brightly, heat burning her cheeks even as she said the staid words. “I am delighted to become your wife.”

And that was true. She had just also hoped that the marquess would smile, and then gush as his nerves dissipated, and he would sweep her into his arms and—

Well, not kiss her. Not in front of her mother.

Lord Ravenshurst did none of those things. He did nod curtly. “Excellent. Then we are agreed.”

“Yes,” said Gwen warmly.

“We are in agreement,” the marquess reiterated determinedly.

“Yes,” repeated Gwen, somewhat bewildered.

“Agreement is what we are in,” said the man.

“Yes,” Gwen said helplessly.

“Good.” The marquess nodded curtly, as though a great insurmountable mountain had just been surmounted and in doing so, he had rendered it surmountable. “Good.”

“‘Good’?” Gwen had not intended her remark to sound like a question, but it was all so… so…

She had thought, if she were ever to be fortunate enough to secure the Marquess of Ravenshurst’s affections, that she would be incandescent with happiness. That she would be overwhelmed with joy, delighted, almost ecstatic!

And right now, she felt…damp. And a little sad.

Which was ridiculous. I should be happy, Gwen told herself firmly—and grateful.

After all, she had never felt a proper member of her own family, always lingering so far behind her siblings and cousins, and now she could not only hold her head up with pride that she had snared a marquess, two whole nobility steps up from her dear father, but that she was now going to be a married woman. Someone to be taken seriously; someone to be respected.

Finally, she would no longer be treated as a child, but as a woman.

A slow smile crept across her face as Gwen considered Lord Ravenshurst before her. And after all, it would not be a long engagement. A few weeks, a month at most. And then she would be a wife, and enjoy all that a wife entailed, and if her sisters were to be believed, there were some reasonably intriguing perks of being a wife.

So. She would marry this gentleman, she would become the Marchioness of Ravenshurst, and she would be happy. It was decided.

“Good,” Gwen repeated cheerfully as her mother clapped politely, the performance over. “Would you like another cucumber sandwich, Lord Ravenshurst?”

Chapter Two

“And you are absolutely certain your family is happy to host me?”

Ernest Quintrell, Baron Frasemere, had not intended for his voice to sound so unsure—but then, he had just been informed by one of his best friends from Oxford that the man had secretly planned to immigrate and never tell a soul where he went, then had fallen in love with a ship captain who was somehow a woman, then had eloped with this woman and married her, and was now only in London for a few weeks before he and said wife disappeared off to Italy.