Page 53 of In With a Chance

“No, I mean—I mean, he’s the man. He’s the one I’ve found,” Gwen said wretchedly, guilt searing her chest.

For a moment, a terrible moment, she had almost forgotten about him.

There was something all too knowing in that teasing smile of Ernest Quintrell, Baron Frasemere. “Yes. Right. Now, let’s get you home.”

Chapter Ten

September 27, 1841

“And the Duke of Cothrom truly doesn’t mind?” Ernest had attempted to keep the concern from his voice, but there was still a hint of worry there that even he could not eliminate.

And for good reason. The Duke of Cothrom, as far as he had heard from Michael all the way back during their university days, had always been severe, demanding, and rigid in his expectations. The man had high expectations for his children, Michael’s cousins, and a distaste for scandal so severe that his own daughter had reached her thirties unwed.

The Duke of Cothrom was not a man Ernest had ever wished to meet.

And now the Pernrith Chances were stepping into the warmly lit hall of the Duke of Cothrom’s London townhouse for a card party and he, Ernest, felt woefully unprepared.

Baron Frasemere was not a title particularly well respected, but at least he did not have any scandals attached to his name.

At least…not yet. The moment the family realized his penchant for Miss Gwendoline Chance was far too much for a casual friend of her brother, Ernest was certain he would be thrown out of the Pernrith Chance home.

So what on earth did he think he was doing, attending the Duke of Cothrom’s card party?

“Thomas was very particular in his invitation,” said the Dowager Viscount Pernrith with a wry smile. “He is a very particular man.”

Thomas? That name did not ring a bell, though Ernest had given up attempting to follow the complicated Chance family tree.

“I know he will be delighted to make your acquaintance,” said Lady Pernrith cheerfully, handing her pelisse to a footman in light-green livery. “And you will have the opportunity to be introduced to the Marquess of Ravenshurst.”

Oh, good. Excellent.

Ernest tried to smile, even as he prevented his eyes from slipping to Miss Gwendoline, who was even now giving her pelisse to the same footman…

And his breath caught in his throat.

She was magnificent. How could no one else see it? It was nonsensical that the room had not stilled, that every eye had not turned to the elegant woman in…

Ernest’s loins stiffened. A blue pinstriped gown. Similar to that which he had recommended at Rivers’s Haberdashery.

The small, shy smile she gave him would have been enough to fell a different man. As it was, Ernest was relieved no one appeared to be paying any attention to him, and he had a moment to reach out to the wall.

This woman. She is going to kill me.

“Shall we go in?” Lady Pernrith asked brightly.

Murmured agreement filled the hall and Ernest walked forward in a daze, utterly unsure how he was supposed to play anything as simple as snip-snap-snorum, let alone whist, with Gwen in the room.

The room, as it happened, was large. The saloon was elegantly appointed with gold-painted paneling and more looking glasses than Ernest had ever seen in one place. The golden chandeliers—there were three of them—glittered and gleamed, and there was a buzz of excitement as footmen delicately meandered between tables set throughout the room whereupon guests played cards. Gentle laughter tinkled throughout the place, and there was a burst of genteel cheering from the other end of the table as a young man flushed with the delight of his win.

Ernest barely noticed all that. His attention was instead taken by the tall gentleman who stood aloofly beside Gwen’s mother, seemingly ignoring the inaudible words Gwen was saying.

The man…was ignoring her.

It was bizarre. Ernest could hardly understand it; being in Gwen’s presence was to notice her, there was no way around it. The woman was captivating, her eyes and her brilliant wit matched only by her vulnerable heart. He had seen enough in a few short weeks to know he could never be bored of such a woman.

And here stood a gentleman who was somehow able not only to stand in her company, but could also ignore her?

“Ah,” said a voice beside him. “You’ve spotted Lord Ravenshurst.”