Page 69 of In With a Chance

Love had been practical. Gwen had always known that at least one of her parents’ children would be forced to make a match of convenience, and she had never been particularly upset at the thought of it being herself.

She was not sparkling like Jessy, or witty like Reeny, or talented like Teddy. It made sense—it had always made sense to Gwen that it would be her who might be the one who would be required to make the ultimate sacrifice, unless she wanted to be a spinster reliant on her parents and siblings for the rest of her life.

Marry a man she did not love.

“It was true love. I hadn’t believed in it until then.”

And now here she was, engaged to be married to a man she did not love. A man who would give her everything she had ever wanted: financial security, a name worth bearing, the opportunity for a home—several homes—and children and parties and comfort and a life all of her own.

Gwen swallowed hard. And now she did not want it.

“I spoke to the vicar, and he believes St. Meredith’s will be an excellent alternative to St. George’s,” her mother’s voice was saying from a long way off. “So the invitations can be written, and then engraved, and then sent out…”

It was all happening so fast.

Gwen realized she was holding on to the bottom of the armchair she was seated in as though it may take flight at any moment. How had this happened? One moment, she was being introduced to the Marquess of Ravenshurst at a ball, the next, they were engaged, and now invitations were going out…

And in that moment, a dreaded sort of certainty entered her mind and made it absolutely clear to Gwen that—

“There you are,” came a tender voice that made her whole body tingle. “You didn’t come down to dinner.”

Ernest Quintrell, Baron Frasemere, stepped into view and sat on the sofa opposite her, and Gwen could have melted.

She really could have. The way that he looked at her, so affectionately. How he sat with his hands resting on the sofa like that, when Gwen knew just how strong they were, how they felt curled around her waist…

And the memories of that kiss, the kiss that had completely altered every fiber of her being, rushed through her. Gwen could hardly see the Ernest before her for the vision of the Ernest who had kissed her so passionately, so eagerly, who had groaned with the effort of holding back and who had been gentleman enough not to follow her to her carriage.

Even though she had wanted him to.

Gwen tried to smile. “Dinner.”

Blast it all. She could do better than that!

Well, perhaps she couldn’t. Ernest smiled at her single word, and it made Gwen want to dash about the house declaring she could only marry—

“Lord Ravenshurst came to dinner,” said Ernest quietly with enigmatic eyes, though she knew that. That was partly why she’d stayed upstairs. “He was disappointed not to see you.”

‘Disappointed’?

Gwen could hardly imagine such an emotion in the man. She could hardly imagine any emotion in the Marquess of Ravenshurst. Now that she came to think about it, had he ever displayed anything like emotion before her?

Excitement, perhaps, that Sir James and Lady Heather Stuart would be meeting them for tea at Mrs. Wainright’s Teashop and Emporium…but other than that? No.

Certainly nothing to do with her.

“Such a shame you did not feel well enough to come downstairs,” Ernest continued, and Gwen could not tell whether he was hinting at something or merely concerned. “I hope you are feeling more yourself now.”

More herself?

Gwen hardly knew what herself was anymore. She had thought she was the sort of woman who would defy expectations and not marry last, only long after all her other siblings. A mature young woman who would proudly and resolutely marry a man she definitely liked but did not love, with the knowledge it would reduce the financial burden on her parents, give Teddy opportunities in higher circles, and of course, give Gwen the home she had so desperately longed for.

And now she was the sort of woman who was engaged to one man and went about kissing a second one—and in a churchyard!

“Gwen?”

Gwen tried to smile. “I am quite well. I assure you.”

She had never felt less well. It had been easy enough to tell Mama—via a very worried Mrs. Kinley—that she had a headache and would therefore prefer not to descend for dinner but to remain in her room. Her mother had sent up her famous headache cure, which as far as Gwen was concerned, only cured a headache by tasting so vile that a headache decided to up and leave rather than stay in the same body.