Page 19 of In With a Chance

I find you so beautiful, it’s painful not to look at you.

I was captivated by your face the moment I stepped into this house.

I cannot understand why you do not smile when you speak of the Marquess of Ravenshurst…

No, those were probably not the sort of things one should say to a woman betrothed to be married in a matter of weeks.

The real trouble was, Ernest was more than aware of what he had to say. He just didn’t want to.

Inhaling deeply and loathing the manners imbued within him that were forcing him to do this, Ernest said quietly, “I wish to apologize, Miss Gwendoline.”

For some reason, as their empty plates were taken away by a footman, that had clearly not been what the elegant woman had been expecting.

Her eyebrows rose. “You are?”

“Yes,” said Ernest firmly, despite the temptation to retreat. “Yes, I am.”

“Goodness,” came the quiet reply, carefully modulated so her parents and sister would not hear. “What on earth for?”

That was enough to make him blink as strawberry ices with sugared blackberries were placed before each of them. “What do you mean, ‘what on earth for’?”

“Well, what on earth for?” Miss Gwendoline repeated, and—was that a smile on her face? It was gone as she continued. “Goodness, strawberry ices, my favorite. Yes, I am accustomed to being the one giving apologies, not receiving them, though most of the time, they are forced.”

“‘Forced’?” repeated Ernest blankly, struggling to keep up with this enigmatic woman.

You couldn’t force an apology; that made no sense. An apology was a gift. It had to be freely given; otherwise, it could not be given at all.

“Yes, forced,” Miss Gwendoline said lightly. “Usually to Michael, the brute, and it was regularly his fault in the first place. But we are getting off topic. You were about to apologize to me with much wailing and gnashing of teeth. I am ready.”

And she was; Ernest stared as she turned in her seat and looked up at him expectantly, ready for some sort of performance.

His jaw dropped. “But—But I’ve already apologized!”

“No, you said that you wished to,” Miss Gwendoline pointed out, in that calm lack of concern Ernest had never truly understood in a woman. “I am giving you the opportunity to do so now.”

His jaw was still dropped, which made thinking rather a challenge because he was almost certain he looked gormless. Utterly gormless.

Not an impression he wanted to give to Miss Gwendoline Chance.

Miss Gwendoline Chance raised an eyebrow. “I see.”

No, she didn’t. Ernest could feel the tension boiling in his gut, the need to speak openly and yet the certainty that if he opened his mouth without any restrictions, he truly had no idea what might come out.

Which was hardly a good idea.

“Don’t concern yourself. Very few people bother to apologize to me,” Miss Gwendoline was saying with that sort of nonchalant air that he had already learned meant what she was saying was a great deal to her. “I wouldn’t worry—”

“I am sorry for accosting you,” said Ernest quietly as the murmurs from the other side of the table continued. “About… About Lord Ravenshurst.”

There. I said it.

The relief that swept through him was extreme, and for a moment, he could hardly catch his breath. Dear God, had it truly been weighing on him this much or was it instead the sense of connection that swiftly roared through him as Miss Gwendoline met his eyes with her lips parted in clear astonishment?

“‘Accosting’ me?”

“Yesterday. When I walked you home—I should not have spoken to you like that,” Ernest said, keeping his voice low and hoping to goodness her family did not hear his words.

And that Miss Gwendoline did not notice how pink his cheeks were getting.