Page 63 of In With a Chance

That would certainly explain the sudden pregnancy announcements…

“And I didn’t want you to be surprised by what you might face on your wedding night,” her mother finished in a rush.

Gwen’s cheeks were burning again. “Mama, you don’t have to worry.”

Lady Pernrith’s face went pale. “You haven’t already—!”

“No!” Dear Lord, save me from this conversation. “No, Lord Ravenshurst… If you must know, we have not even kissed yet.”

The look of relief on her mother’s face was just a spot insulting. “Good. Good, yes. That makes sense.”

Gwen glared. The sooner she could exit this conversation, the better. “Shall we talk about flowers—”

“And I should have guessed that. That you hadn’t, I mean,” continued her mother, looking more and more relieved with every passing second. “After all, you have had no opportunity—you have been appropriately chaperoned every time you have met with Lord Ravenshurst, haven’t you?”

“Yes, Mama,” said Gwen with a wry smile. Too appropriately chaperoned, really. She still had not had her first kiss, and they could save that for the wedding day…but it would be wonderful to know what it was to be kissed before then.

What if she was bad at it? Oh, Gwen did not like to think what would occur if she were bad at kissing. How did one tell? If one only went through life kissing one person, whom would you compare them against?

Perhaps she should be glad the marquess did not seem in any way eager to kiss her before their wedding day. At least if they were married, he could not abandon her for lack of kissing prowess.

Her mother blathered on. “It’s almost always a mother’s concern when a daughter is courting, but as you have always been very respectful with Lord Ravenshurst, I have had no such concerns…”

Gwen steeled herself. No, she needed to seek out a kiss from Lord Ravenshurst. Marriage without a single kiss was surely far too much.

Besides, a long, deep, passionate kiss with Lord Ravenshurst would surely force Ernest Quintrell, Baron Frasemere, out of her mind.

Which was not the only reason that she wanted to kiss Lord Ravenshurst. Obviously.

“And I suppose the only person you might have even had access to was Lord Frasemere!” Her mother chuckled, shaking her head at the very thought.

Gwen froze.

Dear God. Ernest was only three bedchambers over every night. How had that not occurred to her? Why on earth hadn’t she thought of that?

If there was one person in the world who would be eager to give her some kissing lessons—

“And now, let’s talk flowers,” said her mother brightly, all concerns in that quarter evidently quashed. “With or without foliage?”

Chapter Twelve

October 2, 1841

Ernest had promised himself he wouldn’t come here.

That was never going to last long. He knew what was right, and what was wrong, and though so much in the past had gone wrong, there was one thing he could do that he knew was right.

The posy of flowers felt somehow heavy in his hands. Ernest looked down at them: late roses, some fern leaves for foliage, and a ribbon of blue around them. Charles’s favorite color.

They didn’t seem enough. But then, nothing would be.

Taking a long, slow, and steady inhale, Ernest walked slowly up the path that would take him to the churchyard.

Autumn had finally started to settle in. There was a heavy mist in the air that felt exactly like walking through a cloud. It dulled the air, deafening noise and making each step feel as though he were stepping not into a churchyard, but away from London itself. The tall, imposing church building had its door open on the porch, but that wasn’t where Ernest was making for.

He could still recall his steward’s note, which was crumpled in his pocket. He knew it so well, he didn’t need to pull it out.

Go along the path to the left, past the church. Right to the corner. They’re beside the yew tree.