Page 75 of In With a Chance

Ernest’s head snapped up, imaginary child immediately forgotten as he looked at the pale face of the woman he loved.

Gwen was trying to smile, she really was, but he knew that woman’s visage so well, he could tell when it was an effort. “I just—Mrs. Kinley has been to the post office, then?”

Why that was so important, Ernest did not know. What he did know was that when Lord Pernrith gave the affirmative, a smile spread across Gwen’s face the likes of which he had never seen before—and as though to complete the picture, she turned to him and dazzled him with said smile.

Ernest’s lips lilted immediately into an answering echo, though he was not quite sure what they were grinning about, as his spirits lifted.

No matter what happened, as long as he could still be a part of Gwen’s life… The Marchioness of Ravenshurst would be permitted visitors, after all.

And a most unwelcome and unpleasant thought rumbled through Ernest’s mind. Perhaps she will befriend my future wife.

No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than the oddest thing occurred. Gwen’s smile suddenly disappeared, a scowl replacing it, and she turned away just as the double doors were opened and Lady Romeril’s ballroom revealed.

And what a room.

Ernest had never stepped into a cavern; there were no caves near his estate in Yorkshire, and it had been Charles who had been favored with the opportunity to go on a Grand Tour. But he had read about caverns, about majestic, cathedral-sized caves ground out of a clifftop by the unending tides. Read about the echoes, the immense sense of space, the confusion as to how one place could be so large and yet the ceiling stay whole.

That was the overwhelming thought as he stepped into the ballroom resplendent with chandeliers, and shimmering candles, and mirrors lining the walls, and people—

Oh, so many people.

“Now, I have ascertained from Lady Romeril her precise guest list,” the former viscountess said cheerfully as she slipped her hand into Ernest’s arm. “There are a number of very eligible and very wealthy—”

“Please, Lady Pernrith!” hissed Ernest, heat burning his cheeks as he looked about them.

No, as far as he could see, no one had heard her—but honestly!

“Well, it is no crime to seek out a fortune,” said Gwen’s mother with a shrug and a smile. “And I am sure my daughters will easily be able to recommend to you—Gwen?”

Ernest blinked. Gwen?

She had disappeared.

Well, not exactly disappeared. Ernest could see she had moved away from her family and himself to a trestle table, where a footman was serving what appeared to be punch.

So, she was thirsty. It was not an indictment on himself, Ernest observed silently in an attempt to convince himself.

An attempt that did not exactly go well.

“I am sure Gwen especially, as an engaged woman, will be more than happy to help you,” said her mother a little too cheerfully, now that Ernest came to think about it. “Though of course she might prefer to… I mean, she has her own wedding to think of.”

The older woman could not possibly know the agony that swept through him at her words, Ernest reminded himself, and she said these things not to hurt him but to remind him, perhaps. Put him on his guard.

After all, Ernest felt as though he had made it far too obvious over and over again that he had fallen in love with Miss Gwendoline Chance. Surely, her mother had noticed by now.

He glanced at Lady Pernrith. She was smiling ruefully.

Damn.

“Yes, you’ll help Lord Frasemere, won’t you, Gwen?” asked the woman brightly as her daughter returned to them clutching a glass of punch.

Gwen did not look up from her hands. “‘Help,’ Mama?”

“Help him find a suitable young woman to become the Baroness Frasemere,” said the dowager viscountess helpfully as she looked between her daughter and Ernest. “Won’t that be nice?”

‘Nice’?

Ernest could hardly think of anything worse. And why wouldn’t Gwen look at him?