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“What on earth do you mean?”

Apparently saying that in the half gloom of this library with a wide grin on one’s face did not endear oneself to one’s conversational partner.

If anything, Gwen’s glare deepened. “You just embarrassed me!”

“I did not embarrass you,” Ernest said firmly, trying not to allow the elation soaring through him into his voice. “I—”

“Lord Ravenshurst is my betrothed, and there’s nothing you can do about that!” Gwen said sharply, a real tension in her voice now. “And even if I wanted—but there’s no way to change now, and—you said you could not marry me!”

And in that moment, a strange hush settled upon the room.

Ernest blinked.

Did… Did she mean what he thought she meant?

Gwen was breathing a little heavier than he had expected, and there was a glitter in his eyes he had not predicted. She looked…smaller, somehow. More vulnerable.

As though she had said something she had not intended.

“Gwen,” Ernest said hesitantly.

She turned away, her arms clasped around herself. “All I want is—is a home. A family.”

“I know,” he said softly.

“One of my own,” Gwen went on, her voice breaking. “I have always had a family, yes, and I know I am lucky to have the one I do. But I… It’s always someone else’s story. Someone else’s adventures. Someone else’s excitement!”

It was not bitterness in her voice, not exactly. More like a deep pain, Ernest could not help but think as he reached out to touch her, then drew back.

“And I love my parents, but being a Pernrith…” Gwen’s voice faltered, and he could feel the guilt radiating from her as she whispered, “Being a Pernrith is hard. Knowing the world is pointing at you, knowing everyone is expecting you to be less refined than your cousins from the legitimate lines.”

Ah. Of course. Michael had spoken about this years ago and even when pressed, had never elucidated further. “So—So your father—”

“The illegitimate brother of the Dowager Duke of Cothrom, the Dowager Marquess of Aylesbury, and the Earl of Lindow, yes,” Gwen said, reeling off the titles in a rush and reminding Ernest that it was the son of the duke he’d heard so much about who was technically duke now. “Legitimized now, but—well, Society never seems to forget, and as one of his daughters, I am looked at as lesser. I have been all my life.”

Ernest spoke instinctively, without real thought. “I’m sure that’s not what—”

“Are you? Are you sure?” Gwen whirled around and glowered. “You’ve been here all these years? You’ve lived my life?”

His mouth was dry. “I—I—”

“You have not, and I am tired of it. I want to start again—a fresh start,” said Gwen enthusiastically, something akin to affection flowing through her words. “An opportunity to build a family of my own.”

Ernest swallowed. Well did he understand that particular desire, though he had never thought to articulate it in that way before.

With Charles gone, there was nothing to stop him doing just the same. Start again, a fresh start, a new era in the Frasemere line that he could not only be in charge of, but craft and mold particularly around his values, the things important to him.

Family. Connection. Community. Building Frasemere Hall into the family home it always should have been.

But for that, he would need forty thousand pounds.

“You don’t need the Marquess of Ravenshurst specifically to—”

“The Marquess of Ravenshurst can give me something my family can’t,” said Gwen, holding herself up stiffly and jerking her chin upward. “Respectability. A name never smeared with scandal. Wealth, and a home, and an estate, and a lifestyle I have always craved, and an opportunity for children, a family. My family. A home I can build myself.”

The longing in her voice was so palpable, Ernest could almost reach out and touch it.

He couldn’t. But he could reach out and touch her.