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“Ravenshurst, yes,” said Gwen’s previously betrothed. “I was told I could wait in here to see the family.”

Ernest stared, goggling.

What the hell was the man doing here?

It wasn’t as though Ernest did not feel for the man; it must have been quite astonishing to receive Gwen’s letter, and he didn’t blame the man for feeling the fool.

After all, had not he felt the fool when he’d read Charles and Laura’s note?

But to turn up here, as though to confront them!

Ernest’s mind juddered to a halt. To confront them. Was that why the marquess was here? To confront Gwen—to attempt to force her to take him back?

His chest swelled at the very thought. Well, the man had quite the wrong idea about his betrothed! That was, Ernest’s betrothed, he corrected hastily. Gwen was his now, and no amount of posturing by this Lord Ravenshurst was going to change that!

The marquess smiled politely. “May I sit down?”

“I-I… I… I don’t know,” Ernest said lamely, his mind still spinning at the idea of the Marquess of Ravenshurst being here.

It was so contrary to any expectations that he hardly knew what to do with himself. True, he had experienced the same instinct when he had realized his betrothed had eloped with his brother: the desire to see them, to reason with them, to try to understand what the hell had been going on.

But Ernest had overcome that. He had understood that his brother and his friend had been adults and could make their own decisions.

Even if it had been a decision that had ended in tragedy.

Surely, Lord Ravenshurst understood that!

“I… I did not expect to see you,” Ernest said, clearing his throat and wondering how on earth he could delicately remind the man that it was quite shocking to press a woman to take back one’s suit. “Do you think… Well. That it’s a good idea to be here?”

The marquess had sat primly in an armchair near the blazing fire and looked confused at the question, his eyes blinking rapidly. “Why shouldn’t I be?”

Oh, the arrogance! Ernest had never seen the like.

Well, it was going to be a most awkward encounter when Gwen returned, but then that was her business, he reminded himself. It was not up to him to swoop in and rescue her from her own dilemmas.

Though now that he came to think of it, it was the marquess who needed rescuing…

Ernest tried again. “You don’t think you might wish to discuss this…this thing with Gwen over a letter, do you?”

Lord Ravenshurst stared. “You are awfully informal with my betrothed.”

And that was when things got a tad out of hand.

Lungs constricting, pulse thrumming, Ernest said stiffly, “Miss Gwendoline Chance is not your betrothed.”

The marquess rose to his feet, his expression stony. “I beg your pardon?”

Ernest relaxed. “That’s quite all right. I’m not offen—”

“Well, I am!” said the interloper hotly. “You take a great liberty, my man, in imposing on the Chances’ hospitality for so long, but to speak so improperly about a daughter of the house—”

“Oh, Gwen doesn’t mind.” Ernest grinned, the memories of the previous evening soaring through his mind and making his whole body heat. “But she might not want to see you. Hadn’t you better—”

“And why would my betrothed not wish to see me?” demanded the marquess.

Ernest’s temper was really starting to get the better of him now. Ernest took a long, deep inhale in his attempt to calm himself, but it was becoming increasingly difficult. “Now see here, you don’t have a betrothed, not any longer, and continuing to demand—”

“What are you talking about?” This time, the man’s voice had changed, and Ernest saw to his distress that there was genuine befuddlement in Lord Ravenshurst’s tones.