Chapter One #2
“I decided not to,” she lied quietly, twisting her hands in her lap.
“This house party is supposed to be an opportunity for us all to relax,” said her sister, nudging her arm. “But you do not look relaxed.”
The remark almost made Jessica laugh.
Relax? When her life appeared to be slipping past her in the dullest of parades, and she did not appear to be able to stop it?
She was four and twenty, for goodness’s sake.
Four of her cousins were married, and she had never danced with a gentleman to whom she wasn’t related.
The Chances were pairing off, finding their perfect partners, and she was still struggling to catch the eye of a gentleman long enough at a ball to gain a single dance.
Not that she could say these things. These were not words you said.
She was a Chance. She was supposed to belong to one of the most powerful, the most prestigious house in the whole of England.
It was just… Well. Sometimes, she did not feel as though she belonged anywhere.
“I suppose you’re here avoiding his lovesick nonsense,” Irene said quietly, breaking through Jessica’s thoughts.
Jessica blinked. “I am?”
Irene grinned. “I told him yesterday he should have come. It doesn’t matter that he’s not family.”
Jessica blinked again. “He’s not?”
Strange, she had always thought of all her cousins as family…
because they were. Even if they were not siblings, they had seen each other so much as children, her cousins were almost like siblings.
And every year, they all came to Stanphrey Lacey, the seat of the head of the family, the Duke of Cothrom, and they spent part of the summer together.
And they were most definitely family. Who Reeny could be talking about, she could not fathom.
But her sister was looking at her as though she were completely mad. “Of course he’s not. How on earth would Wilfred be part of the family?”
Oh. “Oh,” Jessica said aloud, cheeks pinking at her mistake. “No, of course not.”
Somehow she had gotten lost in her own thoughts again and the conversation had moved on. They were no longer talking about a cousin—they were speaking of Irene’s closest friend, His Grace Wilfred Zouch, Duke of Aynor.
“Yes, I told Wilfred, if I had been able to gain an invitation for him to accompany us at the family house party again this year, at least we’d have one person here who wasn’t going to get married by the end of it.” Irene chortled with a sparkle in her eyes.
Jessica smiled weakly.
It was kind of her sister not to include her in that category: people who were not going to get married anytime soon.
No one said it. The rest of the family was very kind, when they remembered that she was there. Which was not often.
And it was not as though Jessica had anyone particularly in mind. Her time in Society had not exactly been short. At her age, she had spent six Seasons out and had not received a single proposal. She’d not received any invitations, not purely for herself.
She was not the sort of woman, Jessica had realized when very young, who was likely to attract a man.
And perhaps that is fine, she thought as Irene chattered away about her best friend.
“—can’t shoot to save his own life—”
Spinsters existed. Even older bachelors. Perhaps some of them were satisfied with that.
Perhaps not everyone could expect romance. Perhaps not every woman had the fairytale ending. Perhaps there were some people who could enjoy a great number of things in life, but matrimony was not one of them.
If there were such people, Jessica was certain she was one of them.
“—don’t you think?” Irene finished, her eyebrow arched.
It was not panic, precisely, that filled Jessica’s lungs, but it was not far off. What had her sister been saying—what was she supposed to be agreeing with?
“Erm,” she said aloud, as though that would buy her some time.
Irene’s expression was far too knowing. “You complain a great deal about being ignored for someone who frequently ignores me, you know.”
It was all Jessica could do to prevent the prickling heat in her cheeks from burning her sister by proximity. Even though it was a fair remark.
“I am sorry,” she said quietly, hating every syllable that she had to utter. “It’s just…I… When I think about… about…”
Shame burned through her.
What was wrong with her? She wasn’t truly anxious, not like their Aunt Florence, who sometimes slipped into a stammer thanks to her shyness, even with family.
It wasn’t that she did not wish to speak, or entertain, or say something witty as their sister Theodora often did to make the whole company laugh.
Laugh with her, that was. Not laugh at her.
But every time Jessica attempted to find the right words, they slipped through her fingers.
Her sheer ability to embarrass herself or be ignored combined to make Jessica assume she was going to be disregarded completely, and then when she wasn’t—on the rare occasion—she had absolutely no idea what to say.
It was maddening.
“Come on,” said Irene brusquely, standing up, readjusting the gun over her shoulder, and offering out her hand.
Jessica, despite being the elder of the two sisters, obeyed without a sound. Well, what was the point in arguing? This was a house party; time to oneself was at a premium. To be honest, she was surprised she had managed so much time as this.
Irene slipped Jessica’s hand into the crook of her arm, and they started walking through the rose garden back toward the house.
“I would imagine it will be luncheon soon,” her sister said, “and Nicholls mentioned something about a picnic on the lawn—there, look!”
Jessica looked, and her spirits rose, despite herself.
It was a spectacular sight.
Oh, Stanphrey Lacey itself was a beautiful building, there was no doubt about that.
A great number of architects had apparently written to Uncle William asking if they could come and study the great building, and it was remarkably fine, with its redbrick and its towers, the spiraling chimneys and the sheer amount of glass.
But it was the gardens that she most liked, and the lawn at the back. The splendidly planted borders still buzzing with bees and butterflies as the autumnal color roared through the gardens were simply spectacular.
What was even more spectacular was how the housekeeper had organized their outdoor luncheon.
Blankets, and rugs, and small tables, and even some of the comfortable chairs from the west drawing room had all been brought out.
There were platters of sandwiches and heaps of cakes, fruit in punch bowls and little sausages, slices of sponge cake and gallons, it appeared, of the most wonderful lemonade.
Parasols and umbrellas were dotted about the place to shield the ladies from the sun—not that Irene seemed that bothered, as she passed her gun off to a footman and then threw herself onto a rug that was devoid of shade—and footmen quietly moved about the place, refilling this person’s glass and helping another to a sandwich.
Jessica grinned. Say what she would about the family, and she always thought a great deal about them, there was something wonderful about being a Chance.
As long as she could get through this luncheon without embarrassing herself. Easier said than done.
“Come, sit by me,” said Irene cheerfully, “and have a glass of lemonade.”
Well, that was a start. She could hardly embarrass herself by drinking a glass of lemonade.
More and more Chance cousins were drifting across the lawn from the house, the gardens, the forest where some of them had gone hunting that morning, and soon, a little breeze of elegant chatter mingled around them.
Jessica sighed, a smile still lilting on her lips.
Perhaps she had been overly concerned about this year’s house party.
Perhaps it would be a gentle succession of good meals, light conversation she could listen in on, and peace and quiet.
She would eventually find a nook no one else had remembered, and there she could—
Her thoughts were interrupted by the gasps of her large family.
Jessica started, almost spilling her lemonade in her hurry to ascertain whether or not it was her at whom her cousins, aunts, and uncles were gasping. But no—there was a man on horseback approaching.
A man, on horseback?
It was most irregular. For a start, visitors to Stanphrey Lacey were far and few between. Outsiders simply did not get invited to the Chance ancestral home.
Furthermore, this was the back of the house. Guests who were invited dismounted at the front and were welcomed by the butler guiding them through the house if they were deemed worthy. But this man—this man had simply ridden around the side of the house, refusing to dismount!
Jessica glanced at her sister, but Irene shrugged, her eyes wide in fascination.
Clearly, something had occurred: something dreadful. What news did this man bring?
A low murmur of speculation was now rippling through the lunching Chances, and Jessica could a few theories just out of hearing.
“Someone unwell—”
“Parliament collapsed—”
“News from France—”
Jessica did not heed the theories. She was too busy looking at the man.
He had dismounted by now and looked a mite puffed, though elegantly dressed and clearly of some means. Why a man of means had not taken a carriage, rather than ride all the way—presumably—from London, she could not think.
He was tall—tall, and broad, his shoulders impressive and his stature regal. He had dark hair, almost black, and he was attired in riding clothes that looked well-made and therefore expensive.
When he turned around to look at them all, there were some giggles from the younger of her cousins.
Jessica could not blame them. He was remarkably handsome. Those dark eyes, flashing with what had to have been intelligence and charm. That mouth, intensely kissable—not that she would ever do such a thing, of course!
But beyond the mere facts of his appearance, there was something…something very proud, something very determined about his air. It was intoxicating.
Jessica shook herself slightly, taking care not to spill her lemonade.
Silliness, that was all her thoughts were.
Silliness. The man would never notice her.
That was the occupational hazard of being from such a large family of beauties.
There were six other Chances, more if he found women her mother and aunts’ age attractive, by whom he would be captivated before his eyes even glanced over her—and his gaze would continue on by.
Besides, the man could not have been perfect. There was surely some fault. Perhaps his voice was squeaky, or he was not as charming as he looked.
“I hope you do not mind,” said the man in a low, melodious voice that thrummed deep within Jessica. “I thought I would invite myself, as I have an important errand to perform.”
Jessica’s lips parted in astonishment, and it appeared she was not the only one.
Invite himself! To the Chance family house party—it was ridiculous. The man was out of his wits!
Instinctively, she looked over to her father Frederick Chance, Viscount Pernrith, who was seated two rugs away and had her mother nestled up to him. Jessica could see from the arch of his brow, the pinch of his full lips, that he looked just as astonished.
Why on earth was the man here?
“‘An errand’?” The cool and calm voice of her Uncle William, Duke of Cothrom, rang out across the murmurs and brought the picnic luncheon to quiet.
“Well, man, I suggest you carry out your errand and get back on your horse. I am afraid unless your name ends in Chance, or you are married to a lady once known by that name, you ought not to be here.”
“That is precisely what I wished to come here to discuss,” said the gentleman calmly, as though interrupting dowager dukes were something he did regularly in his spare time.
Jessica stared, transfixed, though she remembered in time to take a sip of her lemonade. It would not do to be caught staring at him.
“Tell me, where is Miss Jessica Chance?” the stranger asked pleasantly.
Jessica choked, lemonade roaring up her nose and causing her eyes to water.
What on earth had he said her name for?
Spluttering incoherently and wondering if she was truly to drown in her own lemonade, Jessica was relieved when hands grabbed the glass from her. When she coughed twice and managed to clear her throat, it was to see three things.
Firstly, that Irene had taken her lemonade from her, thank goodness.
Secondly, that the entire family was staring. Oh, wonderful.
Thirdly, that the handsome stranger who had interrupted the private house party was looking calculatingly the same direction everyone else was.
Oh, Lord.
Attempting not to sink into the ground and bury herself, Jessica tried to hold her head up high, as befit a Chance. After all, this was undoubtedly a mistake. The moment he looked at her, he would realize he was here for someone else. Her sister Gwendoline, perhaps, or—
“Miss Jessica Chance?” the man said, stepping forward and raising a quizzical brow.
A quizzical brow that should absolutely not have made her hot all over.
Well, there was nothing for it. Jessica rose to her feet, hating that there were splatters of lemonade down her gown, and tried to ape her cousin Lilianna’s imperious expression.
“Yes,” she said, her voice only faintly quavering. “Yes, I am Miss Jessica Chance. You… You have a message for me?”
For that could be the only reason that this strange gentleman had barged into a family party, Jessica reasoned silently as the man looked her up and down. Precisely who could have sent a message to her, she did not know, but there could be no other explanation.
The gentleman grinned. “Excellent. Will you marry me?”
A strange sort of ringing was echoing in Jessica’s ears and she almost laughed. “Y-You know, I thought—I thought for a moment that you said—”
“Jessica,” Irene breathed below her.
“—but you couldn’t—you wouldn’t…” Jessica tried to laugh to show just how ridiculous the whole thing was.
Because he couldn’t have—he wouldn’t have—no, it was her mortification at being singled out at all which had caused her to mishear that particular sentence.
Trying to ignore the gaping jaws of the whole Chance family, Jessica said in as clear a voice as possible, “Would you repeat that? I believe I misheard you.”
And the strange gentleman smiled, and her stomach lurched just as he said, in a clear, ringing voice that could absolutely not be mistaken, “Miss Jessica Chance, will you marry me?”