Chapter Two
Twenty minutes earlier…
Reginald had ridden hard. He had ridden fast. He had ridden for an hour in the wrong direction after getting lost and he was tired.
And now he was about to put his plan into action.
The manor was far grander than he had expected—though he had heard a great deal about the annual house party that the prestigious Chance family enjoyed every September. The house loomed above him, welcoming and intimidating in equal measure.
Right. So. I am here. Now to find the lady.
“May I help you?” creaked an old voice.
Reginald looked down from his horse and saw what could only be a butler looking up at him. The man was elderly, yes, but there was a sharpness in his eye buried beneath a bushy brow that suggested he was not to be treated as a fool.
Which was all to the good. Reginald hated the thought that the family he was about to marry into would hire fools for servants.
“You may,” Reginald said, not bothering to dismount from his horse. “I seek Miss Jessica Chance.”
Apparently, that was not the right answer. It was certainly not the answer that the butler had expected.
“Miss… Miss Jessica Chance?” the servant repeated.
Reginald nodded.
Well, he was hardly going to explain his plan to a servant. He wasn’t going to explain his plan to anyone. It was far less likely to succeed that way, and the odds were already pretty long.
But he had no choice. He needed respectability; he needed the connections that the Chance name offered.
He had to become a part of this family.
“Miss Jessica Chance? You are sure?” The butler, his head tilted ever so slightly, looked entirely unconvinced.
It was not an auspicious beginning.
Reginald had been very careful in his plan. He needed respectability, he needed to prevent any more scandal attaching to the Llyne estate, and so that meant marriage. Ideally, he would marry a woman with an excellent name, with a pedigree that could not be faulted.
The obvious candidate? The Chance family.
Now, he was no fool. Reginald knew that he could not propose matrimony to any of the daughters of the primary branch of the family.
As far as he had heard, the Duke of Cothrom, or the “Dowager Duke of Cothrom,” as everyone had come to call him—the man had given the title to his eldest son in a move that had shocked Society last year—had one daughter, and she was confident and proud.
Not the right target.
No, the more Reginald had thought about it, the more he realized that he needed a Chance bride who would feel grateful, who would happily accept his proposal in relief.
He needed a woman for whom no other man would offer.
It had not taken him long. Listening to conversations at White’s, overhearing gossip at Almack’s, and realizing that he had never encountered this particular Chance daughter, the decision had been easily made.
After writing out a list of the remaining eligible Chance ladies, of course.
A man had to put some consideration into these things.
Miss Gwendoline Chance—not officially out, might be too young. Described by the few who know her as a wallflower just like her older sister, which of course is a downside.
Lady Maude Chance—too old, though she is part of the most senior branch and so may therefore have more sway when it comes to influencing Society.
Lady Francesca Chance—rumors conflict about this one. Perhaps there is also a cousin Frank Chance with whom people confuse her? Far too dominant—I need a wife I can control.
Miss Theodora Chance—almost no dowry, as far as I can tell, and therefore doesn’t have much social standing. Could she be enough to help with Peter? Probably not.
Miss Irene Chance—far too beautiful, likely to have many other suitors. No point in attempting to win her over; probably far too stuck-up for her own good.
Lady Lucy Chance—passionate prisoner reformer, perhaps far too close to comfort to the problem. Though on the bright side, might be able to help Peter if he got into a real pickle?
Miss Jessica Chance—by all accounts, dull as ditchwater and very shy. Should be easy enough to win over, as a wallflower, as she’s had no attention. Poor thing.
Yes, he would marry Miss Jessica Chance. Then all his problems would be over with.
“Miss Jessica Chance,” Reginald said aloud with a curt nod. “Where is she, please?”
“You were invited, sir?” the butler asked with a harumph.
Not exactly. Not if you defined “being invited” as receiving an invitation. No.
Reginald attempted his best, haughtiest expression. “I would not think you would ask the Baron Llyne such a thing.”
The haughtiness did not work.
“I must ask all visitors to Stanphrey Lacey whether they have actually been invited,” said the butler, not a little sternly. “You would be surprised and astonished, my lord, to discover that quite a number of people drop in on us here in the hope of an invitation being extended.”
Blast. “And… And I suppose an invitation is rarely extended,” Reginald hazarded, trying to ignore the tiredness in his bones.
The butler snorted. “It never has been, my lord.”
Double blast. Well, that left Reginald only one choice, and it was not the one he would have originally chosen, but there did not appear to be any other option.
“Then I wish you good day, sir,” Reginald said aloud, inclining his head to the servant.
The butler bowed in return—and that was when Reginald kicked his ankles into the sides of his steed, forcing the gelding into a sudden canter in the direction of the side of the house.
“My lord!”
Blood pumping through his veins, excitement pouring through him, Reginald knew what he was doing was madness, but he could see no other option.
If the butler was not going to permit him into the house by the front door, he would merely go around the side and enter by the back.
Not that it would be necessary. Ignoring the butler’s shouts behind him, Reginald felt his stomach drop in awe as a vista of splendor swiftly appeared before him once his horse had cantered around the side of the house. The creature slowed as they approached a lawn covered in people.
People, and a picnic.
The Chances. Even now, Reginald could hardly believe that he had done such a thing. It was one thing to concoct such a ridiculous plan; it was quite another to enact it.
And here he was, sitting on a horse before the entire Chance family. Rich, clever, powerful—there was no end to the pleasantries one could say about this family.
And soon he would be part of it.
Just a twinge of guilt managed to surface, but Reginald pushed it down swiftly. What he was doing, it was not wrong. He was not promising marriage with no intention on following through. He truly was going to marry Miss Chance, the wallflower that no one talked about.
That was the whole point.
They were all staring. Only after a few heartbeats did Reginald realize why.
Ah, yes. The horse. That isn’t the done thing, was it?
Dismounting as elegantly as he could—as elegantly as a man who had ridden on bad roads all the way from London could—Reginald looked around at the staring faces.
Dear God, but they were an impressive family. Every man handsome, every woman he could see pretty in their own way. A few of them were already married, he knew, and he would just have to hope that that one there, with the impressive blonde hair, was his Miss Chance.
Well, he’d soon find out, and there was only one way to do it.
“I hope you do not mind,” said Reginald as cheerfully as he could manage. “I thought I would invite myself, as I have an important errand to perform.”
Gasps echoed around the picnic and just for a moment, he felt wonderful. This will be a family tale that they will tell for generations to come, he thought as warmth rushed through him. “Do you remember the time Grandfather rode up on a horse at Stanphrey Lacey and found Grandmother?”
His attention flickered across the seated ladies. One of them was looking over at a man who must have been her father. She was plain, simply dressed, and clutching a very large glass of what looked like lemonade.
Reginald smiled to himself. Poor woman. The plainest in the family; that could hardly have been fun. He and the future baroness would be kind to her, once he was part of the family.
“‘An errand’?” a voice rang out, a man’s, confident and unflapped. “Well, man, I suggest you carry out your errand then 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.”
The perfect way to broach the topic. “That is precisely what I wished to come here to discuss,” said Reginald, hoping his nerves were not showing.
All he had to do was stay calm. He was so close to success, so close—all he had to do was say her name, and the beauty would reveal herself, and they would be married.
So. “Tell me, where is Miss Jessica Chance?” Reginald asked pleasantly.
The plain woman choked, lemonade splattering all over her gown and the gown of the beautiful woman seated beside her. The coughing splutters became so great that her sister, or cousin, hastily retrieved the lemonade glass from her hands and thumped her in a rather ungainly manner on her back.
Poor thing. Undoubtedly, she had hoped it was her name that would be called.
Reginald looked out across the rest of the dumbfounded party, and repeated, “Miss Jessica Chance?”
He spoke blithely, as though he turned up uninvited at family house parties all the time, and raised a quizzical brow.
Well, he wanted to impress her, whichever one she was.
And the most odd thing happened. The spluttering, lemonade-soaked woman slowly began to rise to her feet.
Reginald ensured his smile did not waver. Ah, so she was a sister of Miss Jessica Chance, then. Clearly, Miss Jessica Chance was not here right now, and this plain woman would lead him to her location.