Page 35 of Give Him a Chance

to a card party with drinks and generalized entertainment

May 13, 1841

RSVP

Bernard swallowed. This was a bad idea—and thankfully, he had the perfect reason to decline.

“It only says ‘and guests,’” he pointed out as relief roared through him. “I am not actually invited; it is a formality—in case you have guests staying with you from Town.”

For some reason, when he looked up, Bernard saw only blank stares from the three Chances still remaining in the room.

Surely, he did not have to explain the niceties of Society to an earl?

“It’s not actually inviting me. Lady Romeril, she doesn’t—I mean, it would include my name if I were actually invited,” he attempted to reason, discontent swirling in his stomach. “It is just this Lady Romeril being polite.”

Still the stares of evident confusion.

Eventually, Lady Lucy said, in the gentle, slow way a parent would speak to a child when trying to understand why it wasneither a good nor a clever idea to run out in front of a cart, “Yes, and it is customary for honored guests to bring their own houseguests to an invitation such as this. And we are Chances.”

“That means we are honored guests by default.” Lady Lindow grinned. “In fact, given the average invitation list for such a card party, taking into account the variance of Lady Romeril’s typical guest list—”

“What my wife so eloquently is not saying,” interrupted the earl, mediating the potential for insult by kissing her briefly on the cheek, “is that you are our guest, and so you are included. I shall have to find a better suit for you, that’s all. My decades-old fashion will not do.”

Bernard looked down at his suit.

It was rather shabby and out of date, but then, he was not fastidious.

Bernard swallowed. “But… But this is too much.”

Far too much, he wanted to say,for a man you think is a criminal. Far too much for a person who has moved into your home and has given no sign of leaving—mostly because your daughter has asked me not to leave and so I want to be respectful of her wishes, but also because when someone like your daughter asks you to do something, with those lips, and those eyes…

Clearing his throat did not entirely dislodge the outrageous thoughts pouring through Bernard’s mind, but they did so sufficiently for him to say, “You cannot—I am honored, my lord, but you cannot—”

“Nonsense. Man’s got to have a good suit when he goes to meet Lady Romeril,” the earl said bracingly. “He has to.”

Well, that sounded ominous.

“You could do with a new cravat yourself, Lindow,” said his wife tenderly, tugging at the slightly frayed silk currently adorning her husband’s neck. “Why, it’s been years since—”

“I don’t need a new cravat, woman! What do you mean?”

“They’re always like this,” murmured Lady Lucy, and Bernard shivered as her warm breath blossomed over his skin as she leaned close.

“Always… Always what?” he managed to say, utterly transfixed by her.

How was it possible that her hair should have been so dark, yet at the same time shimmer like that? It was almost as though gold had been woven through it, or steel, or iron, metallic shades that glinted as they caught the light.

“Always bickering.” Lady Lucy shook her head, but she was smirking. “I used to think all parents who truly loved one another were like that and worried for my uncles and aunts, who are more sedate in their worship of their spouses.”

“‘More sedate in their worship of their spouses’?” Bernard repeated.

It was not really a question, more a statement he did not understand. It was impossible to comprehend such a thing, such adoration between two people, and it lasting not only through the first flush of passion and past children but into the maturer, softer years of one’s life.

It was certainly not something he had ever seen.

Lady Lucy’s smile was friendly. “You will come to the card party, won’t you? It will be awfully dull, but… Well, it will be a sight the likes of which you have never seen, and I would love to introduce you to—I mean, there is so much to aim for, and now your criminal past is behind you…”

She is so earnest, Bernard could not help but think. So earnest, and so clumsy in her care of others. But she meant well—that could be seen from a mile off, and it was difficult to saynoto a woman who so earnestly wanted the best for you.

And so Bernard hesitated.

Attending Lady Romeril’s card party would be a bad idea. It was unlikely that there would be anyone there who would recognize him as Viscount Moray’s son, but there was the possibility…and besides, it was not as though there could be anything gained from such a thing. Hovell’s missions never sent him among the nobility, where there was the smallest risk that someone could spot him and know his true name. He was fortunate his courtroom devotees did not seem to include anyone of the most well-regarded families. Other than Lady Lucy, what woman of that rank would deign to set foot in such a place?

No, his approach was typically manacle first, in a prison.

Nothing to be gained…and yet, as Bernard looked into Lady Lucy’s eyes, he realized therewassomething to be gained. Something intensely precious.

Her company.

“Lady Romeril’s card party. A suit from your father. Right,” Bernard croaked, wishing to goodness he had not managed to get himself muddled into this family. “How difficult could it be?”