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Almost against his better judgment, Ernest allowed his gaze to meander to that of the man in question.

Lord Ravenshurst was staring in absolute shock, his jaw fallen open.

His face was still. He barely appeared to be breathing. There was no clenching of his fists or swelling of his chest before he bellowed or anything.

If he had turned a little pale, Ernest would have worried that the man had suffered some sort of attack.

“Not…engaged,” whispered the marquess.

“Not any longer,” said Gwen stiffly as the Chances’ housekeeper slipped into the drawing room. “Not for two whole days!”

“But—”

“Miss Gwen?” whispered Mrs. Kinley.

“Not now, Mrs. Kinley!” Gwen snapped. “Look, I don’t understand. This whole thing has been perfectly clear—”

“Not to me!” retorted the marquess.

“Miss Gwen, I really must talk to you,” hissed the housekeeper.

Gwen ignored her. So did Ernest; his attention was too focused on the strange interaction between the woman he loved and the other man who appeared convinced he was going to marry her.

“I know it is hard to accept, my lord, but—”

“It is hard to accept because I have no idea what you are talking about!” boomed Lord Ravenshurst. “The invitations are about to be sent out! What do you mean, you are no longer to be my bride?”

Ernest swallowed, his mouth dry, as he heard the genuine hurt and pain in the man’s voice.

I’ve done this.

It was all his fault. If he had not come here and made trouble between the marquess and Gwen…

But it was more than that. It wasn’t Lord Ravenshurst who was the problem, he knew. No matter whom Gwen was engaged to, Ernest should not have interfered. He should not have allowed his attraction to get the better of him. He should not have permitted himself to be so easily entranced by a woman who appeared the best of all things he had ever wanted in a partner.

Better than life itself.

It was his fault. If Ernest had just respected the engagement between them, Gwen and Lord Ravenshurst would not have been having this row.

Guilt twisted at his heart and nausea boiled within. Ernest felt like he was going to be sick; as though his whole world had been turned upside down and he was clinging on to the walls, trying to stay upright.

He knew how hurtful it was to be abandoned by one’s betrothed, even if he’d been happy for them soon enough. And now he had inflicted that harm on another.

“I do not understand where this confusion is coming from!” Gwen was saying passionately, looking to her mother. “I was most clear—”

But she wasn’t. Ernest did not know the man, but anyone could see that the Marquess of Ravenshurst was genuinely hurt.

She had not sent the letter. Or she thought she had, but she had not taken care to make sure he had received it before she had ruined herself with Ernest. She was young, wasn’t she? She had rushed into a marriage with the marquess and she was rushing into a marriage with Ernest now.

What a fool he’d been. He’d seen her so quickly engaged, so quick to change her mind. She was immature, and she hadn’t thought this through. She hadn’t even told her parents before this moment!

He couldn’t stay here. He couldn’t be in this room, in this house, knowing he had been the cause of such deep pain to another. How could he bear it?

“This misunderstanding between us does not mean the wedding cannot go ahead…” the Marquess of Ravenshurst was saying.

Ernest did not wait to hear what Gwen’s reply was to such a suggestion. It did not matter. The woman he believed he had loved was not the woman he thought he knew—she was less mature than she seemed, and he reminded himself that she had only debuted this year. The Gwen he’d admired, so sure of herself, so practical and headstrong, would not have handled this situation so poorly. Would not have hurt two men in her careless abandon.

How could he be certain she was sure of what she wanted now? Mere days ago, she had wanted a life with this other man. Had been determined to have that life.