Penelope's heart sank. The wager was accepted.
He turned to Anthony. "If the great Anthony Ravenport wishes to gamble away Ravensmere for the affections of an innocent young lady, who are we to deprive him of the opportunity?"
A few of the gentlemen chuckled.
Penelope felt sick. Innocent. At least one of them understood that much yet none of them seemed to care.
The gentleman raised his glass. "To Anthony Ravenport."
The others lifted theirs. "To the wager."
Anthony looked at the raised glasses. For the first time that evening, his expression became almost unreadable.
Then he raised his own. "To Ravensmere."
Their glasses met, and the quiet chime of crystal carried through the garden.
Penelope felt the blood drain from her face.
She could no longer hear the laughter, could no longer hear the clinking of glasses, could barely hear her own thoughts.
