“Are we there yet?” Evelyn asked, her voice breaking the quiet, as she leaned out the window, alight with curiosity as the Petworth carriage rolled to a halt. The view of Apsley House stretched before them, its grandeur unmistakable even from a distance. Adeline, seated across from them, shared her friend’s anticipation. 

The late afternoon sun bathed the stately residence in golden light, its neoclassical columns standing tall against the lush expanse of Hyde Park. Behind them, the bustling hum of Piccadilly faded into insignificance, leaving only the magnificence of their destination.

As she stepped down, her leather boots crunching onto the gravel drive, Adeline lingered, absorbing the intricate architectural details—the soaring façade, the ornamented pediments, and the stones that seemed steeped in history.

A flurry of liveried servants bustled about, unpacking carriages and swiftly moving luggage inside. A servant, heels clicking briskly beneath his powdered wig, guided them to the largest of the house’s three drawing-rooms, where the hosts and guests gathered.

“Lord Egromont! You have arrived!” A sweet, musically sounding voice floated across the room.

A regal lady excused herself from conversation and approached with a graceful air. Her chestnut hair was elegantly styled, and her vivid blue eyes sparkled warmly. A deep sapphire gown, adorned with delicate lace and a simple strand of pearls, accentuated her refined figure.

With an easy charm, Pierce bowed over her hand before drawing her into a warm embrace. “Catherine, always a pleasure,” he said, then turned to shake hands with the tall, distinguished man beside her. “Apologies for the delay—one of the horses lost a shoe.”

“A minor inconvenience,” Catherine replied with a dismissive wave. “You’re here now, and that’s what matters.” Her smile extended to the young ladies. “I’m delighted you’ve brought guests, my friend.”

“The last time you saw my sister, she was still in the nursery,” Pierce said with a smile. “May I introduce Lady Evelyn Wyndham and her friend, Miss Adeline Sandringham?” The two ladies dipped in graceful curtseys.

A warm nod was directed toward Adeline before Catherine turned her attention to Evelyn. “Yes, I remember you, Lady Evelyn! My, you’ve grown into a beautiful young lady. Have you made your debut yet?”

“I will this coming Season, Your Grace,” Evelyn replied, her voice bright with admiration.

Clapping her hands in delight, Catherine’s eyes lit with enthusiasm. “How exciting! We must discuss your plans. I’ve arranged a walking tour through Mayfair later this week—a perfect opportunity to find some additions to your wardrobe.”

A subtle clearing of the throat from the man beside her prompted Catherine to turn, a smile of recognition gracing her lips. “Ladies, may I introduce our host and my wonderful husband, Arthur Wellesley, Duke of Wellington.”

The ladies dipped into another graceful curtsey.

Pierce’s eyes flicked around the room. “Quite the gathering, Catherine. Not surprisingly, there’s an unusual balance of ladies to gentlemen.” Adeline watched as his gaze narrowed with amusement at their hostess. “What are you up to?”

The Duchess grinned mischievously. “Adrian needs a wife.”

A rich guffaw escaped him. “Oh dear, and is Adrian aware of your scheme?”

“What am I aware of, Lord Egromont?” A deep voice cut through the group. Adeline turned, her breath catching at the sight.

The man she assumed was Adrian had crossed the room, his tall frame exuding quiet strength. Dark hair framed a chiseled face, and his piercing stormy gray eyes held a glint of curiosity. His finely tailored attire hinted at both wealth and refinement, while a faint smile played at the corners of his lips, adding a touch of warmth to his commanding presence.

“That Catherine is scheming to find you a wife.” Pierce grinned as the men embraced warmly. “It’s been too long, my friend. You’re looking well.”

Adrian clapped Pierce on the shoulder as he stepped into the circle. “It has. How is your family?”

“They’re well. Mother misses you and your antics.” Pierce turned toward the group, a fond smile tugging at his lips. “As it happens, Evelyn has joined me. Allow me to introduce her dear friend, Miss Adeline Sandringham. Miss Sandringham, this is our good friend, Adrian Sinclair, Duke of Wakefield.”

Adeline’s heart fluttered as she dipped into a practiced curtsey, her gaze rising to meet the Duke’s. Adrian offered a measured bow, his expression composed, yet she caught the briefest flicker of interest in his eyes. But just as quickly, he turned to Evelyn, barely sparing Adeline another glance—as if determined to remain unaffected by her presence.

He grinned as he looked at Evelyn. “Little Evie! I think the last time I visited, you were trying to learn how to read La Belle et la Bête. Comment est ton français ces jours-ci?”

“Je suis un naturel, Votre Grâce.” Evelyn’s smile stretched with unmistakable pride.

Approval gleamed in Adrian’s eyes. “Fantastique. When you make your debut, I’ll have to invite you and your brother to my box at Drury Lane. There’s a French troupe that performs during the Season, and I’m sure you’ll enjoy their style of theater.”

A delighted gasp escaped Evelyn. “I’m making my debut this year! Oh, thank you, Your Grace!” She turned to her brother and grabbed his arm. “Brother, did you hear?”

With a bemused smile, Pierce gave her hand a gentle pat. “Of course, I heard, but I’ll need to know what this play is about first.” His brows furrowed slightly, and a faint blush crept onto his cheeks. “The French can be... well, not English.”

That earned a pout from Evelyn, her expression shifting to one of confusion. “What do you mean by that?” She began tracing the fabric of her dress, a habit that always surfaced when uncertainty took hold.

Rather than answer immediately, Pierce glanced toward Adeline and Catherine, his mouth forming a tense line. The shift in his weight and the quiet agitation in his stance did not go unnoticed. Picking up on his unease, Adeline stepped forward, her fingers resting gently on Evelyn’s arm in a silent gesture of reassurance.

“What your brother means,” she began, keeping her tone even, “is that every culture has its own traditions, ones that might hold meaning only in France. The theater offers all manner of performances—musicals, dramas, comedies—and he simply wants to ensure it is something you would enjoy.”

She met the Duke’s gaze, the weight of it pinning her in place. Her breath hitched, but she forced herself to hold steady. “And not,” she murmured, voice just above a whisper, “something others might deem… disreputable.”

Evelyn’s smile softened, though the faint furrow of her brows lingered, betraying a trace of doubt as she processed Adeline’s words. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but a soft shuffle of feet interrupted her, and a servant approached the group, who leaned in and murmured something low and discreet into Catherine’s ear.

A twinkle of excitement flashed in Catherine’s eyes before she accepted a glass bowl from the servant with effortless grace, passing it to her husband. With a serene smile, she turned to the room, moving with the practiced ease of a hostess in command, her presence both poised and welcoming. Lifting her glass, she tapped a silver spoon against her wine glass, the soft chime cutting through the hum of conversation as all eyes turned to her.

“Welcome, everyone, to our week-long event,” she began, her voice warm yet commanding. “Thank you for joining us here in our little abode. I trust the activities I’ve planned will provide you with plenty of enjoyment.” She glanced at the assembled guests, smiling. “I’ve placed an itinerary in each room. I have designed them with some free time for you to relax or entertain yourselves as you see fit. To conclude our welcome drinks, we have a small activity.”

A playful smile curved Catherine’s lips, her eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief. “Each of you will pick a number from Arthur,” she announced, her voice light but purposeful, leaving a trail of anticipation in the air.

With a practiced ease, Arthur stepped forward and gave the bowl a light shake. The soft clink of glass against his ring added a theatrical flair, prompting a ripple of laughter to sweep through the room. At the sound, Catherine’s smile deepened, clearly pleased to have captured everyone’s attention.

She paused, giving the room a moment to settle into the unfolding mystery. “Once you have your number, find your partner and introduce yourselves,” Catherine said, her smile widening as she watched her guests. “There are prompts, in case you’re feeling shy about sharing a bit of yourself. If you find yourself paired with someone, you already know too well,”—her eyes flicked momentarily to Pierce, a knowing glint in her gaze — “let me know, and we’ll see if we can arrange a swap.”

A few minutes later, Adeline focused on the crisp, deliberate strokes forming an ‘eight’ on her paper. Evelyn, beside her, was already reading her own paper, a small, excited exhale escaping her lips as she saw ‘two’. 

With a flourish, Pierce held up his own paper. “Four,” he announced cheerfully, then turned to follow Evelyn as they set off to find their respective partners.

Among the shifting crowd, Adeline swept across the sea of unfamiliar faces. A small flutter stirred in her chest—part intrigue, part uncertainty—as she wondered who her partner might be for the activity.

“I have the number eight,” a deep voice cut through her thoughts—smooth as silk, almost too casual.

She stiffened, her focus torn from the room. She glanced over her right shoulder, only to find the Duke of Wakefield standing far too close, his sharp gaze drifting to her paper.

Her pulse pounded harder than she cared to admit, and she swallowed against the anticipation tightening her chest. Seriously, Adelaide? She chastised herself, willing away the betraying warmth creeping up her neck. 

Unwilling to let him linger so near unchecked, she stepped forward, the space between them suffocating. Turning to face him, she found his expression unreadable—impassive, detached, as if he hadn’t just stolen the breath from her lungs. 

A flick of his gaze caught hers—piercing, magnetic—stripping away her composure. It was as if he could see straight through her, unearthing the very thoughts she fought to bury.

Unease coiled in her chest as she studied him. She’d heard the rumors—the murmurs of a man who thrived on indulgence, a scoundrel who toyed with convention like a game. His effortless stride, the practiced charm in his voice, the way he owned every space he entered—it all pointed to a man who cared little for society’s rules. No sensible woman would fall for a man like him. She reminded herself of that fact, forcing down the flicker of intrigue. The rumor was he sought out blushing brides—so why was he here, searching for a wife?

Another whisper from the gossip mill surfaced. Was it true he’d gambled away his inheritance, leaving him chasing after a wealthy dowry? The idea lingered uncomfortably, unsettling her. But just as quickly as it came, she dismissed it—there was no use entertaining gossip. Yet, her eyes lingered on him a second longer, as if trying to decode the mystery he presented.

Silence stretched between them. He didn’t respond at first, his attention still sweeping over her as though studying every detail. It made her skin prickle, his scrutiny like a touch she wasn’t ready for. She shifted uncomfortably, flipping her paper over to focus on the first question, desperate to push away the unwanted thoughts.

The question itself felt suddenly trivial. Where do you find inspiration? She hadn’t the faintest idea.

A beat of silence stretched between them before Adrian’s voice broke through, deep and steady, the weight of it sending a ripple of tension down her spine. “What type of play do you think I would be taking your friend to?”

His words lingered, yanking her thoughts back to him with an unsettling force. She swallowed, her pulse kicking against her ribs as she struggled to hold her emotions. But his voice clung to her senses, each syllable wrapping around her like a touch she couldn’t shake. What was he implying?

Heat flared beneath her skin, betraying her before she could stop it. Adeline’s gaze locked onto his, and she fought for composure, shaking her head as warmth tingled at her fingertips, leaving her grasping for something—anything—sensible to say.

A slow breath steadied her. She lifted her chin and arched a brow. “Your reputation precedes you, Your Grace,” she said, her tone light but edged. “Even in the quietest corners of Sussex, your name carries weight. I can only imagine the first act of your play stirring enough scandal to make the ladies clutch their pearls and faint from shock.”

It took a moment for Adeline to see if her words had landed, and when she noticed the surprise flash across Adrian’s face, a sharp, unrestrained laugh escaped him. It startled her, the sound so unexpected that it hung in the air between them, making her pulse quicken. He awkwardly cleared his throat, and his usual composure slid back into place. 

For the briefest moment, she saw a twitch of self-consciousness, but it vanished, replaced by a half-smirk and an arched brow. “You would not swoon, Miss Sandringham?”

Her pulse fluttered at the thought, but Adeline steadied herself, meeting his challenge with unwavering confidence. “No, because I would not be there in the first place,” she replied, a smile playing at the corner of her lips as if daring him to provoke her.

Brows lifting slightly, Adrian tilted his head, his eyes narrowing with curiosity. “You do not enjoy the theater?”

Rather than answer right away, she leaned back on her heels, eyes sharp as she sized him up. Her lips pressed into a thin line, suspicion threading through her words. “Of course I do. I’ve seen many plays in my time. Just not the kind you frequent.”

A mischievous glint danced in his eyes as he waggled his eyebrows. “Do not judge something you have not experienced, Miss Sandringham,” he said, tone playful and suggestive. “It can be quite... satisfying.”

The remark caught her off guard. Lips parting, Adeline found her mind spinning with possible interpretations, none of which she intended to entertain. With effort, she redirected her attention and let her gaze sweep the room. “So, this house party is for your benefit, then?” she asked, her tone dry. “Only three prospects?”

Unbothered, Adrian didn’t follow her gaze. He merely shrugged, the gesture languid. “I only need one wife,” he said, the indifference in his voice almost palpable. “Catherine assures me they tick all the boxes to become my duchess. So, why bother looking anywhere else?”

The bluntness of his response landed hard. Adeline’s breath caught in her throat as she stared at him, momentarily stunned. She knew well enough how transactional peerage marriages could be—alliances built on titles, wealth, and land—but hearing it spoken so plainly left her unsettled. It simply wasn’t something said aloud in polite society.

She could never imagine herself marrying for convenience. If that day ever came, it would be for something deeper: love that was fierce, passionate, and soul-stirring.

When she spoke again, her voice carried a sharper edge, unmistakable in its challenge. “In seven days? Do you believe that’s enough time to choose someone to spend the rest of your life with? Or do you expect them to be so... compliant? To follow you around and obey your every whim without a thought of their own?”

The words slipped from her lips before she could stop them, and for a moment, her breath hitched in surprise at her own boldness. She had no business speaking bluntly to a duke. Yet, as she held his gaze, unreadable and unwavering, her exasperation pressed harder against her restraint. His coldness, his offhand treatment of emotions—it felt like a slap to everything she held dear. She wasn’t just angry; she felt unsettled by how easily he could dismiss the very thing that made someone human: the heart beneath the title.

To her surprise, Adrian didn’t flinch or bristle at her words. Instead, his expression shifted, cool and calculating, as if her boldness had sparked some quiet interest in him rather than anger.

A lift of his glass sent champagne swirling in the delicate crystal, yet he never looked away. The tension between them thickened with each passing second, as though he were studying her with a focused intensity that made Adeline’s skin prickle. Despite the discomfort curling in her stomach, she met him head-on, unwilling to reveal even a flicker of weakness.

“Catherine has already vetted them,” he said at last, his tone even, though a trace of gruffness threaded through. “All that’s left is to spend some time with them, see how we interact. I could choose one at random, of course, but...” The thought trailed off, unfinished, as a faint, enigmatic smile curved his lips. “It’s always enlightening to observe what people desire. Is it me, or my fortune?”

A shift in the air signaled his movement behind her. Adeline stiffened as he came to stand just over her left shoulder, his presence palpable. Not quite overbearing, but too near, like the heat of a fire flickering close to bare skin. He said nothing at first—only scanned the room with that cool, practiced gaze, the kind that made her certain he missed nothing.

“Lady Zara Miller,” he murmured at last, inclining his head toward a striking blonde across the room. “A diamond of the first water. She could have any man wrapped around her finger if she cared to. But look closer—see how she holds herself? The way she barely acknowledges the man at her feet?” His voice was low, almost too smooth, sending an unwelcome ripple of awareness through her. “She’s indifferent. A pity, really. Second Lieutenant Macaulay is one of the most fascinating men I know.”

Focusing on his words proved difficult with his nearness pressing in on all sides. The warmth of him, the quiet weight of his voice, the way his breath stirred the air at the nape of her neck—it was maddeningly distracting. Refusing to let it show, Adeline lifted her chin and studied the blonde across the room. “Bored and detached?” she echoed, arching a brow. “It looks more like she’s dressing him down.”

A low chuckle followed, rich and knowing. “That’s because Lady Zara was bred to marry a duke,” Adrian said. “Why waste charm on a man who isn’t the prize she’s after?”