Andrew spent much of the first few days after returning to London closeted with his mother in his father’s old study. Usually, he tried to avoid his mother as much as possible, so as to reduce her opportunities to put pressure on him to bend to her wishes. However, as he had been away from London for some time, there was also much work to be done, some of which required her help.

Though Andrew was a mere baron, he was nevertheless very wealthy. His late father had made wise investments throughout his life, and they continued to draw in great profits for the family to enjoy. It was the reason why Andrew had been able to do so little in the way of work while staying in the country. But now, he had letters to write, meetings to attend, and new business ventures of his own to try to establish.

A week after being back in London, Andrew joined his mother for breakfast. After the meal, he intended to spend the morning writing to some of his father’s business associates regarding the matter of shipments and any requisite business trips. 

His father had not been a likable man, not even to his family. The late baron had been cruel, caring only for amassing wealth, and obsessed with proving that a baron was just as distinguished as any duke. 

Andrew wondered if his associates in London were of like minds. He certainly hoped not. He was very much the opposite of his father. The idea of working with such men made Andrew’s stomach churn.

“Have you forgotten your manners?” Lady Elsbrook, his mother, asked in her usual prim way.

Andrew resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he realized he had passed her seat without bowing and kissing her cheek. He did so then, giving her a tight smile.

“Good morning, Mother,” he said stiffly. “Forgive me. I am thinking of the work I must attend to directly after breakfast.”

The dowager baroness nodded in acknowledgment.

“I understand you have pressing business,” she said, “but a man must never forget proper behavior, not even when in the comfort of his own home.”

Andrew bit his tongue as he took his seat. It would do no good to point out that his father had always been too busy calculating his next profitable venture to bother with proper conduct during mealtimes at home.

“Forgive me,” he said again.

The baroness nodded again, seemingly satisfied with his repentance.

“I hope you do not have any plans for this evening,” she said. “My friends, the Earl and Countess of Kinswood, and their daughter, Lady Viola, are joining us for dinner.”

Andrew held his breath to refrain from sighing heavily. He knew his mother loved social events, especially those that took place during the London Season. And he did not, in fact, have any plans. 

He had made a point of avoiding speaking with anyone who might lead to him having to make plans. Still, he hated it when his mother sprang such things upon him at short notice, probably to make it impossible for him to refuse to attend.

He managed to force a smile and raise his eyebrows casually to feign interest.

“This dinner wouldn’t happen to be an attempt to play matchmaker between Lady Viola and me, would it?” he asked as lightheartedly as he could.

His mother was unamused. She frowned and shook her head.

“What a ridiculous idea, Andrew,” she said. “At any rate, holding such a dinner cannot be anything but beneficial to us. I do not need to remind you that the family’s bloodline rests solely on your shoulders.”

At this, Andrew laughed sincerely, if a bit dryly. He noted she didn’t directly answer his question. There was little chance she would tell him if matchmaking was her intention, even though they both knew well that it almost certainly was. He looked at his mother and shook his head in bemusement.

“And I do not need to remind you that I am not your only son,” he said. “Thus, it does not rest solely on my shoulders to continue our family line.”

The dowager baroness sighed with obvious exasperation.

“You cannot rely on Jacob,” she said. “He still has many years to go before he can even consider settling down.”

Andrew murmured noncommittally, though he did not see his mother’s point. Jacob was away touring Italy, and, though he was a few years younger than Andrew, it would be quite some time before he would return home and prepare to seek a wife. Indeed, he might very well have already met a young lady before leaving England and plan to marry her when he returned.

“I think you have too little faith in Jacob,” he said. “He is a very capable and level-headed man. Surely, more so than me.”

The baroness frowned again and shook her head, rising to her feet.

“It is not he who bears the title of baron,” she said. “Nor is it his birthright. Truly, you are just as stubborn as your father was.”

Andrew tried not to shudder at the thought of being anything like his father. The late baron’s poor example as a husband and father was the very reason why Andrew did not wish to marry and produce heirs. 

It was a conversation he’d had many times with Lady Elsbrook, and one she always seemed eager to forget the minute it had concluded. He was just about to open the discussion once more when the dowager baroness suddenly thrust a sheet of paper at him.

“At least consider the marriage mart,” she said, her tone simultaneously sharp and resigned.

As soon as Andrew took the paper from her, his mother turned on her heel and left the room. Andrew couldn’t help smiling in bemusement. He didn’t enjoy upsetting his mother. Even though she was very prim and proper, he loved her. But she was so strict about adhering to the traditions of the ton that she often worked herself up into a frenzy at the idea of doing anything differently.

But when he looked down at the paper, his smile melted. It was a list of names, and Andrew quickly realized they belonged solely to women. More accurately, they were the names of young, unmarried women of the ton! He read it again to be sure his eyes weren’t still asleep. But there they were on the paper, and he shook his head and sighed in exasperation. 

She is nothing if not tenacious, he thought bitterly as he tucked the paper haphazardly into his coat pocket. Then, eager to avoid his mother for the rest of the day, he locked himself in his study. There was plenty of work to do, but he had no interest in any of it. He sat facing the wall behind his desk, sipping brandy, and thinking of his childhood. 

He had, as a young man, fancied the idea of marrying a good woman and having a family with her. But as the years had passed, and he had seen the example his father set for his son in his roles as man, husband, and father, he wanted less and less to do with the notion.

He had been taught to prepare for the eventuality of having his own family, principally, of course, to produce an heir. But now he was faced with the reality of being forced to take on the shackles of marriage, he loathed the idea. Why couldn’t he simply hand over the mantle to Jacob if he wished? He had half hoped his brother would marry first, so he could hand over the family title and fortune to Jacob with reasonable hope that his mother wouldn’t object. Now, he would never get that chance.

At some point, he must have fallen asleep. The next thing he knew, the clock on the mantel chimed three in the afternoon, startling him awake. 

He rubbed his eyes, noticing with relief that he hadn’t spilled any of the brandy still in the glass he had apparently fallen asleep holding. He finished it quickly and put away the glass, then rose from the desk. It was time to begin getting ready for his mother’s dinner party. With a groan, he left his study and trudged his way up to his bedchambers.

“Your bath is almost ready, sir,” Wallace, his valet , told him as Andrew entered his rooms a few moments later.

“Thank you, Wallace,” Andrew sighed, pulling off his cravat irritably and throwing it over the back of a chair. The coat joined it seconds later. He kicked off his shoes. More cans of hot water were brought up by footmen from below, and soon Andrew was wallowing in the tub, wishing he could stay there for the evening. He leaned back and allowed Wallace to shave him before getting out and drying off.

While Wallace moved calmly to and fro about his business, Andrew sat down on the bed and said, “I suppose I’d better make the best of this brief respite. It’ll be the only peace I’ll probably get for the rest of the evening.”

“Well, sir, I’m sorry to hear you say that. Perhaps it would lighten your spirits to hear that the cook has prepared an excellent joint of beef for tonight, with plenty of horseradish sauce? I know that’s your favorite.”

“Hmmm,” Andrew murmured, getting up again so that Wallace could help him into a clean shirt. He rubbed his chin and cracked a half smile. “That certainly is good news, and I heartily thank you for it, Wallace. Unfortunately, I shall be forced to share it with the guests, whose company will doubtless kill my appetite anyway. And, of course, Lady Elwood has ensured a young, unmarried lady is among them.”

 “I suppose that is a mother’s duty, and the dowager baroness is always a stickler for that,” the valet murmured.

“I can see you smiling, Wallace,” came Andrew’s muffled  complaint as the shirt slid over his head.

“Me, sir? Never, sir,” Wallace calmly replied, taking up the black stockings and trousers from the bed. “Please, sit, sir.”

Andrew did as he was bid, watching Wallace’s face intently as the valet deftly drew the stockings over his master’s feet and secured them with garters. 

“I can see the corners of your mouth twitching,” Andrew admonished, frowning. At that point, Wallace’s smile got the better of him, and both men started laughing.

“I’m so glad to be able to provide you with some amusement, Wallace,” Andrew said when they had recovered themselves somewhat. He stood up to step into his clean trousers.

“Sorry, sir,” the valet replied, clearly struggling to regain his composure as he tucked in the shirt, fastened the buttons, and tightened the back.

“Don’t suppose you fancy taking my place at dinner, do you?” Andrew asked, brows raised speculatively.

“I’d be only too delighted, sir, but I think the guests would object. It is the baron himself they come to dine with, not his valet.”

“I suppose you’re right. Damn shame, though,” Andrew sighed, shrugging into the richly embroidered satin waistcoat Wallace held out to him. 

“I won’t even be able to get drunk,” he added mournfully, his breath catching as Wallace tightened the waistcoat strings and tied them off. “I’ll have to make stupid small talk the whole time.” He paused to pull at the new outfit and briefly admired himself in the looking glass. “Hmm, not bad.” 

He sat down on a stool by his dressing table, and Wallace deftly worked with a comb to bring some order to his master’s somewhat unruly light-brown hair. Then, the valet helped him into his patent leather shoes. Like an automaton, Andrew rose yet again, and suffered while Wallace tied his cravat in a tight, complicated knot, complaining the man was ‘trying to strangle’ him.

Andrew stood patiently while Wallace added a few dabs of gentleman’s sandalwood and lemon cologne strategically about his person, then helped his master into his favorite midnight-blue velvet coat.

Andrew smirked at his reflection as Wallace brushed him down, and he imagined the expression on his mother’s face when she saw him. She couldn’t say he hadn’t made an effort. And she should just be happy that he was attending her dinner at all.

His mother was coming from her bedchambers just as he emerged from his own. Her satin gown was elegant, but he had to smile at her high, single feather headdress—currently all the rage— as it bobbed along with her every step. Her face was flushed, revealing her excitement at the coming dinner, but when she saw Andrew, she paused to inspect him from head to toe. 

“It will do, I suppose,” she said, frowning, “but you could have tried a little bit harder to be fashionable.”

“Are we ready?” he asked, ignoring her comments and offering his arm. His mother gave her infamous huff before taking it, and they set off down the hallway towards the staircase.

“Well, I certainly am,” she said. “Please, try to make our guests feel welcome.”

Andrew gave his mother a wide, fake grin.

“I live to serve,” he said.

They waited but a few minutes in the drawing room before hearing their guests arrive. The butler entered shortly afterwards and announced the arrival of Lord and Lady Kinswood and Lady Violet. As they were shown in, the dowager rose to greet her friends, followed by Andrew, and she made the usual tedious, formal introductions propriety demanded.  

Andrew vaguely recognized the older couple. The earl was tall and spare with luxurious whiskers, his wife plump and pink-cheeked, and sporting a feather headdress similar to his mother’s. Lady Viola turned out to be quite pretty, with pale-blonde hair, light-green eyes, and a dimple in her cheek. But when he greeted her, he could not see a spark of intelligence in her eyes. Moreover, she seemed quite unable to take her eyes off him, which made him squirm inside.

“Welcome to our home, my lord, my ladies,” he declared once the formal introductions were over, his voice oozing a warmth he didn’t feel. “My mother and I are honored to have you join us for dinner, which should be served at any moment.” The earl and countess nodded gracefully, all smiles, as they made small talk with his mother. Andrew pretended to be listening, but he was really trying to avoid meeting Lady Violet’s eyes, which were still fixed upon him.

To his enormous relief the butler came to announce dinner, and thank the Lord, he wasn’t required to escort Lady Violet into the dining room; the two ladies went in arm in arm, chattering gaily, and the earl escorted his daughter, with Andrew following up the rear. Andrew took his place at the head of the table and waited while everyone settled in, with Lady Viola to his immediate right. His mother’s doing, obviously. Then, he signaled for service, the wine was poured, and the meal began.

During the soup course, his mother and Lady Kinswood immediately began a lively discussion of the Season, while the earl ate in silence.

“It is lovely weather we have been having lately, is it not?” Lady Viola said, stirring her soup with her spoon, but drinking not a mouthful that he could see. Andrew mustered another smile and nodded, again not looking directly at her.

“It is, indeed,” he said. As is to be expected for late spring, he added silently.

Andrew was preparing to engage the earl in business talk in the hopes of discouraging any further conversation from Lady Viola. But he had forgotten the whole reason for his mother holding the dinner. She spoke directly to Lady Viola, the purpose in her voice loud and clear—to spark a conversation between the singletons.

“I am sure you have many lovely new dresses for the Season, my dear,” she said. “The one you are wearing now is a wonderful shade of green. It suits you perfectly. Do you not agree, Son?”

Andrew clenched his jaw. Now he would be expected to compliment the young woman, which would serve as further encouragement. He vowed to make his mother regret trying to force her onto him if it was the last thing he did.

“It is lovely, indeed,” Andrew said, not looking up from his soup.

“Thank you,” Lady Viola gushed. “Mama has had a blue one, a pink one, and a yellow one made for me just like it. Oh, and I am going to buy a purple one with feathers on the side and . . .” Andrew’s eyes glazed over. What brainless prattle! He feared he would go mad if he continued listening to her mindless droning about her dresses. How could the men of the ton ever be truly interested in such featherbrained women?

The following courses were no less painful to him. He managed to work in a little business conversation with Lord Kinswood and avoid talking directly to his daughter, but that promptly ceased just before dessert was served, when the earl blatantly laid his cards on the table.

“Our Viola is seeking to marry by the end of this Season,” he said pointedly to Andrew. “Lady Worthingwood tells us that you are looking to do the same.”

“Does she, indeed?” Andrew hedged, struggling to suppress his annoyance. “Well, as to that, I have spoken with Mother on the subject of marriage in the past, as is natural, but I do not consider myself under great pressure to wed at this time. Love isn’t something to be rushed, after all.”

At that, Lady Viola giggled like a schoolgirl. He heard the murmurs of approval from Lady Viola’s parents, just as he could feel the daggers his mother’s eyes sent him. He didn’t care. If she was foolish enough to go telling people he was looking to get leg-shackled, she couldn’t complain if he threw a few obstacles in her way. Not only did he not want to get married, but he knew he certainly did not want to marry Lady Viola, daughter of an earl or not. He simply could not stomach the thought of spending his life with someone as empty-headed as her. No matter what his mother said to whom.