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It was getting close to time for him to return to the Gray house and complete the painting that he had begun. The streets were busy; the sessions for Parliament had likely led out. Gentlemen in top hats and formal attire walked around in pairs and groups, likely heading for debauchery in the form of the pleasure gardens or gentlemen’s clubs.

The Dove was not in the same neighborhood as the bachelor accommodations Abram and Rowan had secured. It took Abram a moment to get to the doors of the establishment, and once there, he walked inside and glanced around to see if he spotted his friend. Where was he? Granted, Rowan was a grown man, and Abram never interfered with anyone having a moment of reprieve from their responsibilities, but it wasn’t like him. He would have normally let Abram know where he was going or coming from.

Abram extracted his pocket watch once more. There was no more time for him to dillydally. He would have to wait and catch up with Rowan at a later time. The thoughts still ate at him. Where could he have gone?

He arrived at Gray Manor at the agreed-upon time, and once the butler, Dorchester, had let him in, he was shown to the ballroom to continue the painting.

“Mr. Fain has arrived, ma’am.” Dorchester stepped aside and allowed him to enter.

“Good day, everyone,” Abram said, looking at everyone, and specifically attempting to keep his attention from Miss Orris. All of the Grays were in attendance, including the viscount, who shot him with a warning glare once more.

Even if Abram wasn’t trying to look at her, the weight of her gaze was upon him. Warmth gathered around his cravat. Oh, Abram was in trouble with her, was he not? He pulled at the knot to loosen it a bit before he choked on it.

He laid out all of his materials before the painting that was still on his easel, replacing the new paints on his tray as he listened to the chatter continue around him.

Abram had stepped into a conversation he wished he’d missed: suitors and matches.

“Let us see… There is Quartermain. However, from what I understand, he is ghastly,” Viscount Fredericks said.

“‘Ghastly’? But what should we care of the thoughts of the ton?” The question was one free from the standard trappings of society: vanity, pretentiousness.

Abram found himself more endeared to her by the single query than he’d been even by her beautiful face and exhibited charm before now.

“Of course we care about their opinions. Any children we should have would be affected. There is not one single thing able to be overlooked,” Miss Violetta Gray added.

“True, dear. We must consider appearances,” Mrs. Gray said.

Samuel cleared his throat, as if to steer away from the discomfort of the situation. Abram was not sure whether for his benefit or not. “I can make introductions to others. I merely mentioned Quartermain due to his brother, who seems to be making acquaintances this season.”

“What of me, Samuel?” Miss Gladys asked. She breezed to Orris’s side, her dress twirling at her ankles.

“I have no doubt you will be granted permission from the queen. It is merely a matter of waiting. I am more concerned over your father and how he may perceive your… enthusiasm to remain in London.”

This seemed to add gravity, as everyone fell silent for a moment. The viscount took a seat, the crease in his brow easing, as if he’d only just realized they all looked to him for reassurances. “There are plenty of eligible gentlemen who would be more than happy to make your acquaintance,” he said. “Rest assured, family.”

Abram had to stifle a wince. The last thing he wanted was for Miss Orris to be matched. Even if the viscount had not mentioned her directly just then, she was definitely included. Why on earth would she be excluded?

Before he could even get started properly, the doors of the ballroom swung open and Dorchester entered once more.

“The Earl of Brookshire, ma’am,” Dorchester said.

With the title barely from the butler’s lips, the ever-flamboyant earl strode into the room. “Good day, my dear friends. I understood that your portrait was to be done today. I have secured Mr. Fain’s services in creating a new miniature for the season.” He walked over to Mrs. Gray after a terse nod to the viscount. Taking her offered hand, he pressed his lips to her flesh and bowed deeply. It was an exaggeration, even for him. Of course, Abram could not imagine the good earl being in any other way.

“Lovely to see you today,” Mrs. Gray said. “You are certainly always welcome in our home, my lord.” Mrs. Gray rose from her seat and curtsied to him.

Something told Abram that she was merely being kind. Whether it was the pursed lips or the slight tightening of her eyes as she peered at the older man.

Her daughters and niece curtsied as well.

“I shall not be a bother,” said the earl. “I would take a seat and perhaps have a spot of tea?”

“Certainly. Dorchester, if you could please have tea service set out in the parlor. And please apologize to Mrs. Baxter. It must have slipped my mind that the earl would be joining us today.” Her lips pressed together once again.

“Yes, ma’am,” Dorchester said before bowing and turning to leave the room.

The earl took a seat across the room and looked on as Abram continued painting. Finally, he was somewhat close to satisfaction with the appearance of every member of the family. In particular, Miss Orris, though he most assuredly viewed his talent as too feeble to capture her beauty. But he had done his best, and he could not prolong the completion any longer. He was well and done.

After resting his paintbrush on the ledge of the easel, he stepped back to admire his work. There were places where he could add finishing touches, and things that he could make better. Wasn’t that always the way of an artist, though? There would forever be one more thing to do. One more space to perfect.