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“He isn’t the sentimental type.”

“But she’s his daughter.”

“And unhappy marriages are commonplace among the ton. If you view the situation rationally, Emerson has enough wealth to provide for her and is adept at guiding public opinion, which would protect her from the consequences of having been left at the altar.”

She wasn’t wrong, but he didn’t like it. No one should be forced to do something they didn’t want to do, especially when it would define the rest of their life.

“The good news,” she continued, “is that she will be more open to your suit because you’re an infinitely better prospect than Mr. Emerson.”

“How so?” He tried to recall if he had ever met Mr. Emerson. “Tell me more about this man. Sylvestor called him an ‘arbiter of fashion.’ Surely someone like that would appeal to Seraphina, since she’s always so well-turned-out.”

The carriage turned, and they both leaned into the movement.

“He’s a popular, well-dressed snake who’s fooled everyone into believing he’s a lion.” Her voice was deadly serious. “He’s handsome, eloquent, and absolutely awful—everything he has, he’s talked and manipulated his way into receiving. Seraphina would be miserable with him.”

“Then we can’t allow them to marry.”

Even though Trevor was useless in a ballroom and understood unspoken social rules about as well as he did Hindi, he would do everything in his power to make her happy. It didn’t sound as if this Mr. Emerson could say the same. But this introduced a whole other level of pressure. The clock was ticking, and he’d never operated well under a deadline.

“I agree,” she said.

“Will you help me come up with ideas about how I could court her?”

Her teeth gleamed white in the darkness. “I already told Mother I would spend the night at Wembley House, so I’d be happy to assist.”

“Thank you.”

He was grateful for any guidance. He had a feeling he would need it.

In some ways, the news of the looming deadline heartened him because it meant that he might have a real chance with Seraphina, but he also didn’t like the thought that she may not have many options. If pushed into a marriage she didn’t want, she might come to resent him later.

The carriage slowed and then came to a stop. They disembarked and made their way into the house. A few candles lit the foyer and corridors, but it was mostly silent and empty. His parents were still at the ball, and most of the servants had retired for the night.

He led Letitia to the library, where they could discuss his courtship of Seraphina without the risk of any of the few people still out of bed happening upon them. Pausing in the doorway, he turned to light a lamp, then carried it over to the seating area, where he placed it on a table and got comfortable on a plush armchair.

Letitia joined him, and she ran him through what she called “traditional courting behavior,” much of which overlapped with what Sylvestor had said. She added a few more possible outings he could take Seraphina on but made a point of reminding him that he might want to think outside of the normal society standards because Seraphina wanted someone with an open mind.

He couldn’t help wishing she would just tell him what to do. He was willing to take orders because if he didn’t fully understand what society considered “normal” or “acceptable,” how was he supposed to know what was outside of those parameters while also remaining something that wouldn’t ruin her?

When he said as much, Letitia reached over to pat his knee and pointed out that he would be the one marrying Seraphina—if he got his way—and while she was willing to help him because she thought they could be happy together, she wanted any interactions between them to be authentic.

He couldn’t begrudge that, but it did make things hard.

“Do you think she’ll accept an offer from me?” he asked as the conversation wound down.

She cocked her head, quiet for a moment. “She enjoys your company, which is more than can be said for most gentlemen of the ton, so yes, I think you have a better chance than they do. I can’t predict her decision, but I give you good odds.”

That was something, at least.

“Are there any other gentlemen she favors?”

“Not that I’m aware of. There are a handful whom she finds less tiresome, but none she seems to be as pleased to spend time with as you.”

He held those words close to his heart as they said their goodnights and retired to their bedchambers. His room was lit, but he’d dismissed his valet before they left, so he stood in front of the mirror as he prepared to undress.

He paused, unaccustomed to the sight of himself in these new, courting-appropriate clothes. He had no eye for fashion, but he thought they suited him reasonably well. They weren’t him, though. They were too tight, too stiff, too expensive.

They felt like a lie.