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“I’d be delighted,” Fin said. While he’d never said it aloud, Freddie believed Fin felt some remorse for his plan to persuade Grace to accept Miles’s proposal. She’d endured several unpleasant men because of the scheme, and Fin felt partially responsible—as he should.

“As would I,” Stan said. He’d kept mostly quiet on the Miles plan, yet somehow the two had developed more of a friendship than they’d had before. But he’d never asked Miles about it. Perhaps he would…someday.

“Your numbers will be very uneven—which will make Grace unhappy,” Freddie said. He perked up. “Perhaps you could invite Lord Westervale and his daughter. I understand they are in London at present.” He just didn’t know how much longer that would be true.

“Westervale? I’m not sure I know the man.” Miles looked pensive.

“You remember Lord Newcross from school, do you not? It’s his father and sister.” Freddie tried to look unaffected. “You do remember him?”

Miles nodded slowly. “Ah, yes. I think I have a vague recollection of him.” He looked at Freddie. “Is Lord Newcross not in Town?”

Fin gave Freddie a questioning look. “I don’t believe he’s even in England.”

Freddie pretended not to notice. “That will give you another lady. Perhaps she and Grace would find some commonalities.” He hoped it sounded as if he were suggesting it for Grace’s benefit. Which he was. There was no other reason for it.

Miles nodded. “I’ll send around an invitation. When do you leave for Yorkshire?”

Freddie expected his brother to smirk or grin, but there was just curiosity on his face. His father had told Miles about the house party, but not the ultimatum? That was curious.

“Evie and Ari are beside themselves with excitement over the invitation.” Miles grinned.

Ah, there it was. His sisters had told Miles of the house party, not their father.

Freddie returned the grin. “They shall be the only redeeming part of the party, I’m certain.”

Miles frowned. “Come, surely there shall be at least a few young ladies you will find diverting.”

Fin shook his head, a look of distaste curling his lip. “I find the prospect very hard to believe.”

Freddie raised a single brow. “Yes, as do I.”

Four

Pippy stood on the outskirts of Mr. Murphy’s ballroom, watching couples dance. She’d had a few gentlemen—if you could call them such—ask her for a set. But none were what she would consider suitors.

She cringed as she spotted Mr. Rochester walking toward her. She’d danced with him twice already—enough times to make a few eyebrows rise. Any more sets with him would convey the wrong message. One Pippy had no intention of sending.

“Lady Phoebe, might I secure your dinner set?”

Pippy shook her head. “I’m sorry, Mr. Rochester. But I will be returning home long before dinner is served. Perhaps the next ball?” Thankfully, there wouldn’t be another ball. She was setting out for Scotland in a few days.

His left eye twitched. “You’re leaving?”

Her head tipped to the side in a conciliatory way. “My apologies, but I’ve developed a headache. It’s best if I return home.” She did not add that he was a large cause of her ailment.

“But,” he sputtered. “Perhaps if you rested—took a breath of air—you would find yourself recovered, and I might have the pleasure of another set.” A look in his eyes told her he was not so much concerned for her welfare as he was to assert his rights to her.

She flicked up a quick smile. “Perhaps I will find a quiet place and rest.” She had little choice on that until she located her father.

“Shall I find us some refreshments and join⁠—”

“No,” Pippy said, louder than necessary. “I do not wish to bore you. I will return when I’m recovered.” Which would not be that evening—or ever. “But thank you for your concern, sir.” She dipped a curtsy and turned away from him before he thought of another reason for her to stay.

She ducked out of the ballroom and made her way upstairs toward the retiring room. It would likely not be quiet, but perhaps she could stay there long enough to ensure that Mr. Rochester did not follow her. It would not surprise her to find the gentleman waiting outside the door.

She stepped inside. Half a dozen screens sat at one end of the room, while chairs and couches filled the remaining walls. Pippy was uncertain how there were any ladies to dance with when they all seemed to be “retiring” at present. She slipped over and ducked behind a screen, grateful it was unoccupied. She didn’t know why ladies would linger, just so they might visit with one another. Although she was only there to collect her thoughts and avoid Mr. Rochester. Perhaps she was not so different from the others.

She sat on the stool and closed her eyes as she dropped her head back against the wall. The evening had been far less successful than she’d hoped. Had their troubles reached the ears of everyone in London? Or did she simply not attract the attention of the right gentlemen?