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“We are not to stand on precedence this evening. Everyone may sit where they wish.”

Her brows rose. “That should prove diverting.”

“Indeed.” He nodded. “Shall we put wagers on whether Lady Marguerite attempts to sit by Stan?”

She chuckled. “I’d like to see her try.”

He was glad to see her taking an interest in his friends, even if she’d not come to the library. It would be easier if they were friendly, would it not? He lifted his brows. “Shall we help him or her?”

“I like Lady Marguerite well enough. But I do not see Lord Stanhope coming around to her. Perhaps it’s kinder if we do not encourage her?”

Freddie nodded. “You have a point.” Stan would be interested in learning of her aid to him. It could only help matters between them. “Let us go watch the entertainment then, shall we?”

It was just as they’d thought. Lady Marguerite had done everything in her power to seat herself next to Stan. But he had an impenetrable fortress surrounding him. Evie had taken the seat between Stan and Fin. And Pippy had taken the chair on his other side. The grateful looks he’d cast them throughout dinner said he knew what they’d done for him.

He was not, however, so fortunate after dinner. Lady Marguerite must have been lying in wait for Stan to rise from the table, for she pounced before he’d even rounded his chair.

“My lord, would you be so kind as to escort me into the drawing room?” she asked.

Stan looked at all of them, an exasperated expression on his face.

Freddie and Fin both lifted their shoulders. What could they do that would not show as a public set down? And while Stan had no interest in the lady, he surely did not wish to see her humiliated.

“Of course, Lady Marguerite,” he said, lifting his arm to her. He cast them a raised brow over his shoulder.

Freddie helped Pippy out of her chair. “May I escort you into the drawing room, Lady Weymouth?”

She nodded. “Thank you, my lord.” But once they were free of the table and any prying ears, she leaned into him. “I feel sorry for Lady Marguerite. She’s trying desperately to win the affections of a man who has no desire to be won. She’s setting herself up for disappointment.”

Freddie looked down at her. “There’s nothing we can do about it.”

“I suppose not. But that doesn’t change her outcome.” Pippy glanced up at him. “Thank you. You saved me from a similar situation.” She sighed. “Although I had far less to offer. She has at least twice the dowry I had.”

Freddie just patted her hand. Would Pippy's financial troubles always be a part of their life? Would there ever come a time when it was no longer at the forefront of her thoughts?

They stepped into the drawing room, and Freddie sagged. He’d known coming to his aunt’s house party would be taxing. He’d just not understood how taxing. Especially when he would far prefer to be alone with his wife.

A piece of paper was thrust into his hand.

“What is this for?” he asked.

“Lady Dalmeer will explain,” the footman said as he handed out papers to each person who entered.

“Your aunt is a trial,” his father said before striding over toward Lord Potsworth.

Freddie couldn’t agree more—even if it was with his father.

Lady Dalmeer stood in front of the hearth, waiting for everyone’s attention. Freddie didn’t know how she could stand so close to the blazing fire. He was sweating just looking at her. And what of her gown? He hoped it didn’t catch the flame.

“You will each write one hope for the new year and one prediction,” she said. “Once they have all been gathered, they will be read, and we will guess to whom they belong. Anyone whose hopes and predictions are not correctly guessed will receive an extra portion of pudding.” She smiled. “Let’s make them entertaining, my friends.”

“Lud, I’m constantly surprised at how she wheedles information out of people by making it a game,” Freddie said.

“She’s rather good at it, is she not?” Pippy agreed.

He gave her a dry look. “I did not mean it as a compliment.”

“No, I suppose it wasn’t.” She laughed.