A knock sounded at the door to Alex’s chamber while Thomas worked to secure his neck cloth. He had donned all the proper evening finery, fussy though it may be. A top hat would finish the look. Or at least it would after Thomas finished his infernal fussing over the damned cravat.

“Come in,” he called and looked up to discover his mother. “Mama. You look lovely this evening.”

She wore a bold blue gown that accentuated the richness of her eyes. Her auburn hair, the color of which she had passed on to each of her children in varying degrees, had only just begun to show spots of grey about the temples. Henrietta Hardwicke, in Alex’s unduly biased opinion, was the epitome of grace, elegance, and love.

She somehow brightened even more at his compliment, then moved from the doorway to a seat on a nearby chaise. “Thomas, please finish with my son’s cravat and leave us. I promise you shall have more than enough time to fuss over his appearance when I’m done with him.”

Alex walked to kiss his mother on the cheek as his valet bustled from the room.

She patted a spot on the chaise next to her. “Sit down, Alex. I want to speak with you.” Though he couldn’t imagine the purpose of her visit, he complied—he wouldn’t dream of defying her to her face. “I was very disappointed in you when you left for Somerton at the beginning of the Season, you know—”

“Mama—”

She lifted a brow to stop him from interrupting. “Hold on a moment, dear heart. I said I was disappointed in you.” Taking his hand in one of her own, she looked at their interlocked fingers as she patted the back of his with her free hand. “You see, I had great plans for all of my children. Your father and I both did.”

His mother looked away for a moment as a single tear fell down her cheek. She brushed at it absentmindedly. “And when Donald died, I set all our plans for the lot of you aside. My grief overwhelmed me. It became larger in my mind than anything I could want for each of you.”

“Mama, we grieved Father too.” Blast. He didn’t know how to console his mother. For too many years, her tears were a constant companion. They had slowed a good deal recently, but it still broke his heart to see her cry.

“Goodness, of course you were all grieving. I’m making a cake of myself in trying to say this.” She took a breath and continued. “But this Season—this Season, I was going to resume working toward the plans your father and I had. I’ve quite neglected Sophia, I daresay—she’s virtually on the shelf. Charlotte is nearing her come-out. And you…well, it is well past the time you determine how you want to spend your days, you know. Time for sowing your wild oats is past. So when you left for Somerton, I felt you had defied me. Oh, Peter explained you were going to spend some time in the country and think about your life, and I know Lord Rotheby sent for you and you wanted to spend some time with him, so it had very little, if anything, to do with me.”

Alex bit his tongue to refrain from telling her just how much a part of his reason for leaving she had been.

“But I wanted to find you a bride. I thought if you had a lady by your side, you would settle down and be content. But that wasn’t your way.” Mama slowed her speech and gazed at him with sorrow. Then she reached a hand up to brush aside a stray lock of hair, much as she had done when he was a boy. “You always were one who needed to find your own way, weren’t you? But Peter convinced me to allow you your space and time to find what you want.” Her look turned serious as she faced him directly. “Have you found that? Is this Lady Grace Abernathy what will make you happy?”

She placed a single finger to his lips when he tried to answer. “Don’t answer that. Not yet. Alex, I want you to have a love match, like your father and I did. I know it isn’t how many amongst our class do thing, but that doesn’t make marrying for wealth or title or prestige right. When you marry, make it count. Make it last.” She gazed into his eyes with a determination that could only come from love. “Make it beautiful.”

Beautiful. Leave it to Mama to boil it all down to something as perfectly simple and infinitely complex as that.

Several more tears wetted her cheeks, which she ignored. He brushed them away and rested his palm against the side of his mother’s face.

“So do you? Do you love her? Please tell me you do, sweetheart, and I’ll promise to love her as my very own daughter.”

He desired to tell her that yes, he very much loved Grace and would make a marriage of it with her as she had done with his father. But he couldn’t tell her anything less than the truth.

But what was the blasted truth? He exhaled louder than he intended. “I don’t know if it’s love. I care for her deeply…there is a certain affection in which I hold her. I want to protect her. There’s even a possibility I could feel a bit of jealousy at times toward other men who might fancy her. She fascinates me—she’s beautiful and quiet and passionate—an artist. But love?”

He paused and thought long and hard before continuing. “I will do everything in my power to make what I feel for Grace become love. She deserves a marriage to a man who will love her in the same way Father loved you. I intend to give her that.” A few moments passed while his resolve deepened. “I’ll fight to give her that.”

His mother looked up at him, her eyes full of admiration. “I can see you will. Do what you need to do. You know we’ll all assist you if you need it. Though I daresay you would refuse it, wouldn’t you? You have become a ferociously independent man.” She rose to leave him, but stopped when she reached the door. “Your father would be quite proud of you.” And then she left him.

A sense of longing welled in his chest, a need to make her words come to fruition. Alex never realized before this moment how much he wanted to make his father proud, or his mother for that matter, or even Peter and the rest of his siblings, or Priscilla and Harry. He wanted desperately to be the man they all thought him to be.

But even greater than that, another need grew. The need for Grace to be proud of him.

What would that require? Lord only knew.

Three of the four Hardwicke brothers, dressed to the nines, huddled together in the Yardley Court ballroom. They watched the crowd of marriageable-aged misses and their mamas fill the room beneath three matching chandeliers and row upon row of wall sconces filled with candles. All the candlelight cast the ballroom aglow in their shimmering glory, amongst an entire garden’s worth of pots and hanging baskets bearing flowers that perfumed the entire space. An orchestra warmed their instruments in the balcony, sending a cacophony down to the cream of society.

Across the room from the Hardwicke men, Alex’s mother was playing chaperone to Sophie, who looked bored but still elegant in a soft pink silk gown with her chestnut hair twisted into complicated twirls atop her head and tangled with matching pink ribbons. Mama was motioning to him. The first set would begin in a moment, and he hadn’t yet fulfilled his role and selected a partner. Nor, for that matter, had either of his brothers selected a partner.

“It appears we’re neglecting our duty,” Alex said to his brothers. He extinguished a grin that threatened to appear at Neil’s rolled eyes, hoping instead to achieve something in the line of a grimace or a scowl. For some reason, he doubted he had achieved the desired effect. “Off you go, youngster. Dance with a young miss and set her heart aflutter.”

Neil wandered off, muttering beneath his breath. Peter turned to Alex with a resigned smile. “Shall we dance with the Sutter daughters? Mama hinted she’d like me to align myself with Lady Margaret, and I’ve yet to do anything about it.”

“And just why have you been neglecting such a thing?”

Peter did manage a scowl, along with a perfected glare of condescension. “If you take her sister, I’ll dance with her. Then Mama will be satisfied. Go on—Lady Amelia awaits.”

“Is that a gentle nudge? Or a ducal order?”

Peter answered him with a sharp nudge to his rib cage.

“Oof. I see it was an order.” He absentmindedly rubbed a hand against the offended area as they moved across the dance floor to where the sisters stood with their mother, the Countess of Derby.

Peter executed a deeply elegant bow to the ladies, and Alex followed suit. “Ladies. I do hope you’re enjoying yourselves this evening.” When he straightened, he flashed a devilish smile that seemed to bring even the countess to her knees.

The three women curtsied to him and Lady Margaret spoke. “Thank you, Your Grace. Yes, it’s quite a pleasant evening. Yardley Court is rather charming, is it not?” She looked at him expectantly.

“Not nearly so charming as you, Lady Margaret. Tell me, have I come too late to request your hand for the first set?” Peter placed his arm out for her hand in a clear expectation that he had’t.

She gingerly placed her hand in the crook of his arm. “Why no, Your Grace. I should be honored to dance with you.” They moved off, leaving Alex with the younger Sutter sister and the countess.

He set his attentions on the mother. “Ma’am, will it be too great an inconvenience if I deprive you of both your daughters for this set?” He had not forgotten how to play the part of the gallant gentleman during his time in the country, it seemed. Chivalry was still alive and well with the Hardwicke men. Blast it.

The countess simpered, “Gracious heavens, no my lord. I see Lady Poole has arrived, and I should very much like to speak with her. We have plans for, er, for a picnic, you know.” She virtually pushed Lady Amelia into his waiting arms as she left them.

Lady Amelia glanced up to him with chagrin. “I’d be delighted.” They took their place in the lines next to their siblings, making polite conversation about the weather in Town of late, the latest gossip among the ton, and other equally ambivalent subjects with which one might converse with a young society miss without repercussions of shock or dismay throughout the set.

Alex was bored and brooding in no time. He would much prefer the silence, or even the heated disdain, of Grace.

When the set finally came to a close, the brothers escorted the Sutter sisters to their waiting mother. After leaving them safely in her care and moving out of earshot, Peter asked, “Is Lady Amelia’s conversation as insipid as her elder sister’s? I do hope Mama is not serious about wanting me to offer for Lady Margaret. I’ve no desire to marry a woman with whom it is tedious to speak. She’s, but good heavens.” He tilted his head to the side to emphasize his point.

“Not much better with the younger sister, I’m afraid. Perhaps you should find another appropriate young miss to court before Mama finds one for you.” Alex winked at his older brother. He had no doubt that half the single ladies in the beau monde would gladly set their caps on the Duke of Somerton, should he give even the slightest indication of being in the market for a bride again.

“Thanks to me, you seem to have avoided a similar fate.” Peter clapped a hand on Alex’s shoulder.

“Look at the two of you.” Derek Redgrave and another friend, Sir Jonas Buchannan, joined Peter and Alex on the side of the dance floor, wide grins all around. “With Somerton and his ne’er-do-well brother, Lord Alexander, at the ball, there will be no ladies remaining for the rest of us to dance with. All the young misses are certain to be otherwise engaged, with discussions of whom the two of you are most likely to dance with, or perchance, take for a stroll through the gardens. The rest of us might as well head over to White’s and play cards, because our presence will soon be redundant,” Derek said as he glanced at Sir Jonas.

Alex reached over and gave a light slap to Derek’s shoulder. “I hardly think you capable of redundancy, Derek. It is good to see you as well.” For the first time since his interview with Chatham, he felt a broad smile form almost without his permission.

Peter stared across the ballroom at something indeterminate. He pulled his hand up to rub against his chin in the familiar, unconscious gesture. “Pardon me, gentlemen,” he said after a moment. “I see someone with whom I must speak. I’ll visit with you all later, I’m certain.” He left without sparing the others a glance, making his way through the throngs to a darkened corner of the room, where his mystery acquaintance waited.

Alex’s gaze followed Peter until he lost sight of him in the crowd. His curiosity soon evaporated as the remaining party fell into conversation. “Your absence from Town has been conspicuous,” Sir Jonas said. “Where’ve you been hiding yourself? And please tell me you have been up to no good.”

They all laughed. “I hate to disappoint,” Alex said, “but I’ve merely been in Somerton. Rotheby sent for me. I’ve kept him company. Nothing more exciting than that, I fear.”

“Nothing else?” Sir Jonas asked. “Then what is this I hear of your visit to Chatham this afternoon?”

Derek raised an eyebrow. “Chatham? What on God’s good earth could you have to do with Chatham?”

He wished he could have talked to Derek before this evening, but there had been no time. But still, why should he hide his current endeavor from his friends? Word would spread through town in no time if he were to marry Grace. They would know sooner rather than later. “I went to ask for his permission to marry his daughter.”

“You? Get married?” Derek let out a loud guffaw. “Has hell just frozen over and I missed it somehow?”

Sir Jonas eyed Alex for a few moments, before a flicker of understanding traveled between them. “No. This is no great surprise. The Hardwickes have always been about family first—we should’ve expected one of them to give in soon. Hell, Somerton himself beat Alex to the punch several years ago.”

Derek nodded. “True, true. So when will you leave the masses of eligible gentlemen?” he asked. “I assume Somerton will insist on a lavish affair, even if your mother hasn’t. Where is she?” Derek asked as he looked about the ballroom.

Alex scanned the crowd for only a moment before he found his mother’s unmistakable coiffure across the way. “Just over there,” he said with an impatient wave of his hand.

“No, you numbskull, not your mother. Your betrothed. I don’t believe I have made her acquaintance before.”

“Grace is not here. She’s in Somerton or Bath or somewhere with her aunt and uncle. Actually, she may be on her way to Town, now that I think of it.” He paused a beat, again debating how much should be spoken before a gathered crowd. There could be no telling how many gossips had their ears tuned in their direction. “Chatham didn’t approve. He has an arrangement with Lord Barrow.” The words were bitter on his tongue.

“Surely you jest,” Sir Jonas said with a somber tone. “He would prefer to be aligned with Barrow than the Duke of Somerton?”

Derek said nothing, but looked at Alex as though he could see inside his head.

Neil joined them before Alex could respond to his friends. “Pardon me, gentlemen. Alex, I—take a look who has just joined the ball.” He gestured toward the entrance of the ballroom to a pair of older men deep in conversation.

Chatham and Barrow! The bastards.

Alex started to storm across the room to confront the two men, but Derek and Neil held him back. Derek’s grip was, admittedly, the more insistent of the two. Neil would probably enjoy the scene, particularly if blood were involved.

“Wait, Alex,” Sir Jonas said. “Calm yourself first. You’ll accomplish nothing if you go in without thinking things through first.”

He had a point. Alex focused on his breathing to slow his heart from pounding a hole through his chest.

“I take it there is more to the story,” Sir Jonas said, “than you saw fit to tell us at first. What can we do to help?”

“I don’t know. There may be no help.” Alex tried to hide his agony, but surely did a poor job of it. His friends and brother looked on him with sympathy.

“You love her.” Derek’s statement was quiet, simple. True. It shot straight to the belly of the problem.

Words failed Alex, but he managed a nod of his head. Tears stung his eyes before he fought them down. He could deal with that later. He needed to be focused now. Calm. A deadly peace settled over him. Grace was what mattered. And fiend take it, somehow, he had fallen headlong in love with the chit.

“Well, what are we waiting here for?” Derek walked across the room, taking smooth, purposeful strides. The others followed him—Sir Jonas with calm gait that belied his intensity; Neil taking punchy, determined steps that showed his eagerness to join in a fracas; and Alex taking up the rear, steeling his body forward while his eyes narrowed in on Chatham and Barrow ahead, almost hunting his prey.

The two blackguards removed themselves from the main ballroom, but Alex followed them with his eyes. The foursome pursued them through a long corridor lined with candle fixtures and mirrors. Peter stepped into the hall ahead of them with two men Alex did not recognize, bringing both parties to an almost instantaneous halt. “Barrow, Chatham. Would you care to join us in the library?” Peter’s tone was deceptively mild. Never a good sign.

Chatham stumbled even though he was no longer moving. Surprise flickered across his face. “Somerton, good to see you.” He glanced around and his face registered recognition of the vast contingent of men who had trailed them from the ballroom. “Ah, all of you.”

Barrow’s eyes turned wild, flashing from man to man.

Peter held the door to the library open and gestured for everyone to enter before him. Alex sent him a question with his eyes as he passed through the doorway, but his brother only answered with a brief shake of his head.

He ached to put his fist through one of them, if not both, or at least to wrap his hands about their necks until they snapped. Instead, he did as his eldest brother expected of him. For now, at least.

Once everyone was settled, Peter began. “It seems, gentlemen, we have some business to discuss.”

He moved to a table at the side of the room and poured himself a glass of port, biding his time. The silence thickened in the library.

“Might I introduce Mr. Dennison and Mr. Frost,” he said after a long pause, gesturing to his two companions in turn. “Lord Barrow, you, in particular, might be interested in making their acquaintance. Though I daresay Lord Chatham will be interested, also, based on certain claims and accusations he has recently made to my brother.”

Peter paused, took a sip of his port, and the tension in the room increased. “They work for Bow Street.”

Barrow bolted from his seat and made for the door, with Dennison and Frost hot on his heels. Chaos erupted in his wake.

Sir Jonas shot up to assist the Bow Street Runners in returning Barrow to the room. All color drained from Chatham’s face, and he slunk into the shadows of the room. Alex burst forward to attack anyone he could, desperate to plant a fist against Chatham’s nose or one of Barrow’s wild eyes, while Derek and Neil forcibly held him back.

Only Peter remained calm.