"It's either this risk," Alice said softly. "Or you live with your Aunt Meredith. I don't want to see you go, Lavinia."
The garden fell silent, and strangely, Lavinia didn't have an answer for Alice. She just sat there, staring at the vines twisting around the trellis above them . She wanted to dismiss it outright, to insist she was above such schemes, but she sat quietly until Emma changed the subject completely and they started giggling about something Lavinia was too troubled to listen to.
"Do you have any idea how many handkerchiefs I have retrieved this week alone?" Andrew asked, his voice laced with mock incredulity as he leaned against a mantle.
Victor Terrell, his friend—swirling an amber liquid in his glass—scoffed and arched a brow. "More or fewer than the fainting debutantes?"
Andrew shook his head and let out a dramatic sigh. "Let's just say the handkerchief brigade is relentless. Lady Bellingham's daughter managed to drop hers twice in one evening. Twice, Victor. It's an epidemic."
Victor snorted, nearly spilling his drink. "An epidemic? I don't think so." He shook his head. "I would say it's more of a sport, and you, my good friend, are the trophy."
"Oh, they have turned it into an art form," Andrew replied, scanning the crowd at the tea party. "A calculated flutter of the lashes here, a perfectly timed stumble there. And then, of course, there's the fainting." He stopped, looking over his shoulder at Victor with an almost pained expression. "I hate the fainting, Victor. It's always such a hassle."
London seasons were a blur of predictable chaos. Andrew had mastered the art of navigating them with minimal fuss and maximum amusement. Call it years of practice, but he knewexactly how to handle the sharp-eyed mamas, their fluttering daughters, and even the occasional scheming debutante with dreams of charming her way into a proposal from him.
The truth was, he didn't begrudge the women their attempts. Marriage was their battlefield, and they fought with the weapons available to them. But Andrew had no intention of being captured. He was too quick, too clever, and far too disinterested in anything resembling commitment.
"I am not against marriage, my dear friend," Andrew continued. "I just don't see the point of making this big a production out of it."
Lord Pembroke's wife, Lady Catherine Pembroke, had organized a small tea party at their estate, a charming if overly tranquil gathering designed to "foster meaningful connections," or so the invitation had declared. Andrew had intended to skip it, judging from how intimate he thought the gathering would be, but Victor had convinced him to attend.
"You have been groaning ever since we arrived," Victor stated. "You can at least try to have fun."
Andrew squinted his eyes, his disbelief etched into every line of his face. "I never thought I'd hear that word from your mouth. Fun? Really, Victor? When did you start attending balls and tea parties for fun?"
Victor waved a dismissive hand, as though brushing off Andrew's cynicism like a speck of dust. "If Alice wants to be here, then I'm here," he said simply.
Andrew raised an eyebrow, leaning back against the column with a grin plastered on his face. "Ah, so this is what marriage does to a man. Turns him into a willing participant in...this," he said, gesturing broadly at the tea party scene before them. "What happened to the Victor who used to claim social gatherings were a farce designed to make men miserable?"
"That Victor met Alice," Victor replied smoothly, his lips twitching into a smile that Andrew found equal parts irritating and oddly sincere.
"Right," he answered. "In all honesty, Victor, I don't want to be here. The mamas are going to find me soon enough and bore me with tales of their daughters' virtues, musical talents, and dowries. I'm not in the mood for it."
"What do you expect? You're the Duke of Hargrove, an eligible bachelor with a fortune large enough to tempt even the most respectable families into scheming for your attention."
Andrew groaned, tipping his head back as if to petition the heavens for rescue. "You make it sound as though I'm some sort of prized livestock at a country fair."
Victor chuckled. "Well, you are being sized up for breeding potential. I suppose that's not far off."
"Charming," Andrew muttered, running a hand through his hair. "I should probably stop complaining and just enjoy it. I mean, I don't loathe the attention."
"You don't. What you loathe is marriage," Victor teased.
"I do not," Andrew answered.
His issue wasn't that he hated women. It was quite the opposite. He enjoyed their company, their wit...their beauty. But Andrew had learned long ago to keep them at arm's length. He reveled in their attention, yet never allowed anyone to get close enough to see any cracks in his carefully constructed façade.
"So you've never contemplated it?" Victor asked him. "Falling in love? Getting married? Do you still hold on to that belief that it's just not for you?"
Andrew's lips twisted into a faint smile, one that didn't quite reach his eyes. "You know me, Victor, you know why."
Victor leaned back, and lowered his head. He had long understood that Andrew kept people at arm's length, not because he disliked them, but because he couldn't afford to let anyone too close. His boundaries were there for a reason.
"You can tell yourself that you'll never fall in love. You can keep people at a distance, live your life exactly the way you want to. But the thing is, Andrew, nothing in life stays permanent.You can't control everything. You can't guard yourself from everything, no matter how hard you try. Trust me, I know."
Andrew chuckled and shook his head. "I disagree. I can control most things. I've spent years perfecting my art and it has worked so far."
"If you say so," Victor answered. "Although, I don't think your reputation as a rake is going to help you much anymore. The mamas and their daughters are all too eager to see you settled. You've become their latest challenge."
