The journey from the quiet, green countryside back to the busy, crowded streets of London felt incredibly long. The traveling carriage bearing the proud crest of the Duke of Ford rolled steadily over the paved roads. Outside the carriage windows, the sky was a dull gray, threatening to spill rain at any given moment.

Inside the carriage, Rowan sat completely alone. He rested his head against the soft, velvet cushions. He was entirely exhausted.

The past few days had been filled with the strict, careful rules of a formal courtship. He had taken slow walks on gravel paths, attended local theater shows, and drank countless cups of afternoon tea. He had carefully guarded every word and every single action to ensure Aunt Renee approved of him.

He loved Delaney with his entire heart and soul, but maintaining the perfect, polite manners of a proper gentleman was deeply draining work.

Finally, the carriage turned onto the familiar, wide streets of Mayfair. It pulled smoothly into the grand, sweeping driveway of Hamilton House. The carriage came to a complete, gentle stop.

A footman quickly jumped down from the back of the carriage. He pulled the door open and lowered the small metal steps.

Rowan stepped out into the cold London air. He adjusted the collar of his woolen traveling coat. He walked up the wide stone steps, his leather boots making a solid, tired sound against the stone.

He walked through the large double front doors and entered the grand marble foyer of his home. The foyer was warm, brightly lit by a large crystal chandelier, and completely peaceful.

Mr. Simmons was waiting just inside the doors, exactly as he always was. Mr. Simmons stood perfectly straight, his hands folded neatly behind his back.

"Welcome home, Your Grace," Mr. Simmons greeted him in his smooth, professional voice. He offered a very deep, respectful bow.

"Thank you, Simmons," Rowan replied. His deep voice sounded rough and incredibly tired. He let out a long, heavy sigh that made his broad shoulders rise and fall.

Rowan reached up and began pulling off his leather gloves, one finger at a time. He handed the gloves to the waiting butler. Then, he unbuttoned his coat. He slipped it off his shoulders and handed it over as well.

Mr. Simmons had just collected the gloves and the coat, folding the coat neatly over his arm, when a sudden, loud noise completely shattered the quiet peace of the foyer.

"Rowan!"

Before Rowan could even take a single step toward the hallway leading to his room, he was suddenly and entirely bombarded.

From the very top of the grand, sweeping staircase, two women appeared. It was Aunt Margery and his sister, Ines. They did not walk down the stairs like proper, patient ladies. They moved exactly like an attacking army. They hurried down the carpeted steps, the fine silk of their day dresses rustling loudly with every rapid movement.

They rushed across the polished marble floor and completely surrounded him before he could even offer a proper, polite greeting.

Aunt Margery reached him first. She was wearing a lovely, dark purple day dress. Her face was completely creased with deep, overwhelming, maternal worry. She immediately reached out and placed both of her hands firmly on his broad shoulders. She began inspecting his face closely, her eyes scanning him from head to toe.

"How was the living condition in the village?" Aunt Margery asked rapidly. Her words rushed out in a frantic, worried panic. "I have heard terrible things about country inns! They can be incredibly drafty, entirely cold, and full of terrible dampness! Did you have a good fire in your room?"

Before Rowan could even open his mouth to reply to a single one of her frantic questions, Aunt Margery fired another round.

"Were the meals to your liking?" Aunt Margery demanded, her hands squeezing his shoulders tightly. "You look slightly pale. Are you sick, Rowan? Did you catch a terrible chill on the road? You must tell me immediately so I can have the cook prepare a hot broth!"

Rowan opened his mouth to speak. "Aunt, please, I—"

But Aunt Margery was not finished. She asked the most important question of all.

"Is our sweet Delaney okay?" Aunt Margery asked, her voice filled with deep concern. "Did she arrive at Oakridge Manor safely? Is that large house warm enough for her proper recovery? Did you make sure her new servants are treating her well?"

Rowan raised his hands in a gentle, defensive gesture, trying desperately to calm the older woman down.

"Aunt Margery, please take a breath," Rowan tried to say.

But Ines did not give him a chance to speak either. She stepped right next to Aunt Margery.

Ines was wearing a beautiful, bright pink silk dress. Her hazel eyes were sparking brightly with unrestrained curiosity and deep excitement.

Ines completely ignored the practical questions about food and weather. She wanted the romantic gossip.

"Forget the drafty inns!" Ines demanded eagerly, waving her hand in the air to dismiss her aunt’s worries. She leaned in very close to her brother.

"How did the actual courting process go?" Ines asked, her voice rising with excitement. "Did you remember to be completely charming? Did you use your best manners?"

Ines began firing her own rapid questions, pointing her delicate finger directly at his chest.

"Did you impress her French aunt?" Ines asked, raising her eyebrows. "I heard Mrs. Dufort can be very difficult to please! Was Delaney deeply impressed by your efforts herself? Did you bring her the flowers you promised?"

Ines clasped her hands together tightly in front of her chest. She let out a loud, high-pitched, unladylike squeal of delight.

"Oh, you must tell me!" Ines squealed. "How beautiful did she look? I am entirely sure she must have looked completely exquisite! She is back in her true childhood home, wearing the beautiful new silk dresses you bought her from the London modiste... she must have looked exactly like a queen!"

Ines reached out and grabbed Rowan’s right arm tightly. She pulled him slightly toward the hallway.

"Oooo, you must simply tell me everything, brother," Ines demanded, a massive, bright smile completely taking over her entire face. "And I mean absolutely everything. Nothing must be left out. I want to know every single detail of the courtship!"

Rowan stood frozen in the middle of the foyer. He felt a sudden, massive headache beginning to form directly behind his eyes. A sharp throbbing pain started at his temples. The noise of the busy London streets outside was absolutely nothing compared to the overwhelming, loud interrogation happening right inside his own house.

He pinched the bridge of his nose tightly between his thumb and forefinger. He closed his eyes tightly for a brief second, seeking just a single moment of quiet peace and silence. He let out a long, loud, completely exhausted sigh.

"Ladies, please," Rowan grumbled softly, his voice full of deep fatigue. "I have just walked through the door. Can I not take my boots off first?"

But the two women would absolutely not be denied. They did not wait for his permission. They did not care. To them, he was just a nephew and a brother who held the most exciting news in the entire world.

They grabbed him firmly by the arms. Aunt Margery took his left arm, and Ines took his right. Together, they literally dragged the tall, broad-shouldered Duke completely across the marble foyer.

They dragged him down the hallway and directly into the drawing room.

The two women pushed him gently but very firmly toward a large, comfortable velvet armchair sitting near the fire.

They sat him down forcibly into the chair.

As soon as he was safely seated and trapped, Aunt Margery quickly sat down on the soft sofa directly across from him. Ines sat down right beside her aunt. Ines perched on the very edge of the sofa cushion, her hands resting on her knees, waiting highly eagerly for his response.