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Papa firmed his jaw at the question.

Please, Lord. Mr. Ridley must help me!

“We must find a gentleman willing to marry her.”

Lily nearly choked at Mama’s declaration. What kind of man would be willing to marry her now? Surely not an upstanding one?

Papa shook his head, much to her relief.

“Aidan will take her to the Continent until the scandal dies down?” Her father glanced her way, and Lily nodded in agreement. She had contemplated many alternatives over the course of the night, and that was the only one which appealed.

But Mr. Ridley will do the right thing. He must!

Aidan came to sit by her side, his boyish face gaunt in the morning light. “Whatever you need, Lily Billy. I will pound Ridley until he comes up to scratch, if you wish. Failing that, we will visit the wonders of Europe together.”

Lily pulled her lips into a half-hearted smile as she dropped her head against his shoulder. She was grateful that her family would support her over the coming days.

Chapter

Six

“The principle on which to lead an army is to establish a standard of courage that all must achieve.”

Sun Tzu, L’Art de la Guerre (The Art of War)

JULY 23, 1821

Richard’s voice was still ringing in his ears as Brendan’s carriage came to a halt in front of the Abbotts’ home. Through the window, he noticed Lady Slight’s townhouse across the street.

Miss Abbott’s strange decision made a little more sense now that he could see it was her home where he had disembarked several nights earlier. Practically a stone’s throw apart.

A footman opened the door, lowering the steps for him. Brendan descended and then peered up at the modest home of Viscount Moreland. Three bays wide and three stories high, there was no ostentatious display despite the family’s wealth. The painted shutters were faded from exposure, and the brass knocker bore the patina of age—pride without pomp. Brendan knew Lady Saunton, the viscount’s niece, had boasted a large dowry that had led to all her troubles the year before. The earl had saved her from a dire situation unbeknownst to the Abbotts and had nearly been killed for interceding.

Which reminded him of Richard’s agitated admonitions earlier this morning. Butterflies set flight in his stomach as Brendan once again thought about his looming proposal. His lack of sleep, and the shock of the baron’s death followed by his near arrest, had his head aching. There were moments when he felt entirely disoriented, as though London had tilted on its axis. The tightness in his chest had not eased since the runner had informed him of his imminent arrest the day before.

Now he was to offer for a young girl he did not know.

Brendan had always promised himself that he would never allow the baron to trap him in an unwanted marriage. When he had learned the truth about his parentage and realized that his mother had married Josiah Ridley out of necessity, to save Brendan from bastardy, he had vowed never to find himself in similar circumstances. His mother had been beauty and grace, and she had deserved better than her marriage to his uncle-father. A compromise for the sake of survival.

Brendan had resolved to one day marry a woman of his own choosing, one he would cherish. Somehow, he would recognize her when he met her, feel it in the marrow of his bones that she was his match. She would make him forget the parade of widows who had warmed his lonely hours and remind him what it was to be cherished unconditionally, in the way his mother had loved him before her untimely death more than ten years earlier.

Yet here he stood, poised to enter the Abbott household and make an offer for a young chit whom he barely knew. A child.

Brendan did not want to be a man who uttered vows only to stray, as so many in the ton did without remorse. But how was he to make a life with a veritable stranger who was barely out of the schoolroom? The idea twisted in his chest, an ache blooming behind his sternum.

It was his worst nightmare come to life. He had evaded the baron’s influence for years, weaving through traps and expectations, determined to shape his own destiny. The old man would have been ecstatic to learn that Brendan was to marry the daughter of a wealthy and powerful viscount—a step above the two of them in rank. It was galling to contemplate Josiah Ridley’s glee had he been present to witness Brendan’s descent into propriety and unwelcome ascent in social status.

Several days had passed since he had found the baron sprawled on the study floor, and he had not slept properly since. His temples throbbed with the weight of too many sleepless nights, and his eyes were gritty with exhaustion. His chest remained tight, as though the path ahead had narrowed to a fate he had not chosen.

Bracing himself, he donned his beaver and approached the door, lifting the brass ring with a resolve he did not feel, bringing it down in a decisive knock that echoed on the modest portico.

A tall footman answered, his powdered wig pristine, his livery precise. He accepted Brendan’s card with practiced indifference, but upon peering down at the name, his polite expression receded.

“Mr. Ridley.”

It was a statement, not a question, and there was no mistaking the hard look the servant threw at him. Brendan had always made a point of getting along with servants. His mother had taught him that kindness was a gentleman’s duty, not a choice. But this one was not receptive to the friendly smile Brendan attempted. The staff here were clearly loyal to the household, and it seemed word of Miss Abbott’s entanglement with him had made its way belowstairs.

“I will see if Lord Moreland will receive you.”