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T he grand facade of Greymont Estate loomed in front of Daphne as the carriage pulled to a stop.

"Are you ready?" Joyce, who would be her chaperone at the house party, asked. "The next few days could very well decide your fate in marriage."

Daphne forced down a swallow, smoothing the delicate lace on her gown to steady herself. It was not lost on her that this was going to be an important occasion, however she could do without the constant reminder that it was.

"Define ready. "

"Ready to find your love match," Joyce chuckled as the two ladies made their way out of the carriage. "Ready to impress, ready to open your heart to the possibility of love entering it?"

Daphne's throat bobbed as she swallowed hard, the involuntary gulp betraying the nervous tension she tried to hide.

"I suppose I am as ready as I shall ever be...."

Sensing the unease in the youngest born Carter, Joyce touched Daphne's shoulder lightly. "I am telling you, you do not need to worry about impressing anyone. You are very good as you are."

Daphne appreciated the sentiment, she really did. It had always been her sister's nature to encourage her, making her feel as though there was nothing that could be improved about her. But right now, she needed someone to be honest to her if she was going to win over Richard's affections.

And prove that Duke wrong.

"Let's get going then," she nodded to Joyce, and they began walking towards the entrance, arms linked.

"Oh – the Greymonts do not spare any expenses when it comes to opulence, do they?" Joyce commented as both of them looked around the Estate. It was even more impressive than she remembered, its sprawling grounds meticulously maintained.

At the entrance, a line of impeccably dressed staff stood waiting to receive the guests, their uniforms crisp.

Footmen and maids were stationed near the grand doors, ready to assist with luggage, while others stood by, prepared to escort visitors to their rooms. It was clear that no detail had been overlooked in ensuring that each guest was treated with the utmost care.

"Indeed they do not," Daphne replied. As they entered the hall, it bustling with guests—ladies in exquisite gowns, gentlemen in fine coats, all mingling and exchanging pleasantries.

I was not aware that there were going to be this many people in attendance. All eligible ladies, vying for a spot as the daughter in law to the one of the most established households in the city.

A flutter of nerves danced in Daphne's stomach at the thought. Of course, there was always going to be competition. She knew that before, too, but seeing it in the flesh had a different impact.

But before she could ruminate for too long, she spotted Richard standing a few feet away from her.

He stood there, impeccably dressed in a deep navy coat, his eyes scanning the incoming guests with polite interest. It took him a moment to spot her, but as soon as he did, his expression softened and he made his way over to her.

"Lady Daphne," Richard greeted warmly, "I am so glad that you have made it. I feared that you might not come."

"How could I possibly miss such an event?" she replied quickly, fingers pressing into her palm. "Besides, I could never refuse an invitation from you."

Richard's smile remained warm, but instead of returning her flirtation, his attention shifted seamlessly to Joyce. "And how wonderful is it to also see Lady Riverton here as well. I trust that your journey was a pleasant one?"

Daphne felt a small twinge of disappointment as his focus moved away from her, though his courtesy toward her sister was nothing less than expected.

Surely, you are reading far too much into it. She assured herself. If he were not interested, he would not have invited you.

The two exchanged pleasantries until Richard's attention returned fully to Daphne. "I trust you'll enjoy the next few days here. The Greymont Estate can be overwhelming at first, but there's much to explore."

"Oh, I can see that," Daphne nodded. "It is sprawling."

"If either of you would like a tour, I'd be more than happy to arrange it. Perhaps tomorrow, when the light is better for the gardens?" Richard suggested.

Daphne's heart gave a slight leap at the suggestion, but she kept her smile composed. "Lovely. That would indeed be lovely, thank you, Lord Richard."

Richard's gaze flickered toward the entrance as another wave of guests arrived, and his smile softened apologetically. "I'm afraid I must excuse myself for a moment. There are other guests I need to attend to."

"Oh, right. Of course," Daphne nodded.

"I'll catch up with you both later. Please, enjoy yourselves."

As Daphne watched him walk away, Joyce nudged her playfully. "Well, it looks like we'll have to manage on our own for now."

Daphne chuckled lightly, "It seems so."

But just as Joyce opened her mouth to say more, her eyes brightened as they landed on someone across the room. "Oh! There's Lady Amelia," she said, excitement lacing her voice. "I haven't seen her in ages. Do you mind if I?—?"

"Go ahead," Daphne interrupted with a wave of her hand, "You don't need my permission to socialize, Joyce."

Joyce grinned and gave her a quick hug. "I won't be long. Promise."

Now with both of them gone, Daphne was left alone. She decided against mingling with the other members of the ton , instead preferring to retreat to a quiet corner.

It was not as though Daphne did not mind socializing with the ton . But excessive chatter that held little meaning exhausted her, and she knew that she had to keep her energy preserved if she was going to make the most out of the next few days.

But no sooner had she taken a few steps than she sensed someone approaching her.

"Ah, look who it is. Lady Daphne. "

Her heart sank. Of course he came to hound me the moment he spotted me alone.

She stopped in her tracks and turned to face him, schooling her expression into polite neutrality. "Your Grace."

Ambrose's gaze flicked over her, a slow and deliberate assessment that made her feel both scrutinized and singled out in a way she wasn't entirely comfortable with. Then, with a calculated ease, he reached for her hand.

Before she could process what was happening, Ambrose had taken her gloved hand in his, his grip firm yet gentle. He held it just a moment longer than necessary, his thumb grazing over the back of her hand in the briefest of motions before he lowered his head.

And kissed her there.

The gesture was enough to throw her off entirely. She had not expected it from him, nor anticipated the absolute havoc that it unleashed inside of her. With her cheeks burning, she quickly withdrew her hand but not quick enough to miss the amused smirk on the Duke's face.

Does he do this with all the women? Do they get flustered like this, too?

Daphne chided herself halfway. In any case, it was not her business to wonder what he did or did not do with other women. Her focus was Richard. Ambrose was nothing more than an insufferable thorn in her path.

"Shall I ask you why you're all by your lonesome?" Ambrose asked once he straightened back up, now towering over her once more. "Though... on second thought, I believe I understand why."

"Do you?" she raised one of her eyebrows, curious. "Well, then. I shall like to hear your reasoning too."

"Well, perhaps you find yourself out of place," he conceded, "Not unexpected, of course. I made sure to invite some of the most charming ladies of the ton ."

Daphne felt her stomach churn at the comment. The thought of being compared with the other ladies made her feel a bit ill.

"Lady Eugenia, for instance," he continued, glancing briefly across the room where a striking brunette stood, laughing delicately among a group of admirers. "She's arrived here from Bath. She hardly has to try, does she? A natural charmer, one might say."

Daphne found herself staring at the lady. She did appear to be perfectly poised, naturally so. Unlike herself who had to plead with her friend to polish up on her etiquette.

"I see," Daphne's voice tightened. He had hit the nail with that comment, and the ever-present self-satisfied smirk on his face told her that he understood that much. "Well, I suppose everyone has their charms."

"Yes, something about everyone," Ambrose nodded. "Though I will say, something entirely different about you. You do... s tand out from the bunch."

Her stomach dropped at his words. There it was – his words were nothing more than a thinly concealed taunt. That she didn't belong. Not here, not among the polished and perfect women of the ton .

Daphne's throat tightened, but she forced herself to remain calm, keeping her voice as steady as she could manage. "How fortunate for me, then," she replied, her tone clipped, "that I've never had much interest in blending in."

"Taking the road less travelled, I see," he nodded, curiosity flashing in his expression. "Risky, and quite the lonesome ride."

"I'll take my chances, I suppose. Now, if you will excuse me..."

And with that, she walked away—abruptly, without a backward glance. Her pace quickened as she moved through the room, weaving between guests, ignoring the curious glances cast in her direction.

Now that she thought about it, impressing Richard was not going to be difficult. Or at least, nothing compared to the Duke.

Ambrose watched Daphne's abrupt retreat, his eyes narrowing slightly as he watched her leave.

Something about her response had gnawed at him.

Sure, he had mentioned the other ladies with the express intention of getting her to doubt herself.

It was not the kindest thing to do, of course, but a necessary recourse if he was going to thwart all possibilities of marriage between her and his brother.

And it had worked. There had been a flicker of something raw behind her clipped tone – only for a fraction of a second – something that didn't fit with the image of the self-assured, quick-witted woman she tried to project.

Should that not be a cause of celebration? Why was it then making him feel... concerned?

"Oh, ridiculous," he muttered to himself, signaling to one of the waiters to bring him a glass of champagne.

Ambrose shook his head slightly, irritated by his own lingering thoughts. He had better things to focus on than whatever turmoil Lady Daphne Carter might be experiencing.

But even as he took a sip out of the champagne, the gnawing sense prevailed that he had struck a nerve—one far more delicate than he intended.

But before he could dwell any further, his mother's voice broke his thoughts.

"Ambrose, my dear. There you are," the Dowager approached him, "I've been looking for you. There are some young ladies you simply must meet. It's time we paid attention to more suitable prospects, wouldn't you say?"

He tore his gaze away from the terrace doors, the direction where he spotted Daphne heading, and returned his gaze to his mother. "Must I?"

He had sung high praises for the ladies in attendance in front of Daphne, but in earnest, he could not be more disinterested. They were all the same, cut from the exact cloth, predictable without even knowing them.

"Of course," Edith responded. "If we are going through the trouble of hosting all these people at our Estate, I expect you to try your hardest at trying to connect with at least one of them."

Ambrose shrugged, his gaze sweeping over the various gowns – and the women in them – that populated his immediate field of vision. His mother's gaze was fixed on him, unblinking and relentless. She was a woman on a mission tonight, and Ambrose did not particularly feel like an argument.

"If you insist..."