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“Well,” she said at last, her tone tinged with amusement as she placed her pen down.

“I believe we’ve accommodated everyone’s preferences and peculiarities.

No small feat, I assure you.” She folded the final guest list with an air of triumph.

“We’ve added the esteemed professor, and as for the other missing gentleman, here is his confirmation.

” She paused for effect, glancing at Bridget with a knowing glint in her eye.

“Thomas Grenville has confirmed his attendance.”

Bridget raised an eyebrow. “Alastair’s friend, I presume?”

“Yes. They met in Spain, in an antique shop of all places. He has been working on restoring Grenville Hall to its former beauty. At the time, Mark was searching for books that were once owned by his family. That’s what led to his obsession with old books.”

“And he met Grenville while he searched for antiques?”

“Actually, they met at a booth outside the antique shop. Mark was thumbing through a book written in a foreign language. Mark knows five or six languages, but this one escaped him. Grenville heard him struggling with Old Gaelic and stepped in.”

Bridget stared at Marjory for several heartbeats. “Grenville can read Old Gaelic?”

Marjory lifted her brow at Bridget’s tone.

“Don’t look so surprised. Grenville is an outstanding man, even for an Englishman.

” She stirred her tea leisurely, clearly enjoying Bridget’s reaction.

“He spent years abroad, and only recently returned to England to restore his family’s estate.

He is, by all accounts, well-read, well-traveled, and, if the rumors are to be believed, quite the mystery. ”

Bridget chuckled softly as she folded her arms, and considered this new piece of information. “And you’ve invited him here.”

Marjory tilted her head, mischief flickering in her eyes. “Naturally. A gentleman of intelligence, charm, and intrigue? How could I not?”

Bridget shook her head, suppressing a smile. She had a feeling Marjory was quite enjoying the challenge of orchestrating this particular gathering.

Marjory laughed lightly. “Well, I look forward to seeing if Mr. Grenville lives up to the legend. They say he’s gathered a wealth of experiences from his travels. Some even whisper that he’s not the same man who left England all those years ago, though no one can quite say why.”

Bridget offered a soft laugh. “People do tend to embellish when it involves someone’s dramatic return.”

“Perhaps,” Marjory conceded, “but there’s something about a man with a few unanswered questions that makes him… intriguing, don’t you think?”

Bridget shook her head lightly. “You know me, I’ve little interest in chasing after shadows and secrets.”

Marjory chuckled. “Maybe so, but a touch of uncertainty adds a bit of thrill to a house party. Grenville might prove to be a refreshing addition to our gathering.”

“We shall see,” Bridget replied, a subtle smile playing on her lips.

Marjory gestured toward the row of boots lined neatly near the hearth. “At least the weather has improved. I daresay we won’t be stepping through puddles today.”

Bridget’s gaze lingered on the worn leather boots near the hearth, a pair clearly left by Mark.

They were scuffed at the toes and softened by use, an everyday sight in an English country home.

But to her, they were a symbol of how easily men could remain grounded in comfort, in their world of familiar rules and solid expectations.

A quiet envy stirred, of their certainty, their simplicity.

She drew a breath, reminding herself why she had come.

A weekend house party required preparation, and esteemed guests would soon be arriving. She must set her thoughts in order.

Marjory couldn’t resist. “You know, with all these eligible gentlemen arriving, perhaps one will catch your eye.”

Bridget smirked. “I came to enjoy your gardens and good company, not to parade about for suitors.”

She paused, then softened. “But if I find a friend, someone worth knowing, well, we’ll see what develops.”

Her tone was light, but the words carried. She didn’t fear men, but English gentlemen often viewed spirited women as projects to tame, not equals to admire.

“Can’t it be both?” Marjory teased.

“Not when the suitors in question are more interested in their own reflections than meaningful conversation.”

Marjory shook her head, laughing softly. “One day, Bridget, someone will surprise you.”

“Perhaps, but I won’t hold my breath,” Bridget replied.

“Excuse me, my lady.” They both turned to Mrs. Simmons, a basket of flowers in her hand. “The gardener brought in lavender and hydrangeas to add to the floral arrangements you approved earlier.”

Bridget sighed, eyeing the flowers warily. “Lavender and hydrangeas, so we’re aiming for elegance with a hint of ‘don’t cross me’?”

Marjory laughed. “Precisely. Nothing says refined hospitality like flowers that could double as a warning.”

“Allow me to finish the arrangements for you,” Bridget offered. “I’ll come and get you when I’m done.”

“That would be a big help. Now that we have our final guest list, Mrs. Simmons and I can meet with Cook, finalize the menu and sleeping arrangements for the weekend. I want everything in place before our guests arrive today. Are you sure you don’t mind?”

“I’m in need of some activity.” Bridget took the basket from Mrs. Simmons. “You go ahead. I’ll have them all done by the time you return.”

*

Grenville rode up the gravel path leading to Alastair Court, the estate as impressive as he remembered. It was hard to believe it had been five years since he’d been here. He dismounted and handed Valor’s reins to a waiting stable boy.

Alastair hurried down the steps, a knowing smirk in place. “Grenville! I was beginning to think you’d abandoned us altogether.”

Grenville shook his friend’s hand. “Not for lack of trying. The roads are conspiring against me.”

Alastair chuckled. “Some things never change. Come inside before my wife puts you straight to work.”

As they walked through the grand foyer, Alastair glanced at Grenville. “Brace yourself. Marjory has assembled quite the gathering, and I suspect you’ll be drawn into the intrigue before long.”

“I’ll do my best,” Grenville said dryly.

“Good man. Oh, and you must meet Marjory’s friend. She’s sharp-witted, fiercely independent. I suspect you’ll find her… intriguing.”

Grenville nodded politely, though his mind was already sifting through what little he had been told. A woman described as sharp-witted and fiercely independent piqued his curiosity more than he cared to admit.

The women he had encountered at such gatherings typically fell into predictable categories.

They were charming yet conventional, or intelligent but bound by propriety.

Few possessed both qualities with any real force.

If Alastair saw fit to offer a warning, however lightly spoken, then perhaps Marjory’s friend was worth noting.

He had met many intriguing people on his travels, but intrigue was not always a comfort.

Still, something in Alastair’s tone lingered, half warning, half invitation, and Grenville found himself unexpectedly alert.

“I look forward to it.” He kept his tone carefully neutral.

“Now, go into the drawing room and pour yourself a drink. I’ll join you shortly.”