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Freddy shifted uncomfortably, a faint scowl darkening his brow as he observed the easy confidence with which St. John engaged her.

He spoke with an ease Freddy begrudgingly admitted was enviable, the man’s words apparently witty enough to elicit Joy’s laughter—a sound Freddy realized he had always considered exclusively his domain.

“I must say,” murmured a familiar voice beside him, “St. John seems rather taken.”

Freddy turned sharply, startled from his unpleasant reverie to find Rotham watching the scene with amused detachment. Rotham, always so irritatingly knowing, smiled slightly, a hint of a twinkle in his eye as if he deliberately meant to set Freddy ablaze.

“Rather presumptuous, don’t you think?” Freddy grumbled, gesturing vaguely towards St. John. “He scarcely knows Joy.”

Rotham raised an elegant brow. “It seems to me he knows her well enough. Or at least he wishes to. He certainly has her attention.”

“Attention,” Freddy scoffed softly, keeping his voice low. “Joy’s attention is easily won and quickly lost.”

“True enough,” Rotham conceded, smiling indulgently. “But look how she laughs. St. John is doing quite splendidly for himself.”

Freddy muttered darkly, shaking his head. “If one enjoys excessive charm and overly polished buttons. I dare say that uniform is the most interesting thing about him.”

“Jealous, Freddy?” Rotham’s tone teased gently, but the edge of sincerity beneath made Freddy bristle slightly.

“Not in the least,” Freddy lied smoothly, forcing his gaze away from the maddening scene, because he was jealous. “Merely cautious. Joy is—well, Joy is impressionable. I would rather she not have her hopes raised over a charming uniform and shallow flattery.”

“I see,” Rotham replied, still amused. “And your own prospects? Is there any progress worth the mentioning?”

Freddy cast a weary glance around the room.

Letty Partridge stood demurely nearby, her appearance pleasing enough in a pale peach gown that flattered her fair complexion and neatly arranged blonde hair.

She was perfectly acceptable—exactly the kind of young woman his parents would eagerly usher towards the altar.

But Freddy knew well that a single dance or pointed conversation would prompt his mother to have the banns read forthwith.

“Slim pickings,” Freddy muttered.

“Nonsense,” Rotham countered lightly. “Letty Partridge is an admirable choice.”

“Admirable, yes,” Freddy admitted grudgingly, thinking but dull .

Soon enough, they were summoned into dinner.

The dining room glittered in gentle splendour, a long mahogany table stretching elegantly beneath shimmering crystal chandeliers that cast prisms of light against pale, silk-draped walls.

Gold candelabra marched regally down the table’s length, their flames flickering gracefully, illuminating meticulously polished cutlery and gleaming porcelain plates edged in delicate gold filigree.

Bowls overflowing with early summer roses and trailing ivy were artfully placed, their fragrance mingling subtly with the rich aroma of the awaiting meal.

Freddy’s spirits sank further upon discovering that he had been strategically placed next to none other than Miss Partridge.

He dutifully offered her his arm, escorted her to the table, and seated himself with a resigned sigh. He knew better than to encourage her excessively.

Conversation proved predictably dreary as a delicate poached salmon garnished with fresh dill and a tangy lemon sauce was set before him. At least his palate had nothing to complain about.

“The weather is exceptionally fine tonight, is it not?” Freddy remarked mildly, prodding his fish with disinterest.

“Oh, yes, exceptionally fine,” Letty Partridge echoed enthusiastically, eyes brightening as though he had spoken profound wisdom.

“And Lady Constance always sets a handsome table,” he continued, mildly desperate.

“Oh, most handsome indeed,” she agreed fervently.

Freddy bit back an exasperated sigh. Was this what his breakfasts would sound like, day after day, year after year?

Endless agreements and parroted affirmations?

Servants silently removed the fish, swiftly replacing it with tender roast duck, glazed and served with delicate vegetables, each plate arranged as though for a painting.

To his other side sat a young lady fresh from Scotland, Miss Flora MacKenzie, whose girlish enthusiasm manifested itself in frequent blushes and giggles. Yet, her conversation held at least a faint charm of unpredictability.

“Ye’re a very bonny lad, Mr. Cunningham,” Flora informed him with a blush and a shy giggle. “Aye, quite bonny.”

Freddy laughed despite himself, pleasantly relieved by her candid compliment. “Why, thank you, Miss MacKenzie. I assure you, your compliment is gratefully received.”

A burst of laughter from Joy and Colonel St. John drew their attention. Freddy found himself glaring instinctively, the humour suddenly distant and mocking. He ought to be the one making her laugh, sitting at her side, teasing and exchanging wit—not Colonel St. John, however handsome his uniform.

Freddy felt his spirits sink even lower as dinner progressed.

Each course seemed to drag interminably, punctuated by more banalities from Letty and giggling nonsense from Flora.

His thoughts wandered gloomily over his limited prospects, his parents’ edict, and his inexplicable dissatisfaction with every eligible lady he encountered.

Another laugh from Joy had Freddy straining to hear a snippet of her conversation with Colonel St. John. “You cannot be serious, Colonel!” She laughed. “You actually mistook your commanding officer’s prized hunting dog for a fox?”

St. John’s eyes twinkled merrily. “Quite so, Miss Joy. In my defence, it was an exceedingly misty morning and the hound had a terribly fox-like tail. You may imagine the general’s fury when he discovered my error.”

Joy giggled, delighted. “Oh, I can indeed! Did he banish you from future hunts entirely?”

“Worse,” St. John confessed dramatically, “he put me in charge of polishing every pair of boots in the regiment for an entire fortnight.”

Their laughter mingled, light and easy, sparking Freddy’s envy afresh. The dessert course arrived—delicate fruit tarts and spun sugar confections glittering enticingly.

“Ah, the Whitford sisters. They are all sae verra beautiful,” Flora whispered, eyes wide with sincere admiration as she saw where his gaze had landed. “Miss Joy especially. The sight of her makes me wish for me own spectacles!”

Freddy again glanced down the table towards Joy, his heart momentarily catching at the picture she presented.

Flora was correct. Joy’s spectacles did nothing to diminish her attractiveness.

Rather, they enhanced the intelligent sparkle in her eyes—the warmth of her engaging expression.

She had truly blossomed into a lovely young woman, and pride mingled unexpectedly with Freddy’s irritation.

He considered, with rueful amusement, that perhaps his parents were right.

His peers were all married, with their offspring already romping about nurseries.

He felt rather elderly himself tonight, especially when paired with such youthful dinner companions.

Perhaps it truly was time to settle before he reached a stage too decrepit to father children.

His morose thoughts were interrupted by the ladies withdrawing, leaving the gentlemen to their port and quiet conversation. Freddy’s glumness lingered until Sir Reginald Ashton leaned closer, pouring port generously.

“Troubled, Cunningham?” Ashton asked shrewdly, eyes twinkling kindly.

“Nothing of consequence,” Freddy murmured evasively.

“Ah, young fellow, I know the look. Women are troubling, are they not?” Ashton smiled knowingly. “Allow an old man a word of advice? Beauty fades, charm dulls. Marry a woman who is your friend first. Friendship outlasts all else.”

Freddy regarded Ashton thoughtfully. The older man’s words resonated more deeply than expected, touching a truth Freddy had been reluctant to admit.

Friendship—perhaps it was precisely what he was overlooking.

He nodded slowly, thoughtful silence settling upon him.

Could he be friends with Letty Partridge?