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Westwood set down his glass, leaning forward with a conspiratorial grin.

“Between you and me, I have known men forced into less palatable circumstances. Managing an estate is not all tedium. You can keep horses and dogs, hunt…and if your wife is lovely and good-tempered, you might find yourself quite content.”

“It is the ‘if’ in that sentence that sets me trembling,” Freddy said in earnest. “Still, I see no alternative. I shall cast my net wide, as you suggest—perhaps fate will throw me a lifeline.”

“Exactly,” Rotham agreed. “Leave no tea undrunk, no garden party unattended. Smile until your jaw aches. Compliment every bonnet in sight—and all the matchmaking mamas will sniff out your intentions before you walk through the door.”

Freddy groaned, though a hint of laughter escaped him despite his gloom. He recalled, not so long ago, when Rotham fought his own forced betrothal tooth and nail. “I suppose I can manage to compliment a bonnet or two—if I must.”

“You always did have an eye for fashion,” Westwood teased as he looked at his perfectly tied neckcloth and exquisite waistcoat. “You are halfway to joining the rest of us in blessed matrimony.”

Freddy tried his best to listen, though his thoughts wandered.

Was it really so pressing for him to find a wife?

He wasn’t opposed to marriage, but he found the idea unnerving.

Adult responsibilities, an estate to manage—he could hardly picture himself as a sober country gentleman, overseeing harvests and tenant disputes.

Yet he could not deny that his father’s ultimatum had left him little choice.

At length, Westwood finished recounting which families might be in attendance at each event. He peered at Freddy expectantly, as though waiting for him to select a path forward.

Freddy swallowed another mouthful of brandy, trying to calm the knot of anxiety in his belly.

“Very well,” he said at last. “I shall go where you tell me, meet whom you recommend, and attempt to conduct myself with all the charm I can muster. If, in six months’ time, I have failed to find a bride, then at least I will have done my best.”

They chatted on a while longer, adding more amusing strategies for Freddy’s forced courtship: from creating a list of potential heiresses to bribing hostesses for invitations to exclusive gatherings.

By the time the conversation drew to a close, Freddy’s shoulders felt no lighter.

His friends had found love matches. They couldn’t understand his predicament.

When at last they decided to depart, Freddy stood with them, pushing aside the residual dread that threatened to clamp down again. “Shall we find Montford and see if he can sing the praises of matrimony until I am suitably convinced?” he suggested, half-rueful, half-humorous.

“Unfortunately, we are promised to dine with family.” Rotham and Westwood were now family. “Come, we will give you a ride.”

Westwood, hat back in hand, grinned. “Be warned, once Montford starts talking about your sister’s perfections, you may never hear the end of it.”

Freddy settled into the carriage, a swirl of uneasy excitement dancing in his gut.

Six months. Such a finite span, and yet it could change his life irrevocably.

He pictured a quiet manor house of his own, a wife who might greet him each morning with a smile—or a scowl, if he chose ill.

It was a risk, certainly, but he could not avoid it any longer.

Freddy only half listened, his mind drifting in and out of the conversation. The weight of so many changes pressed upon him, and he could almost feel the turning of fate in the warm breeze that drifted through the open window.

Yet amidst the swirl of apprehension, he clung to the faintest spark of hope.

Perhaps, by some stroke of luck, he would meet a lady whom he found intriguing—someone who would laugh at his jokes, be a bruising rider, and not expect him to sit in her pocket.

If such a match lay before him, then maybe his father’s ultimatum was more of a push in the right direction than the dreaded sentence it felt like now.

He shook his head at his own wandering thoughts and gave his full attention to his companions.

Westwood was describing Lady Ingram’s penchant for elaborate musical entertainments as a place for Freddy to survey options, while Rotham mentioned how Miss Hargrave—a distant cousin, apparently—was quite clever and pretty, if a bit reserved.

Freddy nodded along, determining to keep an open mind, no matter the introductions. If he was to succeed, he would have to cast aside his usual ambivalence and embrace every opportunity.

Westwood caught Freddy’s eye as they stepped down from the carriage.

“Take heart,” he said kindly. “You are not such a lost cause as you think. You are a genial fellow, well-bred and reasonably handsome.” Rotham snorted at that.

“A little effort, and you shall have half the Season’s débutantes fluttering their fans at you. ”

Freddy chuckled at that. “Reasonably handsome, am I? You flatter me, sir.”

He knew his friends did not truly understand. All of them were married now and happy to be led around on a lead. He needed to discuss this with Joy. She would understand.