"No, it's about balance," Norah was telling me as we played a game of croquet on the front lawn of Wentworth under the watchful eye of our chaperones. Lady Collins and Grace sat beneath a tent nearby, lounging in chaises and snacking on treats as they gossiped about the ladies of the season and glanced our way from time to time. Norah was shifting her stance, spreading her legs further apart as she held her mallet and aimed. "Keep your legs too close together and you'll topple over as you swing."

She swung the mallet and struck the ball. I watched from where I stood a few paces away as the ball rolled through the hoop and she burst into a big grin, raising her arms triumphantly. I chuckled, shaking my head, and strode forward to take my strike.

"Balance," I muttered under my breath, lining up my shot. "This coming from the woman who spilled my drink all over me at the first ball she attended since coming back."

Norah rolled her eyes.

"I have to force men to approach me somehow," she teased and I snorted which made me miss my shot. The ball went wide and I muttered a curse. She giggled happily and then ran ahead to strike the next ball.

"I'm sure you don't have to force men to approach you," I said, following her to the next phase of the game.

"They weren't exactly lining up before you and I announced our courtship."

I watched her for a moment as she lined up her shot and took it. She missed but only barely.

"You do know you're intimidating, right?" I asked, striding for my next ball and aiming.

"Intimidating?" She replied as if it were the most ludicrous thing she'd ever heard. "Me?"

"Like right now, with croquet. You know you're frightfully competitive? You actually want to win."

"Should I wish to lose?"

"Most women use this game as an opportunity. Appear weak, let the man wrap his arms around you and guide you, show you how to aim, how to strike. Let him get close and use your feminine wiles to entrap him."

She snorted.

"Feminine wiles?" She asked with a grin.

"You know what I mean," I said, unable to keep from smiling myself. "Act the damsel in distress. Play to his ego by letting him play the hero."

"Women actually do this?"

"All the time. To me? On multiple occasions."

"Pathetic," she muttered and, with that, took the game-winning shot.

She jumped up and down, whooping and cheering for herself, and I just smiled and shook my head, raising a brow as if to say see what I mean. But she only stuck her tongue out at me and continued her celebrations.

"Competitive," I repeated to make a point. "Intimidating."

"Sore loser," she countered, sticking out a lip in a mocking pout and I laughed.

We made our way back toward her mother and my sister, speaking freely and easily with one another as we did. I had never had a female friend before. It was refreshing, being able to speak to a woman without having to worry about my comments being misconstrued as interest or giving her any false hope for a future between us. It was easier like this when there was no need to manage expectations and we could just be ourselves. And as it turned out, I liked Norah Collins. When this was all over and we went our separate ways to futures that weren't yet certain, I would hope that we could still remain friends. And somehow, I knew she felt the same.

Lady Collins and Grace led us back into the house and toward the dining room where lunch was being served. It was a delicate spread. Little finger sandwiches and bowls of fruit. But we dined together, Norah asking my sister about the gardens and me telling her mother about the renovations she had heard we were completing in the west hall. When lunch was over, Grace took Lady Collins off to view some of the new artwork she had acquired to add to the walls of the estate and Norah and I headed off to my office to look over the accounts. We kept the door open, as expected, the footman standing just outside.

Norah sat on the edge of my desk, pretending to read a book and tell me all about it while I worked. I would push the ledger toward her from time to time and she would glance down and offer a whispered explanation before loudly proclaiming her interest in one character or another.

"You know, when this is all over, the women who have been plotting my demise since this whole charade began are going to come knocking down your door," she mused a while later.

I looked up from the ledger to find her grinning down at me. I smiled back.

"Then I'll have to find money in this budget to restore the foyer as well," I replied and she laughed.

"I mean it," she told me, standing from her perch on the corner of my desk and striding off toward my bookshelves, examining the titles stacked upon them as she spoke. "You should have some idea of who might be of interest to you by the time they come running."

"And how might I make that determination? I can't exactly engage in any pointed conversation with them while I'm courting you. I would look like a cad."

"I know them," she answered with a shrug. "I've known all of them since I was a little girl. I can tell you who is worth your time and who, most certainly, is not."

I raised a brow, surprised by the offer.

"And you would expect the same in return, I imagine?" I asked, leaning back in my chair and focusing on the negotiation.

"I already know who's worth my time," she said, turning back to face me.

"Is that so?"

"Tell me a name," she said, ignoring my challenge. "Someone you think you might be interested in and I'll tell you everything I know about her."

I hesitated, narrowing my gaze at her in examination, sussing out the trap.

"Kyrie," she said, raising a brow.

"Vivian Clarke," I answered.

"Really?"

"You're surprised?"

"Well, she wouldn't be in my top five. But she's alright. Pretty, polite, kind. But she's painfully shy and positively wretched at holding a conversation. Once, Silvia broached four different topics with her and not a single one of them started a lasting discourse."

"Not very talkative."

"No. Who else?"

"I don't think so," I said and she cocked her head. I settled back even further and folded my hands in my lap. "Your turn."

Norah rolled her eyes but she smiled and gave me a name.

"Claude Michaels," she said.

"Ugh, really?" I groaned.

"What's wrong with Claude Michaels?"

"The man's an absolute bore. Enjoy hearing every minute detail about a missing shipment for the next sixty years of your life."

She snorted.

"He's quite handsome though," she remarked.

"If you like that sort of thing," I replied with a shrug and a grin.

She settled herself in the armchair across from me.

"Next," she ordered. I chuckled but thought of a name.

"Adelaide Wooding," I said and she gasped.

"Oh! I love Adelaide! You would be so good with Adelaide," she gushed and I raised a brow. "How did I not see it? The two of you are perfect together. You're both vain beyond belief and positively insufferable."

"Oh, that's how we're playing it, are we?"

"Peter Whitmore."

"Whitwhore more like. Millicent Knowlton."

"Stuffs her corset. Amos Treadway."

"You're kidding, right?"

Norah laughed well and truly at that and I couldn't help but chuckle along myself as an image of eighty year old Amos flicked across my mind's eye.

"I like his cane," she joked and I laughed even harder.

"Alright, alright," I said, calming down. Then I raised a brow and looked right at her. "Silvia Covington."

"Don't you dare," she warned, holding up a finger.

"She's very attractive."

"And very interested in Leo Temby. You make one move to put that courtship at risk and this thing between us will end in the most scandalous of ways."

"And what's that?"

"With me in prison for chopping your balls off."

My eyes bulged from my head at her profanity. She just raised a brow in challenge and then, a moment later, we both burst out laughing. It was the sort of laughter that had you doubled over, wiping tears from your eyes.

"You're very protective," I said when I could breathe again.

"And don't you forget it, Marquess."

I smiled at her and then caught a glimpse of color over her shoulder. I looked up to see Grace standing in the threshold, watching us with a smile on her lips. My heart faltered a step at the sight of it. It was a real, true, genuine smile and meant for my fake courtship. I felt a pang of guilt in my chest. Norah must have noticed the change in my mood because she turned in her seat to face my sister.

"Your mother is waiting for you in the foyer," Grace informed her. "She says you should be returning home soon, that your father will be expecting you."

Norah nodded demurely and rose from her seat.

"Thank you for a lovely afternoon, Lady Durling," Norah thanked my sister with a proper curtsy, gave me one last grin over her shoulder, and shuffled off to join her mother waiting to take their leave.

When she was gone, Grace stepped into my office, sliding the door closed behind her. When she turned back to face me, her lips were spread into the widest grin I had ever seen. I cocked my head to the side in question as she approached.

"I never thought I'd see the day," she said before I could ask. "My little brother, in love."

The word came crashing down on me with a weight I hadn't expected it to carry. I blinked back at my sister, stunned. My first instinct was to deny. I wasn't in love. But then I remembered I was supposed to be and my mouth snapped shut again. It felt wrong, lying to Grace about this, letting her believe I loved Norah, letting her believe I had found my wife, my future. But I was finally starting to balance the accounts, finally starting to understand my role as Marquess, finally starting to feel comfortable again. And, while that was all thanks to Norah and I was more appreciative than she would ever know, I didn't love her. So why did that word shake me so greatly?