"One more round," Owen Hamblin was demanding of the waitress as he slapped me thoroughly on the back and turned, grinning, back to the other men at our table. "One more round to give us a bit of a buzz so that we might survive the monotonous name-reading."

Archibald Starks laughed so hard at that he spat his bourbon back into his glass.

"Every year," Myer Booth groaned with a shake of his head. "Every year we stand in these dreadful shoes and listen to the master of ceremonies read the names of the ladies debuting this year while the ones who already have stare daggers at them and us from the other side of the room. It's the most ridiculous tradition."

"The most ridiculous?" Archibald asked with a wicked grin. "I'd say that title goes to the observation of consummation. Do you know my brother told me seven people watched him perform the marital duty the night of his wedding? That alone is nearly enough to keep me single."

These men, my friends, all guffawed at that. I couldn't help but chuckle along myself as I took another sip of brandy.

"What if you're unable to perform?" Leo Temby asked seriously. "With that many people around, what if you can't?"

"I'm sure someone would be glad to fill your position," Owen told him with a smile and a clap on the back and my friends were all laughing again.

"Who watches?" I asked then and they all glanced up to me.

"What?" Archibald replied.

"Well, who watches? Is it people you know? Friends? Family? I wouldn't want you lot in the room, that's for sure."

They snorted.

"Just witnesses, I believe," Archibald answered, apparently deciding he was the expert on the topic as he was the only one who knew anyone who had recently done it. "I think there's a priest as well."

"Doesn't seem like a very priestly thing to do," I muttered into my glass.

"Well boys, if we're unsuccessful this season, I suppose we could always join the cloth. I hear there's good show to be had there," Owen mused and they all laughed once again.

"We'll have to see what scraps Kyrie here leaves behind," Myer said, grinning my way as he spoke. "Since he's the catch of the season yet again, it seems."

They all muttered their teasing agreement, elbowing me in the ribs and jostling me as friends did. I smiled for their benefit but my heart sank at the words. Surely, they wouldn't wait for my decision. I couldn't take the idea of yet even more people waiting for me to choose a wife. Because the truth was that I had already met all of the women who had debuted the previous year and I had read the list of names my sister had brought me of those debuting this year. And with every woman I considered, my confidence in my ability to choose one by the end of this season dwindled. Whoever might make a good wife would make a terrible Marchioness and whoever might make a good lady of the house would be dreadful to live with and impossible to love. Likely, I was asking for too much. Probably, I was looking for perfection where none could possibly exist. But I wasn't averse to flaws. In fact, I found them intriguing. I craved a woman with a depth of character and perfect, prim, and proper was not it. Yet every time I tried to peek behind the mask of society to get a glimpse at the woman underneath, I either did not like what I found or found nothing at all. I knew that, in the end, I would marry whatever woman was passable enough to secure my fortune and bear me heirs and I hated myself for it.

"Kyrie?" Archibald said then and I realized I had drifted away from the current conversation, losing myself in my thoughts. They had all risen from the table and were donning their top coats. "We said we should probably be on our way now."

"Ah, yes," I agreed, rising with them.

"Are you meeting Grace at Chiswick?"

"Yes, indeed. She's to meet me there."

The men nodded and I joined them in leaving the gentlemen's club we had been occupying for the better portion of the afternoon, smoking cigars and drinking and putting ourselves at ease before the charade of society we would be attending this evening. We marched to our separate carriages and waved goodbye before settling ourselves inside and riding off to the same location, Chiswick House, home to the Earl of Burlington and the location of the first ball of the season. I wondered what the Countess of Burlington had done to win such an honor but realized a moment later that I didn't particularly care.

The ride was quick and I was emerging from my carriage long before I was truly ready. Unsurprisingly, my appearance prompted the immediate mutterings of the women in attendance. I saw a few ladies fanning themselves as they curtsied pleasantly toward me. I nodded gracefully just as someone slapped me so hard on the back that I jolted forward, nearly losing my footing and going tumbling into that crowd of women.

"Archie," I hissed through gritted teeth as Archibald came around my side.

"Fancy meeting you here, Marquess," he said. Archibald had a way of addressing me formally when he knew it would most grate on my already frayed nerves. I just loosed a sigh and shook my head.

"Let's get inside," I growled and he chuckled as he followed me into the crowded house.

I met the Earl and Countess at the door, nodding in greeting as they bowed before me and my higher rank. I shook the man's hand while telling the woman how lovely Chiswick was and how greatly I looked forward to seeing it again year after year. Lies, carefully crafted well-honed lies. But who needed to hear the truth when it was that their gaudy blue muralled ceiling made me nauseous if I looked at it too long after a few drinks?

"Kyrie," someone called my name the moment I entered the house and I looked up to see Grace standing just inside the door, having obviously placed herself here to await my arrival. She was standing with a Baron whose name I couldn't quite place and his inappropriately young wife. She beamed at my approach, offering them a polite wave in dismissal as she extricated herself from their company to attend me. She looped her arm through mine before we'd even made it through the foyer.

"Dreadful old man, that Baron Bowsher," she muttered underneath her breath as we passed through the hall and into the grand ballroom.

Ah, Bowsher. That was right.

"The announcement will begin shortly," she told me, already pulling away. "I suggest you take up position where you can have the best view."

Biting my tongue, I gave her a curt nod and turned to locate my friends as my sister strolled to the opposite side of the room to sit with the already married women and mothers. As soon as I was settled between Myer and Archibald, the master of ceremonies appeared atop Chiswick House's grand staircase.

"And it begins," Myer blew out in a puff of air, taking a rather large sip of his brandy.

I watched as woman after woman had their name announced, descended the stairs, did a delicate little curtsy in the center of the room, and strode away to join the other single women on the opposite side of the ballroom. Men around me muttered observations about each and every one of them, like farmers at an auction for cattle. It was debasing and horrendous and I found myself quite losing patience by the end of it.

"She's a pretty little thing," Owen mused as a tall, blonde woman shot a glittering smile right toward us.

"She's all yours," I muttered back, watching the other girls cower as she approached them, scooting away ever so slightly. She was not well liked by other women. There was always a reason for that and, usually, it meant that she was more trouble than she was worth.

I was just about to excuse myself to get another drink when a familiar name was called out by the master of ceremonies.

"Miss Norah Collins," he bellowed, his deep voice thundering through the room, ringing with authority.

I looked up from my glass too quickly but found no one standing at the top of the stairs. A flurry of motion from the corner of the room caught my eye and I turned to see an older woman whom I recognized as being the one Miss Collins stuck her tongue out on the street at the other day rushing forward toward the master of ceremonies, her cheeks pink and her eyes wide. She muttered something in the man's ear and he gave a grim nod before turning away and announcing the next name. I caught my sister's eye across the room and she was already moving toward the retreating woman before I could look away.

I headed toward the bar as I had originally intended and ordered another glass of brandy before rejoining my friends and suffering through the remaining names on the master of ceremonies' list. Once all of the names were read and all of the new women were properly debuted, the ball resumed, men and women comingling once more, musicians striking up their tunes for anyone brave enough to dance. I watched Owen make a beeline for the tall blonde from before and chuckled into my cup with the rest of our friends as he disappeared into the crowd.

"She's sick," someone whispered over my shoulder and I turned to find Grace standing at my back.

"Excuse me?" I asked.

"Norah Collins. Her mother says she fell ill this afternoon and remained home to recover."

"And missed her debut?"

Grace shrugged. How very unusual. I glanced over her shoulder at the preening women fanning themselves and batting their eyelashes in my direction. I couldn't imagine any one of them wouldn't drag themselves out of bed, feverish or no, for this inane display of haughty arrogance and glittering propriety.

"I have someone to introduce you too," my sister was saying, already grabbing my arm and pulling me away from my friends. I went along willingly, feigning polite interest more to appease my sister than for the benefit of whomever she was taking me to. But we stopped a moment later in front of two women who stood locked in arms. One with dark, ringlet curls, the other with honey blonde locks. They beamed up at me, eyes sparkling beneath the glowing chandelier. "Brother, this is Miss Cordelia Quince and Miss Lavinia Goddard."

"Ladies," I drawled in greeting, bowing my head slightly.

They exchanged a wide-eyed, grinning glance before turning back to face me. I knew their fathers. I had worked with both Edward Quince and Louis Goddard on a trade deal a few months ago. They had attempted to dangle their daughters like carrots in front of me then as well.

"It is a pleasure to see you again," I told them and they beamed as I cast a look toward my sister who frowned and straightened, understanding my meaning. I'd met them before. I wasn't interested.

True to her name, my sister had the grace to thank them kindly and steer me away before refocusing her efforts on introducing me to women who had just debuted, ones that I more likely hadn't met and formed an opinion of yet. But they were all jittery and nervous and appeared as frightening does when we approached them. Even my sister seemed to be getting irritated with their stuttering and stumbling by the fourth woman we approached.

"Honestly, have their governess' stopped teaching poise since I've married?" Grace muttered under her breath as we left behind Eileen Thompson who had nearly fainted at the sight of me.

I snorted.

"Now you see what I'm up against, sister," I told her in a whisper.

"Were they always like this, the new ones?" she asked, shaking her head. "I don't remember my first season being made up of such ninny-headed- Lady Collins!"

At the last name, my gaze snapped to the woman approaching us. I'd seen her twice before now. Once, pulling her disgruntled daughter into a tea shop. And then just moments ago, mortified while informing the master of ceremonies that he had announced a woman who wasn't here. She had the same auburn hair as her daughter, though faded with age, and sharp, blue eyes that I wondered if Norah possessed as well.

"Lady Durling," Lady Collins nodded in greeting. "And Marquess Rayfield. I am delighted to make your acquaintance and I wanted to thank you, Lady, for inquiring after Norah's health. It was very kind of you to do so."

Her eyes slid to me and I saw the cunning behind them. How very convenient that I should be making the rounds with my sister when she approached to thank her for asking after her daughter, thereby reminding me she had a daughter. No wonder the young woman had been so irritated by her mother's company. She was just as bad as the rest of them.

"I do hope she is feeling well enough to attend the Earl of Mansfield's ball later this week," I told her and it wasn't entirely a lie. "Kenwood House is exquisite. No young lady should miss out on exploring its grounds."

"Ah, yes, my Lord," Lady Collins replied, blinking at me as if stunned that I might suggest her daughter would be interested in exploring anything but the young men gathered around us. "My Lady."

She bowed her head once more before striding off into the fray behind us. Grace quirked a brow as she turned to me.

"What?" I asked.

"I do hope she is feeling well enough to attend the Earl of Mansfield's ball later this week," she repeated, mocking me, fluttering her eyelids as she spoke. I snorted, nudging her with a shoulder, and gestured toward the next group of women, already blinking rapidly and fanning themselves despite the slight chill in the air.

"Lead on, matchmaker," I answered with a grin and she groaned but plastered on a fake smile and pushed her way through the crowd.