An obscenely large mahogany desk stretched out before the Duke. Every paper in proper order. The only sign of disorder was the insufferable squeak his chair made with each anxious shift. He had consistently forgot to purchase a new one, but finally made a note 'new chair' and grabbed his ledger, tucking the errant note between its pages. Bridport's therapy was organizing numbers. He had zero need for more pocket money but the urge to put his inheritance to fruitful use was now something of a hobby. Today, however, he would call it a distraction. The paperwork would keep his thoughts occupied. Bridport prided himself on adapting to any situation. But last night he'd been truly disarmed. Lillian not only disarmed him, she threw all his defenses into the River Thames.

Years ago, when forced to leave the Winslow home, Bridport consciously chose to focus on future endeavors. A necessary measure in retaining his sanity.  He had calculated and a clean break was the mentally lucrative choice. Bridport had protected Lillian with a fierceness he could scarcely describe. And Lillian had returned the favor. When he saw those knowing green eyes last night, the things behind, barreled to the forefront. He was the antithesis of his normal calm, collected self. And when Lillian darted off? The Duke was shockingly close to rushing after her, throwing his well practiced propriety to the wind. That action would have made them both the talk of town. Thankfully, Bridport exercised restraint. He would find another way to speak with her. One that was above reproach or idle chatter from the gossiping biddies. For Lillian's sake as much as his own.

Bridport was dismayed to discover the pull toward her hadn't been dulled by distance or years. Like a retired captain returning to the seas, he was a man sinking into her familiarity. With his old life long upended, Bridport yearned for normalcy and an identity which he recognized. Even as he eyed the ledger with its endless numbers, Bridport itched to see her again, like a nagging discomfort untethering him to his seat. He could and would contrive a way with ease. Deep pockets opened many possibilities, and finally benefits of his birthright were acknowledged.

Bridport's butler ushered in a familiar face. The Duke managed a polite greeting. "Good morning Lottie," he eyed the dowager duchess looking every bit as her title suggested. Even her morning attire had the audacity of refined silks and ornate embellishments. She had tasteful yet overdone down to an art. A born duchess, through and through.

"I do wish you would cease calling me Lottie. I would rather like to reserve that moniker for my precious grandchildren, should you ever condescend to provide me any," the dowager guilted, sitting opposite Bridport and calling for tea. A simple wave of her wrist enough to signal precisely what refreshments were needed.

"Well I think the name suits my purposes fine. Have you come to scold me on names and lack of heirs, or is there another reason you have come?" The dowager had been civil these past years, but Bridport found it difficult to swallow his resentment. He settled on polite indifference, keeping her at arm's length.

The dowager took his brashness in stride. "Fear not, I only came to inquire after the Painswick's soirée. Mrs. Painswick is quite the hostess and I was sorry to miss the occasion."

Bridport doubted that. The dowager had become more reclusive with age, skipping a growing number of invitations. Though, she still kept abreast of all the on dits circling the ton. Plus, she had become more active with Bridport being in need of a wife by her estimation.

"The Painswick's spared no expense. I am sure Victoria is quite proud and exhausted this morning."

The dowager was looking for a much more thorough retelling of events which she wouldn't receive without further questioning. "That is lovely. Are your feet aching from all the dancing?"

She was fishing and Bridport resented being lured. He wasn't interested in a lecture, yet settled on the truth. "I chose to omit dancing from my evening. I lacked the energy required. But, rest assured I plan to make efforts at the next affair I attend."

The dowager made her best attempt at hiding the disappointment. Bridport watched as she customarily dropped one dollop of preserves into her morning tea. An odd habit he shared but refused to replicate in her presence. Similarities to the dowager felt like betrayals to the mother who raised him.

"Were the Browning sisters in attendance last night? I have it on good authority that Miss Alice Browning has her eyes heavily upon you. And she has so much to recommend her. Just last week she..."

Bridport interrupted, "I have no inclination toward the Browning sisters. Discussing them or otherwise." He hated to sound so brusque but last night had thoroughly overstrung him. He had one woman in his thoughts and she had overcrowded the space. Bridport wanted to get lost in his ledgers but the dowager was making that deucedly hard.

"I will consider the matter closed. Miss Alice Browning may look elsewhere. I will keep my eyes and ears open for new prospects." The dowager settled on what she thought was a compromise. She had quickly learned ordering her son around was the surest way to achieve the opposite of one's wishes.

"No need. I have my own eyes and ears. Two of each. But Lottie I appreciate your efforts." There. He hoped that would pacify yet dissuade the dowager.

Bridport considered it a success as she took a last sip of tea, gave a small smile, and stood to leave, gliding from the room as gracefully as she had arrived. Finally he could quietly review his ledgers. The Duke sank down and the dastardly chair squeaked beneath his weight. He stifled a groan.

Within a few minutes Bridport's study door flew open. "Have you ever seen such a glorious morning?!" the chipper sound of Haxby had the Duke gripping his forehead. Could no one leave him in peace?

"Haxby. To what do I owe the pleasure?" Bridport asked not masking his own displeasure.

"Do not pretend you aren't thrilled to see me. Your life would be dreary indeed without my company." Haxby poked at the Duke's ledger for emphasis. "In fact, I am so exciting that I have come to invite you to a dinner party at my residence."

"And you think that would have me overjoyed?" Bridport looked dubious.

Haxby was carrying a random apple which he tossed high and caught with one hand. "I don't care a wit whether you are overjoyed. It is your civic duty to attend. That's what friends do, they attend each others things. Plus, I have invited several diamonds of the season and I need you to help even out my numbers."

"Can't you summon your brother in my stead?"

Haxby took a large bite of the apple, chewing most undignified. "I am afraid not, my brother is still in Kent. And I don't expect him back anytime soon. You cannot escape this one. Besides, I invited Victoria's friends. You know, the honey-haired runaway from last night and her red headed cousin. What were their names again?" Haxby tapped his chin in contemplation.

"Miss Winslow and Miss Ashbourne," Bridport provided. Trying to school his expression and coming up short.

"Ah ha! I knew it!" Haxby exclaimed, jumping to his feet and pointing the half eaten apple at his friend. "I knew it! You rarely, nay never, remember the names of society misses upon first acquaintance. That's why you acted all out of sorts last night, very unlike you. I had a hunch. So which of the fair beauties caught your eye? I will not leave until you tell me."

Bridport feigned disinterest, making a mark in his ledger. He had confided in Haxby the circumstances of his birth and upbringing but Lillian was never a topic up for discussion. It was as if speaking of her might somehow diminish all that was, so he stowed away the memory to protect it from the corrosive elements of time.

The Duke's silence was quickly becoming the loudest thing in the room. And Haxby was like a dog with a bone. "If you do not tell me, you may find yourself in competition. I am considered a very eligible bachelor. Or worse, what if I win the girl?"

Bridport tugged his sleeves and the chair squeaked again beneath him.

"You need a new chair," Haxby sidetracked. "That one is dreadfully noisy."

"I am aware," the Duke's wry look almost silenced Haxby. Almost.

"And would you be more interested in a honey toned chair or perhaps one with a reddish hue?"

At that the Duke lost his composure and gave a half smile. "You really are the worst kind of friend." Bridport's mock attempt at a censure.

Haxby gave a mischievous grin. "And yet, you still love me. The worst kind of friends usually lead you into the best kind of trouble."

"You should add that to your family crest." Bridport teased, and reluctantly closed his ledger. A dinner party wasn't the worst idea, neither was it the best. He wanted to speak with Lillian if only to ask and answer a multitude of questions they no doubt each had. Haxby's dinner party would be convenient, except for the prying eyes of his closest friends. "When is this dinner of yours?"

Haxby's self-satisfied smile grew. "One week. Plenty of time for you to practice wooing a girl. A girl whose name is what exactly?"

"Your natural talent of aggravation should be studied. It could prove useful to us both in parliament. Do you know which talent I have mastered?"

"Frowning while holding kittens?" Haxby gave an exaggerated scowl, holding and stroking an imaginary pet. If he didn't add levity to the Duke's life, than who would?

"Merely because I despise your demon of a cat..." Bridport began to defend himself but thought better of it, "If only you liked horses as much as cats, we might have had something in common. But as I was saying..."

"You are just jealous of Mr. Whiskers. But yes, tell me this talent you have mastered."

Bridport loved the freedom to seem exasperated, to tease, to be something other than perfectly mannered. And Haxby accepted both sides of that coin, making his friendship invaluable.

"I have mastered the art of secrecy and discretion. Two qualities you openly abhor."

Haxby wasn't ready to wave the white flag just yet. "Are you suggesting I cannot keep a secret, therefore you will not tell me which girl you fancy?"

"Perhaps." Bridport leaned back and his ridiculous chair groaned again. After he purchased a new chair burning the old could be a stress relief.

Haxby pasted on a sly grin. "If I were at the card tables, I'd go all in on Miss Winslow."

The Duke held his expression to one of stoic contemplation.

Haxby continued while studying his friend, "She is beautiful, but her cousin, too, was pretty. So, I am assuming your interest lies in Miss Winslow's  unwillingness to converse with you. Making herself a real woman of intrigue."

"Do you know what I find intriguing?" Bridport queried, not wanting an answer. He was through hearing Haxby's inference. "I am intrigued by how horses manage to eat apples with more grace than you do. Have you no sense of decorum?"

Haxby wiped his mouth with a shirtsleeve for good measure. "I must be fresh out. May I borrow some of yours? You have so much decorum it would be nice if you donated a little to charity."

"You may take what I have left. Now, if you promise to leave my house without another single question, I will promise to attend your dinner party. Do we have a deal?"

Haxby weighed his options. It took considerable self control to respond, "Deal. My dinner will be charming. I simply know it!"

The Duke wasn't sure if charming was the right word for it. He hoped the Earl's hosting duties would keep him from prying into his personal life. Bridport was anxious to speak with Lillian but he needed no spectators. He would find a moment to steal her away for a talk. Bridport had already begun plotting various scenarios in his head. Finally, an event he looked forward to attending.

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