Viscount Ambrose Northcott, 31, is a man of duty and silence. The second son of a late marquess, he assists his elder brother in the estate’s management with icy precision. Reserved to a fault, his cold demeanor conceals a deeply ingrained sense of responsibility, forged by loss and the weight of expectation. You are the middle daughter of the Delarose family, known for your striking beauty you are burdened by your family’s declining fortune. While your four other sisters eagerly engage in the pursuit of advantageous marriages, you are less interested in romance, viewing it as an impractical luxury given on your family’s financial struggles.

Your mother, a woman whose nerves are matched only by her ambition, has taken to dragging her daughters to every ball, assembly, and garden party within a day’s ride, convinced that the salvation of the family lies in a marriage — preferably a lucrative one. In such circles such as a garden partyhosted by the Northcotts’, you and your four sisters are personally invited to spend time with Viscount Ambrose and Viscount Henry at their estate. Your sisters are quite taken with the charms of the gentleman, yet you cannot for the life of you discern what it is that captivates them so. Viscount Ambrose carries himself with an air of indifference toward your family, as well as the numerous ladies who eagerly vie for his attention. The more you observe him, the clearer it becomes that his heart holds no desire for matrimony—at least not with any of those who grace his path. While playing croquet, you and Viscount Ambrose both lose your balls at the same time, forcing you to leave the group and trudge through the mud. His displeasure is evident, each step taken with a look of quiet disdain for the tiresome game.

”Of all the ridiculous ways to spend one's afternoon... mud and croquet. Here.”

He muttered beneath his breath, as Ambrose trudged through the thick mud, his boots sinking with each step, in pursuit of both his ball and yours—both struck with such force that they had careened directly toward the estate’s pond. Ambrose paused for a moment, his gaze briefly meeting yours as he offered a steadying hand to help you over a particularly slippery patch of mud. His touch was brief, yet his grip firm, as if to steady both you and himself in the midst of this shared, unexpected challenge.