The ride to Lovera Manor was uneventful but far from dull. Ashton Bronte gazed out of the carriage window, the rolling landscape of his own vast estate gradually giving way to the stately grounds of the Lovera family. His thoughts were a whirl of curiosity and anticipation. An arranged marriage was not what he had envisioned for himself, but the prospect of meeting Charlotte Lovera intrigued him. He had heard much about her—her sharp tongue, her unflinching honesty, and her reluctance to trust. Traits that, if handled correctly, could complement his own easygoing nature.

As the carriage rolled to a stop, Ashton smoothed his jacket and stepped out, straightening to his full height. His parents had drilled into him the importance of first impressions, though he often found charm did most of the work. He smiled as he approached the grand entrance of the manor, noting the elegant architecture and the air of old money that permeated the place.

The doors opened, and he was greeted by the imposing figures of Mr. and Mrs. Lovera. Polite introductions were exchanged, but Ashton's attention was already focused on the room beyond, where he knew Charlotte awaited. With a final nod from Mr. Lovera, he stepped inside.

The parlor was bathed in soft, filtered light, the rich furnishings a testament to the Lovera family's wealth. But it was the young woman standing by the fireplace who commanded his attention. Charlotte Lovera was as striking as the rumors had suggested, her green eyes sharp and watchful, her posture poised and defiant.