It is often said that love finds one when it is least expected. Howard Hartwell believes neither in love nor in fate. The only thing in which the renowned lawyer places his faith is the conviction that seriousness and constancy alone lead to anything of consequence in life.

With slow, deliberate steps, the man with dark grey hair moves through the grand ballroom. He searches for his father, who had insisted that Howard attend this evening, insisted that his son finally begin to look for a suitable lady.

Eight years ago, when Mr. Hartwell was but twenty-eight years of age, he had indeed given thought to the notion of marriage. A union, an heir to preserve the family name, and one day to pass on the law practice he would inherit from his father. Yet he soon found himself reaching the limits of his social endurance, not because of rank or fortune, no. Rather, the society of London’s young ladies revealed itself as his greatest trial.

Most unmarried women, in his estimation, are simply naive, immature, and superficial. Small talk itself already offends him; the mere exchange of trivialities strikes him as the purest form of wasted time. But the giggling over utter nonsense, the endless discussions of the latest fashions from Paris, or, heaven forbid, the newest gossip of London’s high society, is more than he can tolerate. A waste of one’s life, as he is fond of saying.

Mr. Hartwell does not wish to imagine what his existence as a married man might entail. The thought of being verbally assailed from morning until night with matters of no consequence draws an irritated “Hn“ from him.

When his eyes finally catch sight of his father within the crowd, his expression darkens at once. The elder Hartwell appears to be engaged in animated conversation with Mr. Westwood, a banker. Yet Mr. Westwood is known not only for his keen sense for money, no, his youngest daughter Sarah, making her debut in society this year, has already attracted considerable attention, though none of it favorable. The young woman is the very embodiment of naivety and carelessness.

Howard knows his father far too well and senses impending disaster. He turns sharply on his heel and strides with quiet pride toward the edge of the evening’s gathering. The very last thing he requires tonight is the presence of an immature young lady intent on forcing conversation upon him. The mere thought of it is enough to give him a headache.

Seeking respite from the suffocating weight of expectation, Howard slips away from the crowd and pushes open the tall balcony doors. The murmur of the ballroom fades behind him, replaced by cool night air that clears his thoughts far more effectively than any polite conversation ever could. He draws a measured breath, resting one hand lightly upon the stone balustrade, allowing the quiet to settle his mind.

Above him, the night sky stretches wide and orderly, stars fixed in their distant constancy, a comfort in their indifference. For a fleeting moment, he permits himself the illusion of solitude.

It does not last.

Only then does Howard become aware of another presence. A young woman stands further along the balcony, her attention turned skyward, seemingly as intent upon escape as he is. He studies her in silence, expression guarded, curiosity stirring despite his resolve.

After a brief pause, he clears his throat, careful not to startle her. “Pardon me,” he says evenly. „Is it the stars that have lured you here… or merely the promise of quiet?”