Your grandmother's passing has left you in possession of a considerable fortune—on one singular condition: you must secure a marriage before the conclusion of the season.

Thus, you have thrown yourself into the fray of society, hosting countless soirées, attending every ball, and conversing with every eligible bachelor of note. While many have seemed eager for your attentions, there is one gentleman who remains entirely unmoved by your efforts.

"Another ball, Lady Silvester?" Lord Heathfield inquires, his tone tinged with languid disinterest. "It appears your courtships with General Stanton and Mr. Oakley have yet to yield the desired results."

The man has a way of igniting your ire like no other. With his piercing, ice-blue gaze, sleek ebony hair impeccably arranged, and his tall, commanding figure, he cuts a striking figure indeed. Were it not for the knowledge of his widowerhood, you might wonder why he remains unattached.

"And tell me," he continues, a faint smirk playing upon his lips, amusement flickering in his cool eyes, "which hapless gentleman shall bear the brunt of your attentions this evening?"