He was already running late.

Perfect.

All he had wanted in the world was a cup of tea. Packing up his apartment to make the move to Cliffstone Manor wouldn’t have been half as arduous if he didn’t possess—at his best guess—five thousand books. Whether true or not, it felt that way anyhow.

He grumbled to himself, shuffling back through the crowded floors to fetch a broom to sweep the mess up. Did he even own a broom? His housekeeper came once a week to assist with tidying the place, so he surely had a broom. When he opened the small closet, more books tumbled out, falling at his feet, begging to be packed.

Henry didn’t wish to leave London but matters needed to be sorted.

Duty. He loathed that word.

Never in his thirty-one years did he wish to be an earl. He had worked exceedingly hard to be the best barrister he could become. And now he would step away to balance ledgers, attend balls and the opera, and take his seat in the House of Lords. Being Lord Devlin sounded as if he would be expected to know everything and do everything perfectly while being surrounded by the peerage, who had been doing the same for centuries.

Sleet pelted against the window. December had London firmly in her grasp, and it was dark and cold, and the days far too short.

Christmas was only a week away.

And he would likely be spending it here, alone, by the fire with a glass of brandy. He’d be loath to admit as much, but he did miss his family around the holidays. The Welsh seaside cottage where he had grown up possessed a sort of magic he hadn’t encountered since.

No, magic wasn’t the right word. That was much too muddy of a term, and he preferred black and white, right and wrong, true or false.

Magic didn’t exist within those parameters.

Just as he knew that beautiful stranger who he had met months earlier had vanished well and good, and he would likely never find her again. He blamed his heart for getting ahead of his brain. As if she would meet him in that spot when the gardens opened next spring after one kiss?

A knock rapped at the door.

He glanced up from sweeping the remains of his teacup and growled. Actually growled because if one more thing went wrong, he wasn’t sure what he would do, but it would likely involve a long holiday in Bath.

“Who is it?” Henry demanded.

“Is that how your mother taught you to answer the door?” A familiar voice asked from the other side.

“I don’t have time to see you, Stephen,” Henry called out. He virtuously swept up the remaining pieces and then scanned the carpet, discovering one last remaining shard of china.

It was better to find it now than later and stick himself like a pig.

“Let me in,” Stephen said, playfully banging around on the door. “I promise to keep it brief.”

Stephen Greenwald was a lot of things, but never brief.

Henry stalked to the door, whipped it open, and glowered at his friend.

“Doing a bit of housekeeping?” Stephen asked.

Henry was still clutching the broom and dustbin piled high with shattered china. “Now is not a good time.”

“It never is with you.” Stephen weaseled his way past Henry and strode into his apartment, stopping abruptly at the kingdom of books piled high on the floor. He removed his top hat, revealing the long silver scar that cut across his face from a carriage accident during his Oxford days. He wore his dark auburn sideburns bushy in an attempt to distract from the injury.

“You don’t have to leave London. You will be back to take your seat, you know.”

Stephen was the second son of the Viscount Rawlings and solicitor to the Duke of Maitland.

“I realize that.” Henry closed the door, emptied the dustbin, and returned the dustbin and broom back in the closet. He gathered up the pile of blankets on the armchair and sank down with a sigh. “It’s only this place isn’t practical for when I return. It’s halfway across Town to start. Perhaps someplace bigger for when…”

Stephen froze with his eyebrows arched high, waiting.

“I’ll need an heir, Greenwald. I am not searching for a love match, only for a woman who is from a respectable family who has a comically large dowry to help the estate dig out of debt.”

“Right, practical.”

“I am nothing if not consistent.” He scrubbed his hand over his face. He hadn’t shaved in two days, and the dark stubble covering his jaw scratched against his palms. “Do you have any need for these law texts? I thought about donating them. I could bring them to Cliffstone with me, I guess.”

Stephen removed his top hat, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes toward his friend. “Have you slept?”

“At some point in my life, yes. Recently? That would be up for debate.”

“I feel terrible for coming here today. If I knew you had this to contend with, I wouldn’t…”

“What do you need?”

“Well, a favor. A friend of mine is in a spot of legal trouble and could use your counsel.”

“He’s welcome to write a letter. I have⁠—”

“It’s a delicate matter. One best discussed in person.”

Henry rolled his eyes, instantly understanding. “You know I will not help one of your well-off friends who think they are above the law.”

Stephen nodded. “You are now among the Upper Orders, dear Henry. Privilege does come along with money, but you will soon find out it comes with a whole host of other problems. Problems that are best kept out of the papers.”

“My inheriting an earldom does not change my views. I will not use my position to do whatever I please. A title is a great responsibility. It is a duty, and that position should be respected.”

“And you do so love to uphold duty, don’t you?”

Henry jumped to his feet, eager to have this meeting over with. “If I had known you were going to invade my privacy and mock me, I would have left the door locked.”

Stephen darted a glance around the room, shifting from foot to foot. “No, that’s not… hell, I haven’t slept either. Can I start again?”

“If you must.”

“You are a right arse sometimes.”

“And now you insult me.”

Stephen laughed. “I came to ask if you would consider visiting the Duke of Maitland. He’s in need of some legal advice that I cannot give as his solicitor. In return, the duke has offered you a room. He’s hosting a Christmas house party, and I will attend as well. I have business here in Town to handle before I travel, but I can arrange for you to head to Haddington Court alone.”

“No.”