GERARD CAME downstairs from his bedchamber to find his younger sister, Sabrina Stark, arguing with the butler, McKenna, with his valet, Vinson, right in the middle. The valet was not attempting to stop the argument. But rather, he was joining it, as evidenced by his hands on his hips while he glared up at the giant butler the same way Sabrina was.

"All I am saying, McKenna, is that Miss Sabrina can do whatever she desires so long as Mr Stark allows it. And he allows it!" Vinson said while his sister looped her arm around the valet, nodding her dark blonde head in agreement.

McKenna sighed with controlled patience as he focused his eyes on Sabrina. His deep voice echoed around the hallway as he asked, "Have you asked your brother, Miss Sabrina?"

"Well, I do not have to, do I, Vinson?"

Vinson shook his light blond head. "You need not, Miss Sabrina."

"Then our discussion is over," McKenna sternly replied. "No permission from Mr Stark, no going out."

Vinson turned his head to Sabrina. "We should ask Mr Stark."

Gerard saw his sister's hand tighten around Vinson's arm.

His valet reluctantly turned and glared at McKenna. "I am his valet. I know he will say yes."

Sabrina eagerly nodded. "I am his sister. I very well know what he will say."

"Which is?" Gerard asked, loud enough to make the three people turn toward the staircase in varying states of surprise.

Sabrina's face brightened at will. "Ah, brother! A pleasant morning, isn't it?"

"What's this commotion?" he asked instead.

"Oh, nothing," Sabrina said, eyes evading his while she pulled Vinson away. "By the by, it passed my mind that I have instructions for you, Vinson. Come with me to the garden."

"But we can ask—"

"Hush!" Sabrina hissed at Vinson, dragging the man down the hall.

Eyes narrowed, Gerard turned to McKenna and asked, "What did they want this time around?"

McKenna's eyes rolled as he stretched from left to right, as though he had just been through a laborious day. "They want to get tickets for the Season Fair, sir."

"They are already selling tickets?"

"For some shows, yes."

He slowly nodded his head. "You did a good job, McKenna. But I have a feeling that if I didn't interfere sooner, you would have folded."

"I would have wrung your valet's neck, that's what I would have done, sir."

He chuckled. "Vinson!" he shouted as he walked away from McKenna. "Your master is looking for you and he might just throw you in front of a running carriage if you do not show yourself this instant!"

Vinson's running footsteps followed him into the breakfast room, and soon the valet breathlessly came to stand nearby.

"What are you planning with my sister, Vinson?"

Vinson blinked, feigning innocence. "Nothing, Mr Stark."

He narrowed his eyes at the man as the maid entered the room and served him tea. "You dare lie to me?"

The valet blinked multiple times. "I'm not lying, Mr Stark."

"You're deliberately hiding something from me."

Vinson blinked. Then he nodded after stealing the doorway a look.

"Ah, you cannot speak about it."

Vinson nodded once more.

Gerard scoffed. "She's here merely five months, and she already has you around her fingers."

Vinson frowned, eyes rolling upward in thought. Then he shrugged.

"Is she meeting a man?" he asked, brows raised in question.

"No, of course not, brother," Sabrina replied, sashaying into the room. "Stop interrogating my best friend. I have no other plans whatsoever other than spending an afternoon with Vinson as friends should. He and I have nothing much to do while you spend the rest of the day at the club." She settled in her seat to his right. Her cheeks were red from her escape into the garden, her lips innocently smiling as though they had not been spewing secret plans with his valet, her sapphire eyes meeting his with no trace of deceit.

Therefore, she was lying.

Not about meeting a man or having fun with Vinson, Gerard thought. She lied about having no other plans.

He let the matter slide for now. "You will not go until I have made my decision."

"What deliberation is there for you to make? The fair, they say, is an annual event, Gerry. It's harmless."

"It's also a very crowded fair."

"Well, as fairs should be!"

From the corner of his eye, he saw Vinson nodding his head vigorously.

"Not for someone like you."

"What?" Sabrina asked, blinking in confusion. "What am I?"

She was provoking him until he conceded. "Someone who should know that she's no longer in the Americas and that there are protocols to follow here."

"Such as bringing along a chaperone," she said, waving her hand at Vinson. "My best friend!"

Gerard patiently sighed. "Vinson is my valet, Sabrina."

"And he is a fun friend if you can only see him as one!"

Again, Vinson nodded.

"If you truly wish to go, bring Annie with you."

His sister's eyes widened. "No," she hissed.

Vinson was vigorously shaking his head now.

"Why not?"

Sabrina pursed her lips and let out a dramatic sigh as though she was trying to be very patient with him. Her long blonde hair fell over her shoulders as she leaned forward to conspiratorially whisper, "Annie has a disease."

He frowned. "I was not informed of any maid falling ill."

Sabrina nodded and straightened in her chair. She picked up her knife and fork with a shrug. "Well, she is. And it's quite contagious."

"And what disease is she suffering from?" he asked.

She stole Vinson a look and snorted. The poor bastard, however, was trying his best not to do the same by covering his mouth with his hand and clearing his throat, lifting his chin, and blinking away the restrained laughter from his eyes. His sister veered her gaze back to him as she chewed, face serious as though she was not about to say something utterly absurd.

"What disease, Sabrina?"

Sabrina chewed some more and swallowed. "Irritability with bouts of peevishness."

Gerard rolled his eyes and continued with his meal, mindful of his sister's tendency to manipulate him in an unconventional yet effective way.

"She also has occasional anger spells," Sabrina added, causing Vinson to once more nod in agreement.

Gerard gritted his teeth. His young valet had become his sister's pet the very day she arrived, and it was getting worse.

"Perhaps because Annie can see that you're not behaving properly as a young Sutherland lady should."

"No, of course not! I behave tremendously." More nods from Vinson and, "She believes I am too American."

"You are."

"No, of course not. I'm a Sutherlander."

"You were born in Sutherland and left a month later. You grew up in the Americas. You're more American than you are a Sutherlander."

"Sutherland and England are somewhat the same, yes? Same obsession for propriety and scandal and other things boring."

"Sabrina," he said, catching his twenty-year-old sister's gaze, "You made such a mess in England."

She pursed her lips. "I did not."

"Yes, you did."

"It was not my fault. Or yours," she said with emphasis on the last word, then smiled as his jaw clenched. "Should we continue discussing why we left London?"

He sighed. "No."

"Then are we going to decide how I should enjoy this season in Sutherland?"

"Yes, and you are not manipulating me to allow you and Vinson to go out and enjoy today."

"Tomorrow?" Vinson asked, biting his lips as he realized he spoke out loud.

"No," Gerard sternly replied, eyes not leaving Sabrina. "You're going to your gown fittings tomorrow. It's about time you attend a ball."

"The day after?"

"You will only be allowed to go to the fair if you are in a company of women who are your friends or are under my employ. Vinson does not belong in either category."

"Why? He is under your employ!"

"I meant the category of a woman and a friend."

"Vinson is my best friend."

Vinson nodded.

"Eat your food, Sabrina."

His sister let out a frustrated sigh. "I should not have joined you here. I should be with Mama and Papa in the Orient!"

"Then you're free to board a ship and sail to the other side of the world," he replied with a mocking smile.

Her nostrils flared.

"Do not look at me that way, young woman. I'm doing my best to fit you into Sutherland society."

"You mean you're doing your best to find someone perfect to sponsor me this season and introduce me to the high and mighty polite society."

"Precisely, but I'm yet to find someone willing to risk their reputation. By doing so, I should protect yours and you shall help me do so by not roaming around the fair with Vinson," he wryly said and quickly finished his meal before she could strike again.

"Am I expected to find a match this season?" she asked as he stood.

"No, of course not. Unless you wish me to."

"You're not planning to use your connections to find me a husband, are you not? Gerry, you promised not to play your tricks on me."

"I keep my promises, Sabrina."

"Then I will join the season with no expectations from you?"

He nodded. "As we agreed, but should you find someone—and given that he is within my standards—I will gladly agree to give him your hand."

She pointedly looked at him. "You're desperate to get rid of me."

"I'm desperate to make you happy and I will be pleased if you can find more friends who are not employed by me," he wryly stated. "Now," giving Sabrina and Vinson a stern look each, Gerard added, "the two of you shall stay indoors, or you shall face McKenna." He walked out of the breakfast room and called over his shoulder, "Vinson!" when he noticed his sister beckon for the valet with her hand.

The young man jumped and followed him upstairs to his room.

"How many times do I have to remind you that you are forbidden to tolerate her whims?" he hissed at the man.

"I try not to, sir."

"Try my arse," he grumbled under his breath. "You are a willing participant!"

Moments later, while the man helped him into his clothes, he read letters from the club. And then a thought came to him.

"Vinson," he started, dropping his arm. Vinson looked up from his task of buttoning his waistcoat. "How common is it for a lady to be wearing leather shoes with wooden soles?"

Vinson blinked. "I am yet to encounter a lady that is not a servant or a laborer who wears one, sir."

He nodded.

"May I ask why, sir?"

"No," he murmured in reply, his thoughts on the lady from last night.

*****

Angela was no longer calm and collected as she was when her brother found her in the drawing room earlier that day. She paced Jonathan's study, biting her nails while he relayed everything he discussed with Spencer.

"Now, I am only telling you this because I know that you would want to know."

She nodded, acknowledging his considerate act. "And also, by telling me, I can make plans."

Jonathan sighed, leaning back against his chair. "Yes, of course."

"Did you tell him to wait before proposing?"

"I told him to wait a month or two before surprising you with a proposal and also to assess his feelings."

She stopped and rushed to his desk and planted her palms flat on the table, eyes blinking in concentration and confusion. "A month or two? That's not enough time!"

"It is not?"

She shook her head. "What do I do?"

Jonathan tugged at an earlobe while squinting one eye. "Consider?"

Her eyes shut and she groaned. "No!" she cried out, pushing away from the table. "No, I can never consider Spencer as my husband!" She said the last word with as much contempt as she could.

Jonathan pressed the tips of two fingers against his temple. "Then tell the man when he proposes to you, Angela. How hard can it be?"

She stiffened and huffed in disbelief. "How hard can it be? I will most likely lose a friend!"

His brows fused. "No, you will not."

"Of course, he shall pretend that my refusal will not mar our friendship, but we all know it shall never be the same again."

"Men often encounter refusal more than you think, Angela."

"Well, I do not encounter the chance of giving it! If I reject him, he may be fine with it, but I will never look at him the same way again because I will always have the thought at the back of my head that he may still possibly wish to be more than just friends. The only chance that I will feel at ease in our friendship is if he is with wife and—" she stopped, blinking three times as a brilliant idea came to mind.

"What? What?" Jonathan asked, leaning on his chair, and pointing at her face. "That look is quite familiar, but I'm afraid I vaguely recognize it. What does it mean? What are you thinking?"

She smiled and scoffed in incredulity. "Of course!"

"What? What is it?" Jonathan warily asked.

She excitedly walked back to the table. "We have to find him a wife, Jonathan."

Jonathan's face scrunched in disbelief. "You are insane!"

"He is obviously in need of one!"

"Well, that wife is you!"

"No, it can be anyone. I know Spencer. He must be under intense pressure to marry. You know how Mr and Mrs Pembroke can be. I will not even be surprised if they planted the idea in his head to propose to me, even urged it. He may have only considered me because he's completely comfortable with me as his friend, and because I'm the richest and safest candidate." While her brother gaped at her with a mixture of disbelief and awe, she resumed her pacing, biting her fingernail. "Now, we only need to find someone who will suit him well; someone safe and rich."

"Angela, you do not have any friends or acquaintances in Coulway."

Her eyes flickered with annoyance. "I can easily find them."

A sardonic chuckle rolled out his throat. "I'm not so certain about that. You are friends with all walls in this villa except another human."

She ignored him, her mind already making invisible calculations.

"Why can you not just give the man a chance?"

"I already did," she said, tapping her temple, showing where and how she gave Spencer a chance.

"Good Lord, you're just like Edward and Mother."

She stiffened at the mention of their mother, but she quickly veiled the reaction. Brushing any thoughts or memories of Eleanor Worthington, Angela made plans in her head. "How do courtships typically work? Are they the same here in Coulway as they are in the country?"

"They tend to move faster here, I believe. That is, if you have any reference at all in Hartmour... or any place, really," Jonathan replied. As she continued to ignore his sardonic remarks, Jonathan sighed. "Angela, if you introduce Spencer to another woman, he will instantly know what you're trying to do and he shall skin me alive because I told you about his plans."

She clucked her tongue, frustrated with her brother's spoken comments. "I will find a way that he will not think so. But how?" The question was addressed to herself.

"Spencer has to naturally change his mind or accept your decision, Angela. You do not manipulate it."

It took a while for his words to sink in. Her brows furrowed as she directed her gaze at her brother. "Whatever do you mean?"

"I meant it as how I said it. I gave him the most of two months to reconsider a change of heart, but he must also be prepared to accept your decision. I do not see any reason why you need to plan anything—"

"Yes, of course! How can I be so bloody stupid!" she interjected, breaking into a triumphant smile. "It's perfect!"

Jonathan blinked, perplexed. "What is?"

Proud of her wit, she placed her hands on her hips and said, "I shall employ external help to ensure that he changes his mind—or heart, as you have said it."

Jonathan frowned. "Angela, the natural thing to do is refuse his offer if he proposes!"

She shivered at the thought. "It will be a disaster."

"Oh Lord," Jonathan groaned. "Why? Because you abhor confrontations?"

"No, of course not. I only wish to avoid them. They are tedious and taxing." She started for the door. "I will go out with Millie this afternoon."

"Where are you going?"

She stopped outside the doorway and poked her head through the door to say, "As I said, brother, I require professional help!"

*****

Gerard arrived late at Stark's that afternoon because Sabrina had made another attempt to leave the villa with Vinson. They eventually agreed that she may visit the fair if she could find a willing friend during her first ball, and he would send Vinson along to serve as her chaperon.

But he worried that Sabrina would find the wrong friends. He needed her to be in the right circle of acquaintances, ladies from the polite society if necessary. He considered introducing her to a few of his clients' female acquaintances, but he may appear too desperate and ambitious in their eyes. Sabrina had to do her part, but knowing his sister, she would simply find anyone and chat with them, learn their names and consider them her dearest friends thereafter.

He was ten when Sabrina was born, and now, twenty years later, he regretted not having as much influence on her. She was too carefree, too boisterous. He was partly at fault, leaving her when she needed strict guidance in America. Their parents were too lenient with his sister and he was paying the price.

He withdrew from his thoughts as the manager of his club, Mr Jacob, stiffly and briskly approached him, his white hair illuminated by the bright candles.

"Good afternoon, Mr Stark," Jacob greeted while the footman took Gerard's coat. "Someone is waiting for you in your office."

"I do not recall having an appointment at this time, Jacob."

"Yes, I agree," the man said, tone turning sour, his white beard hiding what Gerard presumed to be a tight line of very strained lips. "She was very persistent and threatened to cause quite a scene outside if I did not let her in."

Arrested, Gerard, stopped walking. "Her?"

Mr Jacob stiffly nodded. "Her."

Gerard sighed in annoyance. "I gave specific instructions, Jacob, that any women who intimately associate themselves with me are not welcome in my club," he said through his teeth. "Who is it this time?" he asked, remembering if he had promised a recent flame anything more than a good and unforgettable tumble in bed.

"I do not believe she is amongst your—" The man was not able to finish his statement as Gerard made a sharp turn, completely vexed. He rushed down the narrow corridor of the club lined with dark and rich wood paneling. Flying past the variety of paintings he brought from London, Gerard dug his shoes into the marbled floors. He made a turn to the left, causing a candle mounted on the wall to flicker, and another left until he reached his office.

His jaw had gone tight, eyes narrowed and purposeful. He had told them many times they were not welcome in his club, yet one or two would still believe that they had satisfied him enough to be granted a special pass after only one passionate night.

The scandal in London played in his mind again.

He should have learned from London, he heatedly thought, reaching for the door.

"Mr Stark!" Jacob was calling from the far end of the corridor just as Gerard turned the handle and pushed his door open.

"I have been clear that my bed is—"

He meant to say that his bed was separate from his club and that it stayed where it was in his villa, but he was unable to finish his statement the moment his eyes landed on the woman sitting stiffly in front of his table.