Chapter 2

Greyson scoffed at the memory of his rendezvous with Violet as he made his way up the steps of his childhood home. If his mother thought that he'd accept what she had done with little to no complaining, then she would soon learn the opposite.

Handing his coat and hat to the butler, who greeted him at the door, he wasted no time in stating the reason for his visit. Montclair Manor was not a place he relished visiting.

"Do you know if my mother has arrived, Hudson?" he asked the man with a raised eyebrow.

The balding man of average height tilted his head back with pride, making his long, bulbous nose seem even pointier than it was. "The Dowager Countess arrived several minutes ago, My Lord, and is now taking her tea in the parlor."

"Thank you, Hudson."

Greyson wasted no time in striding toward the parlor that was situated to the right of the grand entrance hall.

The polished marble floor gleamed brightly beneath his leather boots. He far preferred the simpler furnishings in his bachelor lodgings in Hyde Park. The grand vases and ornate moldings reminded him too much of things he tried to forget.

Pushing open the parlor door, Greyson stepped inside. The lavish room was decorated in the French style. Angels frolicking on clouds were painted on the ceiling, complementing the cream walls and mahogany furnishings.

"Greyson!" the Dowager Countess of Montclair exclaimed in delight and placed her delicate cup back on the silver tray in front of her, along with the rest of the fine China.

The years had been kind to his mother. Christina Stone still looked as if she were only nearing fifty. Her skin was still smooth, with a few odd wrinkles around her mouth and eyes. The long blonde strands of hair were only peppered here and there with a few streaks of silver.

"Don't play coy with me, Mama, you know very well that I am here to complain." He stopped just inside the door and folded his hands behind his back, titling his chin up in defiance.

"I see that things did not go as I had hoped." She sighed and shook her head, placing her hands in her lap. Her thin lips pursed in disapproval as she waited for his response.

"As you had hoped? How on earth did you think that forcing me into a blind date would result in a courtship?" He cocked his head and frowned.

Their relationship had been good over the years. His mother had never forced him to marry and hadn't made a fuss when he'd decided to move to separate lodgings. Something had changed in recent months, and he wasn't sure why. She insisted upon him making a match and scolded him whenever she heard of one of his conquests.

Women of the ton were there for his amusement and nothing more. He didn't see why his mother had to start insisting otherwise when she knew his stance on love.

"There was no other way I could get you to meet with suitable young women. You gallivant around as if the years aren't catching up with us. Who will this estate pass to once you are gone? And who, may I ask, will inhabit this manor once I am no longer here?" she asked incredulously, her thin voice strained with exasperation.

Greyson rolled his eyes in annoyance. "I do not know why you have become so sentimental, Mama, but you and I are far from our deathbeds. And if the unlikely should happen, there is always the possibility of distant cousins filling our shoes."

A strange expression flashed across her features but was quickly replaced with a more serious one. "You are not a child, Greyson. I have indulged your youthful fancies for far too long. If Lady Violet Smith was not to your liking, then there is a slew of other marriage-minded young women who would make excellent candidates. We must all pick our battles, and, make no mistake, this is not one that I am willing to lose." She gave him a stern look that drove her point home.

She's serious.

He bristled at the fact that his mother was trying to meddle in his affairs. Knowing his stance on love and marriage should have been enough for her to know that what she was doing was wrong.

His mind drifted back to the café and the blue eyes that had flashed with determination and resilience. Perhaps there was sense in what Violet had said. An arrangement that appeased their families and kept them at bay seemed alluring, given his mother's insistence.

"Very well, if you insist on pursuing this course of action, I will have to take matters into my own hands," he said stiffly, wondering for the hundredth time why his mother had changed her mind.

Neither of them were ill, and having someone step into their roles would easily be accomplished through distant family ties.

"And what do you mean by that?" she asked, with her head tilted to the side in a challenge that mirrored his own.

"If you wish me to find a wife, then that is exactly what I shall do."

He'd made up his mind on what needed to happen. Faking a betrothal would buy him a year or two of peace.

His mother blinked a few times and shook her head, as if she had been slapped. "What has brought on this sudden change of heart?" Her breathing deepened.

"Not what, but who. And the answer to that is Lady Violet Smith." He turned on his heel and left the room without any further explanation.

If it was a war that his mother wanted, then a war she would get. Violet had already presented herself as a cunning soldier, all he needed to do now was execute her plan.