Meanwhile, Charlotte Finch, her honey-blonde hair cascading over her shoulders and her blue eyes sparkling with intent, spotted her target. Mr. Philip Browning, a gentleman of seven and twenty, with striking dark-blonde hair and piercing green eyes, stood among a group of friends, exuding the effortless confidence of an eligible bachelor.

Charlotte's lips curved into a smile as she watched him. At last, she was of marriageable age, and having grown up with Abigail and Philip, she had always harbored a quiet affection for him. Now, with her brother Jasper's new title as Duke of Winterset, Charlotte's future was all but secured—except for one thing: Philip Browning. He was exactly the kind of man she needed to elevate her position.

She was, after all, the sister of a Duke, the new Duke of Winterset. Her place among the ton was assured. Philip, though the son of a Duke, was still several years away from inheriting the title. Charlotte believed that she, with her closer connection to the ducal title, would be an attractive match for him.

With a purposeful stride, Charlotte made her way toward him, her ivory gown trailing behind her. She had no patience for coyness—this season was to be hers, and she would not waste time.

"Lord Philip, might I trouble you for this next dance?" Charlotte asked, her voice sweet yet firm, with an edge of quiet expectation.