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His father did not lift his eyes from his papers. “Then I shall see you at Bellthorne Hall?”

Freddie swallowed his retort. It would do him no good. “Of course. It seems I have little say in the matter.”

His father looked up from his papers, a slight smirk on his lips. “Indeed, you do not.” He sighed and his face softened. “But it does not follow that it has to be a drudgery. You might actually find someone you get on with quite well.”

“I doubt that,” Freddie spat out.

A deep, resigned huff sounded from across the desk. “Enjoy your time in London, son. But do not think I shall yield on this.”

“I know you too well to believe you capable of yielding, sir.” Freddie looked at a spot just over his father’s shoulder.

“Very well, off to London with you.”

Freddie turned, barely hearing his father’s last words as blood pulsed through his ears. He slammed the door behind him. “Of all the high-handed—” He bit the rest off.

Taking the stairs two at a time, he hurried to his chambers and threw some clothes into his valise, paying little heed to them. He wanted—no, needed—to be on his way immediately.

Indeed, he would not even wait to speak with his valet. He’d leave Simpson a note and request that he meet him in London.

London—November 1817

Freddie settled into his favorite chair at Brooks’s and released the breath he’d been holding since his discussion with his father. Indeed, he’d not really held his breath since leaving Somerset—the notion was as ridiculous as his father’s dictate.

Still, for all his time riding, he didn’t know how he was to thwart his father’s plan—and thwart it he intended to do. But such finagling was more the specialty of his friends, Lord Finsbury and Lord Stanhope—both of whom should be there shortly.

Together, they could surely come up with something to get Freddie out of his current conundrum.

At the very least, he hoped to persuade them to come to the house party. His aunt would not object. Fin and Stan were very eligible.

“You look the worse for wear,” Fin said as he slid into the chair next to Freddie.

Freddie rubbed at his eyes. “I rode straight from Somerset and only arrived yesterday.”

Fin settled in and lifted a hand to the server. “Same as my friend.” He motioned to Freddie’s glass. Then he turned his gaze back to Freddie. “I was surprised to get your missive. I thought we would not see you here until January.”

“That was my intent. But certain…events forced my hand.”

Fin lifted both brows.

“What events are those?” Stan said as he took the other chair.

“My aunt, Lady Dalmeer, is hosting a house party for Christmastide⁠—”

Both men nodded.

“Yes, I received my invitation last week.” Fin put a finger to his lips. “That puts me in mind. I have not yet sent my regrets. I shall send them off as soon as I return home.”

“You’ll do no such thing.” Freddie leaned forward, his finger tapping the air. “I asked you here to convince you to attend it with me. My cousin, Archie, isn’t even attending—and his mother is the hostess!” He sighed with relief. “That she invited you makes things easier for me.”

Stan shook his head. “Ah, no,” he said with finality. “Nothing could coax me to Yorkshire in the winter. The journey alone is a week. And that’s if the roads are passable. And the cold?” He shook his head more vigorously.

“If Archie doesn’t have to attend, why must we?” Fin asked.

Freddie gave them both a bland look. “What else have you to do?” He turned his gaze to Stan. “Besides, did I not attend the LaRosches’ house party last summer for you?”

Stan guffawed. “But that was summer. And it was only in Northampton. It’s hardly comparable.”

“But it was the LaRosches,” Fin said.