She looked down at her brother. The emotional, sweet sister completely vanished. She pointed a firm, commanding finger directly at Rowan’s chest.

"Leave absolutely everything to Aunt Margery and me," Ines instructed him with authority. "You do not need to worry about a single detail of this party. We will take care of absolutely everything."

She turned slightly to look at Aunt Margery, who was already nodding her head in fierce agreement.

"We will completely transform this house," Ines promised, her eyes flashing with a competitive light. "We will make it even more grand, more beautiful, and more spectacular than the last one we tried to plan. The entire Ton will be talking about this betrothal ball for the next fifty years."

Aunt Margery stood up from the sofa. She began pacing back and forth across the fine rug. She tapped her chin thoughtfully with her finger, entirely lost in a massive, spinning world of planning.

"We have so much to do," Aunt Margery mused aloud, her voice tight with focused energy. "The guest list must be carefully reviewed. We need to order a massive cake. We must hire extra footmen to manage the carriages. And the decorations! Oh, we must have hundreds of white roses imported immediately!"

Ines nodded her head rapidly, agreeing with every single word her aunt said. The two women were feeding off each other’s incredible, frantic energy.

Ines turned back to Rowan. She looked at him closely.

For the first time since he had walked through the front doors, Ines truly noticed how incredibly exhausted her brother looked. The dark shadows beneath his eyes were heavy and deep. His broad shoulders were slightly slumped. The constant, stressful travel and the highly intense emotional weight of the past week had completely drained him.

"Go and rest, brother," Ines ordered him bluntly, her tone leaving absolutely no room for any argument.

She placed her hands firmly on her hips. She looked at him with a critical, slightly bossy expression.

"You look exactly like death," Ines stated plainly, without a single ounce of polite flattery. "You cannot host a grand betrothal ball if you are sleeping on your feet. Go to your bedchamber. Do not come down for dinner. I will have the servants send a warm tray directly to your room."

Rowan slowly lifted his head. He stared directly at his sister.

He narrowed his eyes. He glared at her. It was a long, slow, highly incredulous glare.

He could not believe her sudden change in attitude. Just ten short minutes ago, she and Aunt Margery had literally ambushed him in the front foyer. They had grabbed him by the arms, dragged him forcefully into the drawing room against his will, forced him into a chair, and interrogated him endlessly about his private love life. They had completely refused to let him take his boots off or seek a single moment of quiet peace.

And now, she was casually telling him to go rest, acting exactly as if he were the one refusing to go to bed.

He glared at her as if they weren’t the exact ones who didn’t allow him to rest in the very first place.

Ines completely ignored his glare. She simply smiled an innocent, bright smile and waved her hand toward the drawing room doors, dismissing him completely from their presence.

Aunt Margery did not even notice the silent argument between the siblings. She was entirely too busy planning the greatest party of the decade.

She stopped pacing and looked toward the open double doors of the drawing room. She raised her voice, calling out into the hallway with the sharp, clear authority of a woman who managed a massive household.

"Simmons!" Aunt Margery called loudly.

Almost instantly, the quiet, dignified figure of Mr. Simmons appeared in the doorway. He moved with silent, perfect grace. He had likely been standing just a few feet away in the hallway, completely ready to assist them the moment they called.

Simmons stepped into the drawing room and bowed deeply at the waist.

"Yes, my lady?" Simmons replied. His voice was perfectly smooth, calm, and entirely professional, showing absolutely no reaction to the loud, frantic energy of the two women.

Aunt Margery did not waste a single second. She marched purposefully toward the door. Ines followed quickly right behind her, already holding up her fingers to begin listing their many urgent demands.

"Get your best quill and a very large stack of fresh paper immediately," Aunt Margery spoke rapidly as she and Ines walked right past the butler, leaving the drawing room entirely.

"Bring them to my private sitting room. We have a massive amount of planning to do, and we must send out the new invitations this week and settle the accounts."

Simmons simply turned on his heel to follow them down the hallway.

"Right away, my lady," Simmons replied obediently. He walked away smoothly, completely prepared to write lists for the next five hours straight if his mistress demanded it.

Suddenly, the large drawing room was completely empty, save for one deeply exhausted man.

The loud, chaotic noise of the two excited women faded slowly down the long, carpeted hallway, until it disappeared entirely behind the closed door of Aunt Margery’s sitting room.

The drawing room fell into silence. The only sound left in the large room was the soft, comforting crack and pop of the warm fire burning steadily in the marble fireplace, and the slow, rhythmic tick-tock of the tall grandfather clock standing in the corner.

Slowly, carefully, Rowan slumped backward. He let his entire large body sink completely into the soft, deep cushions of the chair. He let his arms fall loosely over the padded armrests. He stretched his long legs out straight in front of him, crossing his leather boots at the ankles.

A small, quiet, deeply contented smile touched the corners of his mouth.

Rowan let out a very long, very deep, incredibly tired sigh. He did not immediately follow his sister’s strict orders to go upstairs to his bedchamber. He was simply too comfortable, and entirely too tired, to move another single inch.