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"I have obligations," George answered, his voice dropping into a stern rumble.

"You have a wife. You have a family," Caspian countered without a moment's hesitation.

"Precisely," George snapped.

Caspian chuckled softly, a playful spark dancing in his eyes as he watched George's defensive stance. "That was not the objection you thought it was. Arabella has already planned a wonderful soiree for our first night at Glastonbury Park, followed by an exquisite private ball the next evening for our immediate circle, although I do not know of the exact success of a ball. She has spared no expense in organizing the entertainments, and she is counting on Helena's presence to make the gathering a success."

George felt the walls closing in around him. A country estate sounded tranquil in theory, but in practice, Caspian was orchestrating a scenario that would force him into inescapable proximity with Helena. Away from the structured boundaries in his home, where separate suites, distinct morning routines, and vast corridors provided a comfortable buffer, a country house party would strip away those barriers entirely.

"The child's wellbeing remains my primary concern," George stated firmly, attempting to anchor his refusal in Oliver's handling. "A long carriage journey carries inherent risks for Oliver. A sudden chill or an unexpected draft could prove dangerous, and I will not expose him to unnecessary hardship."

"If that is your only concern, you may set your mind entirely at ease," Caspian replied smoothly, clearly having anticipated the objection. "The nursery wing at Glastonbury Park is fully prepared, heated by three separate hearths, and completely isolated from any drafts. Furthermore, Arabella has engaged three additional experienced nursemaids from the village to assist Sarah and Mrs. Peterson, ensuring the boy wants for absolutely nothing. The journey itself will be made in short stages with private post-chaise accommodations already secured along the route."

George stared at his friend, recognizing the trap for what it was: an ironclad arrangement disguised as generous hospitality. Caspian had systematically dismantled every rational argument before George could even articulate it, leaving no polite avenue for rejection without causing offense to Arabella.

"About half of the ton will be there, wouldn't they?" George asked. "You speak of a quiet country retreat, yet you mention soirees and private balls. How many guests have you actually invited?"

"Is that really a matter of great consequence? You will ultimately be among friends, you and Helena," Caspian assured him with an unbothered smile. "A few dozen select families from the surrounding estates, along with our closest acquaintances from town. It is hardly a Mayfair crush, George. It is a gathering of peers where you and Helena can socialize without scrutiny."

George let out a resigned breath, realizing he had been thoroughly outmaneuvered.

"You are entirely ruthless when executing your wife's commands, Caspian," George remarked dryly, leaning back in his leather chair.

"I am a happily married man, George; ruthless efficiency is a basic prerequisite for survival," Caspian teased, a wicked grin spreading across his face as he rose from his seat. "Though I must say, it is utterly fascinating to watch you navigate these waters. Do you recall our school days, when you delivered a two-hour lecture on the insanity of gentlemen surrendering their freedom to the domestic trap of marriage? I recall you climbed atop a desk and waxed rather poetically. You warned me then, quite explicitly, against abandoning the carefree club life for the quiet monotony of a family."

George's jaw tightened, though a faint flick of amusement touched the corner of his mouth. "My circumstances at the time were entirely different, as you well know."

"Indeed, they were," Caspian agreed merrily. "You were a carefree schoolboy with nothing to worry about save the headmaster and the state of the desk when you were done with it. Now you have a brilliant, beautiful wife who commands the attention of every room she enters, and an infant nephew who has you entirely under his tiny thumb. You have very little authority left to mock anyone's domesticity now."

"I do not mock, Caspian, I simply exercise proper caution," George grumbled. "Inform Arabella that we shall depart tomorrow at first light. But if Oliver so much as catches a sniffle during the journey, I shall hold you personally accountable."

"Fair enough," Caspian declared. "We shall see you at Hampshire. Try not to spend the rest of the morning staring at the same page."

With a chuckling farewell, Caspian strode out of the study, leaving George alone in the. George stared at the open doorway for a long moment before letting his head drop back. He thinks he is doing me a favor, entirely unaware that he is thrusting me directly into the fires of intimacy I am struggling to escape from.

The following morning, four magnificent bays stood restless, their breath rising in white plumes while footmen loaded the leather trunks onto the rear boot.

George stood near the open carriage door, watching as Sarah carefully climbed into the closed landau behind them, holding Oliver securely against her chest inside a thick velvet bunting. Mrs Peterson had taken permission to start her journey alone and a bit later. Once Oliver was safely settled, George turned his attention to Helena, who descended the front steps gracefully.

She wore a traveling pelisse of deep sapphire wool, trimmed with silver braid that caught the pale morning light, and a matching bonnet that framed her serene features. Her emerald-green eyes met his as she reached the pavement, offering him a warm smile.

"Good morning, Your Grace," Helena said, her melodious voice flowing smoothly through the damp air. "I trust we are on schedule for our departure?"

"We are precisely on time," George replied, offering her his hand. As her fingers rested in his palm, he guided her up the folding steps into the spacious interior of the coach, taking immense care to ensure her skirts cleared the frame before stepping up behind her and closing the door.

The coach lurched forward with a gentle sway, wheels crunching over the gravel drive before settling into the main road heading south toward Hampshire.

George seated himself directly opposite Helena, his long legs taking up a considerable portion of the cabin space. He settled his arms across his chest, keeping his posture straight as he looked out the window at the passing London townhouses.

Helena adjusted her pelisse, smoothing the wool over her knees before settling back against the cushioned seat. She looked at him with observant eyes, her expression devoid of any tension or awkwardness despite the dramatic events of their walk in Hyde Park two days prior.

"Caspian seemed particularly determined that we should join them when he called yesterday," Helena remarked pleasantly, breaking the silence between them as the carriage entered the open countryside. "I received a short note last evening from Arabella, expressing her utter delight that we accepted the invitation."

"Caspian leaves very little room for refusal when he sets his mind upon a course," George noted dryly. "He presented the invitation as an imperative command from his wife, leaving me with negligible grounds for objection without appearing entirely ungracious."

"You speak as though you were dragged into the coach against your will, Your Grace," Helena noted. "Is a few days in the country truly such a terrible prospect? I should have thought you would welcome the opportunity to oversee rural tenant matters, given your passion for estate management."

"I welcome rural management. What I view with caution is Caspian's idea of a 'quiet gathering,'" George countered. "He claims there will only be a few select families, yet he mentioned a soiree and private ball in the very same breath. We are not traveling to a tranquil sanctuary; we are entering another arena of society, merely transferred to a country setting."