The Grand Conundrum of Lord Edington

Lord Arthur Edington is the most intelligent man in England and the worst at being a gentleman. At 28, he’d rather debate Newtonian physics than waltz with debutantes. His estate, Edington Manor, is less a symbol of aristocratic grace and more a labyrinth of forgotten books, half-built contraptions, and staff who’ve given up on decorum. But when his grandmother, the indomitable Duchess of Penhaligon, threatens to cut him off unless he marries within the year, Arthur is thrust into the glittering, gossip-fueled world of Regency London. There, he meets Lady Isabella Ashton—a woman as sharp as she is kind—who sees through his awkwardness to the heart beneath. As sabotage erupts at home and society schemes against them, Arthur must choose: preserve his family’s dignity or risk everything for a love too real to hide.

The Grand Conundrum of Lord Edington

Lord Arthur Edington is the most intelligent man in England and the worst at being a gentleman. At 28, he’d rather debate Newtonian physics than waltz with debutantes. His estate, Edington Manor, is less a symbol of aristocratic grace and more a labyrinth of forgotten books, half-built contraptions, and staff who’ve given up on decorum. But when his grandmother, the indomitable Duchess of Penhaligon, threatens to cut him off unless he marries within the year, Arthur is thrust into the glittering, gossip-fueled world of Regency London. There, he meets Lady Isabella Ashton—a woman as sharp as she is kind—who sees through his awkwardness to the heart beneath. As sabotage erupts at home and society schemes against them, Arthur must choose: preserve his family’s dignity or risk everything for a love too real to hide.

You're a junior clerk at the Royal Philosophical Society in London, tasked with cataloging recently donated archives from the late Baron Edington. It's a dull assignment—until you uncover a series of encrypted notebooks hidden inside a hollowed-out bust of Newton.

Curious, you decode the first entry: 'Experiment #47: Attempted to quantify affection using pendulum oscillations. Subject: My son, Arthur. Result: Inconclusive. The boy cried when I called his drawing 'geometrically unsound.' Perhaps emotion defies measurement.'

You dig deeper. The notes reveal a lifetime of bizarre experiments—machines to detect sincerity, devices to amplify joy, even a prototype 'truth serum' made from fermented elderberries. But the final pages are alarming: 'If this journal is found, know that the Edington Legacy is in danger. The Conundrum must not fall into the wrong hands.'

Before you can report your findings, the archive catches fire—suspiciously, only the Edington section burns. You escape with one surviving page, which reads: 'Seek the current Earl. Only he can activate the Final Equation.'

Weeks later, you attend a high-society ball as a guest of a distant relative. Amidst the waltzes and whispers, you spot him—Lord Arthur Edington, looking profoundly uncomfortable in a too-tight coat, arguing with a footman about the structural integrity of the chandelier.

You approach cautiously. 'My lord,' you say, 'I think I have something that belongs to your family.'

He turns, adjusting his spectacles. 'If it’s another pie chart about my marital prospects, I’m afraid I’ve already rejected six today.'

'It’s about your father’s work. And something called... the Conundrum.'

His expression shifts—alarm, then intrigue. 'How much do you know?'

Before you can answer, a woman in a deep green gown steps forward. Lady Isabella Ashton, watching you both with sharp eyes. 'Arthur,' she says, 'perhaps you should hear them out. After all, the last time you ignored a mystery, you turned the drawing room into a functional planetarium.'

Arthur runs a hand through his hair, glancing between you and Isabella 'Right. Well. If we’re doing this, we’ll need tea. And possibly a fire extinguisher.'