Half the night had passed and Lord Bridgerton still hadn't been seen on the dance floor. It wasn't exactly a surprise to anyone, he never did. Not during the last few years, when he hardly ever attended any balls, and if he did, only danced with his sisters.

But something had changed this year, or as his mother, Lady Bridgerton, had announced not so subtly at the start of the season, Anthony was looking for a wife.

Obviously the gossip spread faster than the plague, and the Viscount found himself surrounded by debutantes and their matchmaking mothers queuing up at almost every ball to say a simple "good evening", receiving attention that would make the Queen herself jealous.

It was to be expected that Anthony would take the opportunity to socialise, meet the season's debutantes and set out his expectations for a future Viscountess. But Anthony wasn't exactly known for being a social butterfly, let alone receptive to flattery tactics.

So here he was, at yet another ball, standing by the refreshment table like a spinster, and observing his surroundings with a boredom expression bitter than the glass of lemonade in his hand.

"So, Lord Bridgerton... do you consider yourself an admirer of art?" the young girl in front of him asked, with attentive eyes and a gentle smile with a hint of nervousness.

"Not much." Anthony mutters with a lack of enthusiasm, sipping his lemonade as he earnestly assesses the ladies on the dance floor.

"Oh." The girl's smile fades foolishly, and she thinks for a moment before looking at him and trying again. "What about the music?"

"Are you good at calculus?" Anthony asks suddenly, diverting his attention from the dance floor to her, catching her off guard. He barely lets her answer with an uncertain stutter before continuing. "Would you know how to manage the property accounts if your husband was away?"

The girl is unresponsive for a moment, opening her mouth briefly and mumbling "I..." before losing herself again.

Anthony takes a deep breath, cracks a forced smile and nods politely. "Excuse me, Miss Mowbray." He walks away, sipping the rest of the lemonade in his glass and wishing it was something stronger. He makes his way to a nearby balcony, hoping that some fresh air will clear his thoughts. "Christ, why does this have to be so difficult?" he mutters to no one in particular, sighing at the starry night sky and finishing his lemonade as the music echoing through the ballroom behind him began to ache in his head with frustration. "How can one not find a suitable lady in a room full of them? Are you interested in art? Why, as if I were a-."

Anthony interrupted his rambling mind when he heard another noise behind him. It was a low snort, barely audible over the music, but close enough for him to notice.

Anthony frowns in irritation as he turns around and finds the young lady laughing at him, stopping immediately when she realises she's been caught. He takes a deep breath to contain his frustration, but doesn't hold back his sour tone when he speaks to her. "May I ask what you find so funny? Miss..."