“I still maintain it’s ridiculous. What if the young woman is shy or just hasn’t met the right gentleman?”

“Are you trying to decide if you should wed Miss Goodfellow? I don’t think it should matter to you that she’s on her however many-th Season.”

He gave her a wry look. “It absolutely does not. However, it may be too late. I called on her yesterday, and she wasn’t receiving. Perhaps her mother’s stringent opinions extend to her.”

Lady Pickering inclined her head in sympathy. “I am sorry to hear it. You’ll have to find another young lady who is in danger of finding herself a spinster. I shall search for a suitable candidate if you like.”

“I am good enough for women whom Society has deemed probably not good enough.” He shook his head in dismay.

“You could also take your time, do a better job of rehabilitating your reputation, and see what new crop arrives over the next few weeks.”

“I think I’d prefer a near-spinster.” And not just because he wasn’t keen to wed a young lady on her first Season.

None of that mattered since he was nearly out of time. His father had died December twelfth. Which gave him just fifteen days to be wed. Not identify a prospective countess but marry her. In a fortnight, he would be sharing his name, his home, his bed.

His entire body chilled. Not just because it was a daunting task, but because he couldn’t see it happening. Miss Goodfellow was pleasant, and he liked her, but to take her as his wife…

Once upon a time, he’d wanted to fall in love. As he’d told Fi—Miss Wingate, he had an ideal woman in his mind. However, his father’s demands had made any hopes or dreams Tobias possessed nearly moot. He began to feel morose about the entire situation.

“I’m not at all certain you should have brought Mrs. Tucket as Miss Wingate’s chaperone this evening.” Lady Pickering frowned toward the corner.

Tobias followed her gaze. Seated in a chair, head bent with her chin resting on her chest, was Mrs. Tucket, her eyes closed and her mouth hanging open.

He should have stayed home tonight. They all should have stayed home.

“Is she asleep?” Lady Pickering asked.

“It appears that way.” He scrubbed his hand down his cheek. “I’ll go and wake her.”

As he made his way to Mrs. Tucket, he realized Lady Pickering was following. They passed a few ladies who, based on the direction of their attention and their whispered murmurings punctuated with “Overton’s ward,” were clearly discussing the snoozing chaperone.

As Tobias neared the woman, she jerked. “Goddamn bloody hell!”

Everyone in a ten-foot radius turned toward her immediately, their eyes wide. A hush fell over the corner as each person stared at her in expectant silence.

Mrs. Tucket had fallen back into her restful state, her chin on her chest, her lips parted. At this distance, Tobias could hear her snores.

Refusing to make eye contact with anyone, he gently touched the chaperone’s shoulder and whispered, “Mrs. Tuck—”