His case was not hopeless at all. It was a little desperate, it was true – he had only fifteen days. But that ought to be sufficient time. It was getting close to the end of the Season. There must be a number of girls – and their parents – who were growing uneasy, even a little desperate, at the absence of a suitor.

As he strode out of the square, Duncan found himself feeling grimly optimistic. He would hold his grandfather to his promise and get Woodbine Park back. He /had/ to. He would somehow have to fit marriage in with his other plans.

The thought brought out the cold sweat again.

There must be entertainments galore to choose among. His mother would get him invitations to any he wished to attend – /if/ he needed an invitation. As he remembered it, most ladies were only too eager to entice enough guests to their homes that they could boast the next day of having hosted a squeeze. They were not going to turn away a titled gentleman, even if he /had/ run off with a married lady five years ago – on his wedding day to someone else.

A ball would be his best choice. He would attend the very next one – this evening, if there happened to be one.

He had fifteen days in which to meet, court, betroth himself to, and marry a lady of /ton/. It was certainly not impossible. It was an interesting challenge, in fact.

He strode off in the direction of Curzon Street. With any luck his mother would still be at home. She would know what entertainments there were to choose among during the next few days.