Corbin didn't take more than two steps outside before he heard Autumn's daughter screaming with joy. The Knowing smiled and glanced briefly over his shoulder. He'd have to bring her flowers—that's what men still did for women, right? He'd have Matilda inquire amongst the younger staff and see what was appropriate to bring a woman on a first date.

A date that wasn't a date, per se. More of a getting-to-know-you affair.

The story he'd told Autumn was true, albeit heavily condensed with some necessary alterations. He left out the years he struggled to find a sponsor to send him to the University of Pennsylvania, as the sale of his family's farm went towards paying off his father's debts. After ascending, Corbin moved up and down the northeast, teaching painting at various colleges and being very careful not to have his photograph taken after that method was perfected. And those investments? Those only came to fruition with the advent of the industrial revolution.

Neville was waiting for him when he arrived back at the main house. "Well, don't you look happy," the butler greeted, arms folded. "How'd it go?"

"Very well, thank you." Stuffing his hands into his pockets, Corbin hopped up the steps and entered the foyer.

"You know," Neville said, walking beside his friend, "I thought you weren't interested in human women. What changed your mind?"

Corbin paused, frowning thoughtfully. "I don't know. We were there in the ballroom and something just—sparked."

Neville laughed. "Obviously. I could see it from where I was standing."

Corbin shook his head, chuckling softly. "I won't deny that I find her attractive, but there's something else."

"All those cinnamon rolls?"

"Ha! Well, that too," Corbin allowed. He really loved those cinnamon rolls. Thank God he couldn't gain weight—he'd be three hundred pounds before the month was out. "But she likes to make things—as much as I do. She doesn't care for philosophy, psychology, economics or the downfall of mankind." All topics that made him fall asleep.

"That you know of," Neville reminded him.

"True," Corbin allowed. It's what he was hoping for, anyway. He'd see for himself soon enough. Speaking of soon ... "Neville."

"Yes?"

"Are flowers still an appropriate gift to bring a woman?"

Neville looked at him and then smiled. "Yes. My wife would suggest chocolate, but Ms Milford is surrounded by sweets all day."

Corbin nodded. "And something for her daughter?"

"Hm. Perhaps a small bouquet?" Neville shrugged.

"But different flowers. It wouldn't be appropriate to give the same thing to a mother and daughter."

Neville shook his head, chuckling. "Look at you, my friend. I can see the steam coming out of your ears."

Corbin paused outside the ballroom door. "Am I overthinking this?"

"A little," the butler allowed, leaning up against the wall. "You're approaching her as a research project. Don't analyze every little thing. Bring the flowers, enjoy her company, get to know her. Then proceed from there."

Corbin ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath. Neville was right. He was rushing forward without watching the road ahead. He had to think more logically, take his time. You didn't rush a painting—the results would only end up looking sloppy and all you had to show for your efforts were wasted paint and canvas. And besides, this could end up going nowhere.

"I'll slow down," Corbin conceded. Because God only knew he didn't want to scare Autumn away. She was already wary of him as things stood. And if he were being realistic, he couldn't afford to lose her skills as a baker.

"Good. Because I do need part of your brain on this party."

"Dash the party."

Neville smirked. "We both know that's impossible."

Corbin peered into the ballroom. When he had this house built, he didn't want it being used for entertaining. But he had been persuaded, much like with this party, into including a large gathering room. For the last eighty years he'd resided here, this had been a storage room for old, outdated furniture, painting supplies, and holiday decorations. Where everything was now, he had no idea.

There was a wall of windows opposite the doors that looked out onto the woods. Hm. It might be nice to try and paint from here sometime, he decided. Or, add a deck to the back for outdoor dining when the weather was nice.

"Mr Westbrook!"

Dammit, Corbin thought, turning towards Felix. The dance coordinator rushed up to them, nearly breathless. "There you are," Felix said in-between gulps of air.

Corbin folded his arms. "What is it?"

"We just received word that the Grand Duchess wishes to incorporate a Russian folk dance into the setlist."

Why was that a life or death question? "Go ahead."

"She wishes to dance it with you, sir."

Corbin twisted and looked down at the shorter man. "Excuse me?"

"Yes, sir."

"No." Corbin gave an emphatic shake of his head. "I'm not learning a Russian folk dance." He'd committed to the waltz with Nastya—that was it.

Neville leaned over. "Is that wise, Corbin?"

What was the Grand Duchess going to do? A physical confrontation between members of the Knowing was frowned upon by their society; if Nastya got offended, she was forbidden from sending minions after Corbin in retaliation. That would bring the masters over from Europe—and no one wanted them to be involved.

Felix paled. "Then I should tell the Grand Duchess's secretary the answer is 'no'?"

"It's 'no'."

"Okay ..." Resigned, Felix nodded to himself and began walking away. "God help me," Corbin heard the coordinator mutter.

"I don't think Nastya will be pleased with that answer," Neville remarked as they watched Felix leave the ballroom.

Corbin shrugged. "I'm not going to overthink it, Neville."

The butler snorted and shook his head. "That might be the one thing to overthink."

Nastya Romanova may be the daughter of a czar, but her father was long dead and her great-grandnephew sat on a smaller throne than at the time of her birth. She was part of the Knowing now and had to abide by their rules whether she liked it or not. If the Grand Duchess was upset at not being able to have a traditional Russian folk dance, she could incorporate it when she hosted the next gathering.

And that was all Corbin had to say on that matter. He had other things on his mind.