The social season was still occurring, but this year Dominic couldn’t stay for the entire thing. He’d made his excuses to return to Ireland, back to the comforts of Hillsborough Castle. His mother, Lady Daniella, stayed in London to filter out any prospects. She’d chastised him enough for having his title for eleven years and still no wife, but it wasn’t Dominic’s priority. Back home, the castle was silent. It would’ve been insufferable to most, but Dominic enjoyed it. He liked hearing the rain beat against the windows and the fire crackling in his study. Tonight, no matter how much he tried, he couldn’t concentrate. Instead of Dominic’s eyes finding the ledgers and letters, they wandered up to the portraits. There was one from his grandfather's, but the one that got his attention was one from his mother’s. Their official wedding portrait with Lady Edith’s gaze looking out from her gilded stillness. Both of his mother’s expressions were composed; it didn’t capture the love they’d had for each other. Dominic forgot he had a glass of brandy in his hand when he’d heard footsteps outside. They weren’t the servant’s light feet, but Dominic knew who they’d belong to just by the sound. Dominic didn’t turn to greet Frederic when the door opened. “Shut the door, Frederic,” Dominic said without turning to greet his brother. “I can’t tolerate the draft.” He could feel the cold coming through the door the moment he’d opened it. All it did was bring Dominic back to reality and not the warm distraction of his work. When the door shut, Dominic finally turned to face his youngest brother. He should’ve been in school, but instead he was here. Dominic poured a drink for him and extended the glass without meeting his brother’s eyes. “I didn’t think the term ended early; if you’re struggling there, you’ll need to let me know.”