Omar had spent his morning trying some trick archery shots, and after lunch, flopped down onto his bed for a nap. He let out a groan when his mother bustled in and started ordering him and his valet around. "I'm sleeping." He muttered, drawing the covers up over his head. His mother yanked them completely off him and the bed.<br/><br/>"Not anymore. You need to get ready for the Bridgerton's ball. Come on, up. You'll not miss the first ball of the season. It would make a poor first impression, and make it difficult to find a wife. Up now, let's get you bathed and dressed. Thomas, is the bath ready?"<br/><br/>"Yes madam." The last thing Omar saw before disappearing into the next room was his mother fussing over the evening's attire. He would swear that he was scrubbed within an inch of his life before finally being allowed to get out of the tub. By the time he made it back to his room his mother was long gone, more than likely getting ready herself. He said nothing as his valet helped him dress, instead musing over the night's events. He didn't necessarily mind attending balls, be he hated the simpering girls who only paid attention to him because he was the son of an Earl. Some of the men weren't much better in his opinion, more concerned with spending time in gambling dens or with actresses than anything else.<br/><br/>As his father was off viewing some of their land, he would be attending the ball only with his mother. The two enjoyed a companionable silence, punctuated only by a few comments by his mother, bits of advice and reminders. When their carriage pulled up to the Bridgerton's townhouse, they had to wait in a line to unload. When it was finally their turn, he exited the carriage and offered his arm to his mother, escorting her inside.