But he had loved Estelle, and deep down, despite what had happened between them, that love had never died.
Lord Pratley’s loud voice interrupted his thoughts. He had now moved on to Lady Iris’s lips, which he was comparing to rosebuds, rich claret and ripe strawberries. Then he went back to her eyes. Apparently sparkling sapphires weren’t enough, because Pratley believed they also bore a striking similarity to the sky on a summer’s day, and to cornflowers and borage. Borage? Was that even blue? Theo had no idea.
Instead of encouraging more of his compliments, as he knew Estelle would have done, Lady Iris turned the conversation to Lord Pratley’s planned fishing trip to Norway. As the Viscount talked about all the salmon he planned to catch, where he would be staying and the adventures he and his friends were expecting to have, Lady Iris merely made murmurs of interest. Theo wondered what the expression on her face would reveal. Was she bored? Her responses had been polite but showed no real enthusiasm. Or was she enjoying the Viscount’s company?
‘It’s a shame you can’t come with us,’ he heard Lord Pratley say. ‘But maybe you will next year?’ Pratley gave a loud guffaw, which drowned out any response Lady Iris might have made.
Theo gripped his knife and fork more tightly. The audacity of the man. Was he assuming that he would be married to Lady Iris before next year’s fishing season? She had said nothing about Pratley being her intended. Her mother had said Lady Iris received many offers each Season, and Pratley’s clumsy attempt at courting suggested that she did indeed have at least one conquest this year, one she was evidently not particularly interested in.
Theo had to wonder why not. Why would Lady Iris not be interested in a courtship with Pratley? Theo thought him a buffoon, but he was a good catch for any unmarried young lady. He was from a distinguished lineage, was known to have a substantial estate and income, and, as far as Theo knew, had all his faculties. So why was the mother interested in Theo when Lady Iris already had an equally, if not better, catch already on her hook?
Although the question he should be asking himself was, why did he care? Lady Iris was merely a casual acquaintance, one who meant nothing to him. Her mother might be seeing him as a potential husband, but neither he nor Lady Iris saw it that way. Why should he care what was happening between Lady Iris and Lord Pratley? But still, the impertinence of the man made his blood boil.
‘Sir, may I remove your plate? The next course is about to be served,’ a footman said close to his ear, interrupting Theo’s thoughts.
He released the tightly held knife and fork and sat back in his chair while the servants shuffled round them, serving the next course.
‘Oh, salmon, lovely—my favourite,’ Lady Iris said in her usual sunny voice.
‘Well, you’ll be able to catch all the salmon you want next season, won’t you?’ he said, his voice more curt than he’d intended. ‘Enjoy fishing, do you?’
‘Were you eavesdropping on my conversation with Lord Pratley?’ she said, a teasing note in her voice.
‘I could hardly avoid hearing Pratley prattle on, could I?’ he said quickly, to cover up any embarrassment over being caught doing something that might suggest he cared about her relationship with another man.
‘Hmm, well, in answer to your question, I have no idea whether I enjoy fishing or not because I’ve never tried.’
He wanted to say that would make her unique among young ladies. She might not have tried salmon fishing but fishing for a suitable husband was a sport most young women excelled at. He knew from bitter experience what it was like to be reeled in by a beautiful woman. Men could be so ridiculous at times. Just like Pratley, he had once thought he was the one who had done the chasing, but he had been skilfully landed like a helpless fish at the mercy of an accomplished angler.
‘Perhaps when you’re married to Pratley and he whisks you off to Norway you’ll be able to find out,’ he bit out.
What on earth was wrong with him? Why should he care whether she married Pratley or any other man? The strain of the evening was having more of an effect on him than he had realised. The sooner this evening was over and he could return home the better. In the meantime, he needed to rein himself in and adopt a more composed manner.
She laughed lightly, but made no comment. But why should he expect her to tell him what her arrangement was with Lord Pratley? He had no more right to ask her about Pratley than she had to ask him about Estelle. And, he had to admit, she had been a lot more restrained than he was in that regard.
‘Eat your food—it will be getting cold,’ he said to cover his discomfort. He lifted his wine glass and was pleased that the weight showed the footman had refilled it.
‘Well, it’s actually a salmon mousse, so I don’t think there’s much danger of its getting cold.’ She gave another of her little laughs. Did this young woman laugh at everything? ‘And you had better drink some more of your wine. It’s probably in equal danger of getting cold.’
‘As you command, my lady,’ he said, taking a long quaff.
He was being unfair to her and he knew it. It was hardly her fault if Pratley had intentions towards her. And it mattered not a bit to him whether she had intentions towards Pratley or not.
He needed to settle down, stop being a cad and go back to making polite conversation like the well-bred gentleman he had once been.
He racked his brain for something polite and pointless to talk about, but nothing would come. Once he had been the master of making small talk. Using a lot of words to say virtually nothing had become second nature to him, honed over years of attending dinner parties such as this and seemingly endless balls. But now he was out of practice and could think of nothing trivial to say.
Before any witty comment or pithy observation could occur to him the sound of Estelle’s tinkling laugh rose above the polite murmur of the other guests’ voices again. Lady Iris appeared to have heard it as well, as the sound of her knife and fork on her plate ceased. Although why Estelle’s happiness should affect Lady Iris he did not know. But then, neither did he know why Pratley’s assumption that he would be marrying Lady Iris should affect him the way it did.
Estelle’s joyful laughter rang out yet again, cutting him to the quick, and causing every muscle in his body to tense.
He grabbed his glass, lifted it to his lips and was annoyed to discover it empty. With a tap on the glass, he signalled to the servant that he needed more wine now. The man instantly leant over him and refilled the glass.
Theo drained it, trying to steady his mind and relax his body. He knew from experience wine could not anaesthetise pain, but tonight he was going to give it another try.
* * *
Iris looked down the table, to where Lady Redcliffe was seated. She was smiling brightly, laughing loudly and talking animatedly, as if she was having the best time of her life. And yet, she kept flicking quick glances in the Earl’s direction as if to reassure herself that she had his attention.
Her husband gave the appearance of either being oblivious to this behaviour, or enjoying it, sitting across the table from her, looking as proud as a peacock. Every man around her was focused on Lady Redcliffe and she was glowing, revelling in being the centre of attention.
Iris wished Lady Redcliffe would stop laughing so loudly and drawing attention to herself. Iris rarely cared about such things. After all, her family could get raucous at times and she herself was known to laugh loudly on occasion, even when she knew such behaviour was deemed unacceptable for a young lady. But even though she wished it wasn’t so, Lady Redcliffe’s laughter was grating on her nerves. Was it because it sounded so false, or was it because of the effect it was having on the Earl? Or, much worse than either of those reasons, was it simply that she was jealous because Lady Redcliffe was drawing the Earl’s attention away from her? Was she that self-centred? The poor man was suffering and she was being a vain and frivolous woman, wanting to keep hi
s attention all to herself.
Yes, she was pathetic, and not particularly nice. It was the Earl that was being forced to endure something which was causing him great anguish, and here she was feeling sorry for herself.
He should never have been forced to attend this dinner party. If it weren’t for her and her mother the Earl would be at home beside his fire with Max. She looked down to the other end of the table, where her mother was sitting beside Lord Walberton. Her mother sent her a sad smile. Lady Redcliffe’s behaviour and the Earl’s reaction had not been missed by her ever-astute mother.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Iris murmured.
He shook his head. ‘You’ve nothing to be sorry for,’ he said, raising his hand to signal the footman. ‘And certainly not for this rather fine Bordeaux.’
He lowered his glass and drew in a deep breath. ‘Lady Iris, really, you have nothing to apologise for,’ he repeated, his voice conciliatory. ‘I’m a grown man and I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself, but I thank you for your concern.’
She looked at his wine glass and frowned, hoping that wasn’t the way he thought he could look after himself.
‘You don’t appear to have eaten your salmon,’ she said.
‘No, I have no appetite,’ he said sharply. Then in a softer voice he continued, ‘It’s a shame Max isn’t here. Living on my own, I have got into the bad habit of giving him anything I don’t eat myself.’
Iris smiled, pleased that he was no longer speaking in such a terse manner and pleased that Lady Redcliffe’s laughter was no longer filling the air.
‘He’s such a lovely dog,’ she said. ‘As much as I adore Sookie, I must say I’m rather taken with Maxie-Waxie.’
‘And him with you. I’ve never seen him latch on to anyone as quickly as he did to you. It almost made me jealous.’
Iris winced slightly at the mention of jealousy and cast a quick glance in Lady Redcliffe’s direction. Catching the lady’s eye, Iris quickly looked away.
The salmon course was removed, the dishes hardly touched by either the Earl or Iris. With reluctance she turned back to Lord Pratley and braced herself for another round of compliments. Surely the Viscount must have run out of flattering things to say by now. After all, how many comparisons could he make to her eyes, hair, lips and skin? Perhaps he’d now move on to her nose, telling her it was like a tulip bulb, a potato or a mushroom.
She smiled to herself, which was a mistake as the Viscount thought she was smiling at him and instantly launched into complimenting her teeth.
‘Lady Iris,’ he said, raising his glass as if in toast. ‘You have the most beautiful smile I have ever seen and it’s an honour to be bathed in its glow. Your teeth are as white as snow and as straight as...’
He paused to think and Iris was tempted to supply him with a few comparisons. As straight as a row of tombstones in a graveyard...as straight as the cutlery on this table...as straight as the pickets in a cottage fence.
Unable to think of anything which he felt best described her teeth, he went back to complimenting her lips, and Iris drifted off, merely providing the occasional ‘mmm-hmm’ for the sake of politeness.
Why men thought women required constant flattery about their appearance Iris would never know. She looked over at the Earl. He had absolutely no idea what she looked like and that was rather wonderful. She could be a breathtaking beauty or as plain as a pikestaff and it would make no difference to him whatsoever. And yet, he had been engaged to a beautiful woman. Was this before or after he had lost his sight? Iris wondered. Was it something other than her beauty that had attracted him to Lady Redcliffe? He couldn’t see her now, and yet she still had a strong hold over him, so presumably it wasn’t just her beauty that he adored.
Once again she caught Lady Redcliffe’s eye, and once again Iris quickly looked away as if being caught doing something shameful.
The footmen removed their plates, the dessert was served and with relief Iris turned back to the Earl.
‘So I hear that you have teeth as white as snow and they are as straight as something unimaginable,’ he said, causing Iris to smile. She looked over at Lord Pratley to make sure he hadn’t heard.
‘I’m starting to build up an interesting picture of you,’ the Earl continued. ‘You have eyes like sapphires, a strawberry for a mouth, skin like a rose and teeth like snow. You’re quite an unusual-looking woman, I must say.’
Iris started to giggle. This really was rather rude but also rather funny. His voice was still stern, and she wasn’t sure if he was joking or merely being rude and mocking Lord Pratley, but it was funny all the same. Iris had an image of herself with stones for eyes, strawberries for lips and a mouthful of snow.
‘It could be worse,’ she added quietly. ‘I could have teeth as yellow as buttermilk.’
‘Which might be better than teeth like borage and skin the colour of claret and the texture of a strawberry.’
Iris put a hand to her mouth to stop her laughter from getting louder. Now she was sure he was joking, or at the very least making fun of Lord Pratley and his pretentious attempts to woo her.
‘Your mother was right,’ he continued. ‘You are an unsurpassed beauty, or, at least in Lord Pratley’s opinion, you’re an unsurpassed collection of random pieces from the natural world.’
Just as Iris was starting to relax and enjoy herself, Lady Redcliffe’s laughter again cut through the air, louder and more forceful than before, destroying the light moment they had been sharing. She looked along the table and saw the Countess was staring straight at them. While she was smiling as if she was having the most delightful time, her eyes were boring straight into Iris, and they most certainly were not smiling.
This was all very peculiar. What was wrong with the woman? She was no longer engaged to the Earl, was married to someone else. It was obvious to Iris that she was deliberately trying to draw the attention of the Earl, but why? She was a married woman, for goodness’ sake. Why did she find it necessary to play these games? Why did she wish to toy with the Earl?
As intended, the Earl too had heard the laughter and that now familiar frown had returned. Iris wanted to tell him just to ignore her. She wanted to tell him that she was sure Lady Redcliffe was merely toying with him. But she knew nothing of the Earl’s past, knew nothing about what had happened between him and Lady Redcliffe, knew nothing at all really about the Earl, except that he lived in an ancient home, had a dog called Max, was a recluse and had experienced at least one nightmare.
Oh, and that he looked rather magnificent when he was less than formally attired, but the last one was something she really should not know.
The dessert plates were removed and Lady Walberton stood up to announce that the ladies should leave the men to their brandy and cigars. With much scraping of chairs everyone around the table rose. The ladies lined up according to rank and in a straight line exited the dining room. Before she left Iris took a backwards glance at the Earl, and a surprising sense of loss washed over her. He hadn’t wanted to attend this dinner party, and there was no denying it had been a fraught one. She just hoped he had at least enjoyed the time they had spent talking together. Iris knew that she certainly had.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
‘You and Lady Iris seem to be getting on rather well,’ Lord Pratley said when the rustle of the women’s gowns had died down and the door had shut behind them.
‘Yes,’ was Theo’s terse reply.
‘You know she’s my almost intended,’ Pratley added.
Theo was tempted to point out to him that there was no such thing as an almost intended, but what was the point? If Lord Pratley was in pursuit of Lady Iris, it was hardly any concern of his.
‘She’s been out now for several Seasons and I’ve finally got my chance to do what so many other men have tried to do and failed,’ Pratley continued. ‘And it would be bad form for any man to do anythin
g to upset another man’s chances. Don’t you agree, Greystone?’
The brandy decanter was passed his way. He poured himself a drink and stifled a bored sigh. ‘I dare say that would be the case, if the man actually did have a chance.’
‘Now, steady on, Greystone.’
‘I’m not your competition, Pratley,’ Theo said, swirling the brandy in his glass and savouring its rich aroma.
‘Well, I should hope not, but I could see the way Lady Iris was looking at you. If it had been pity I could see on her face I would have understood—after all, she does have a compassionate nature—but it wasn’t like that. She actually appeared to be rather taken with you. So I’d appreciate it if you did nothing to encourage the girl’s attentions.’
‘Believe me, I have done nothing to encourage Lady Iris.’
‘Good. After all, she’s a bit wasted on you, isn’t she, old boy?’ The Viscount chuckled at his own joke. ‘She’s a damn fine woman to look at and you can’t actually see her, can you?’ He chuckled again, as if Theo’s blindness was a source of great amusement. ‘You’re hardly in a position to appreciate just what a beauty she is. She was the best available in her first Season, and no one yet has been able to outshine her, that’s for sure. Whereas, for you, it hardly matters now whether she’s a looker or not.’
Theo gripped his glass tighter, then swallowed his brandy along with his anger. He tried to focus on the burn of the rich liquid as it moved down his throat while attempting to blot out the insulting nonsense Pratley was spouting.
‘You don’t need her dowry either, do you?’ the Viscount continued, either oblivious of or unconcerned by the offence he had just given. ‘Which, between you and me, is rather a generous one. Nor do you need her father’s contacts, as I hear tell you live like a hermit these days. So, you should leave her to someone who can fully appreciate all that she has to offer.’
Harlequin Historical September 2021--Box Set 2 of 2 Page 34
