“I think he went to see the Duchess of Ashbourne. Maybe I can help you.”
“I don’t understand it,” Iris said, stomping on the missive. “I just don’t understand it!”
“What are you doing?” Her mother urged her to stop stepping on the missive and bent down to retrieve it. “What is this?”
“Wasn’t I rude to Warren when he was here?” Iris asked.
“Yes, you were,” her mother replied, smoothing the parchment. “If I hadn’t known the circumstances that led you to such behavior, I would have locked you in your bedchamber for a week for the way you acted.”
“Exactly! So why does Warren still want to marry me?” When her mother gave her a blank look, she gestured to the missive. “Go on. Read it. Then you’ll see why I’m in a panic.”
Her mother turned her attention to the missive and read it, moving her lips as she did so. When she was finished, her eyebrows furrowed. “Oh my.”
“Now you see why I’m in such anguish.”
“This doesn’t give us much time to get your dress done for the wedding.”
“What?” Iris’ life was quickly coming to an end, and her mother was worried about her dress?
“Well, this is an important day. You need to look your best.”
“Who cares about how I look?”
“You should. You are going to be a married lady, and it’s necessary you look like a countess. We have so much to do. We’ll need to trim your hair, get the appropriate jewelry, find someone to use creams and ointments to make you beautiful… Oh, there’s no end to all the things that I must tend to. I’ll be back. I need to get ready to go out. Then we’ll get the process started.”
“But-but...” Iris stammered as her mother rushed out of the room. “Mother!” she called after her.
It did no good. Her mother was already on her way up the stairs. What had just happened? Could her mother really change her mind that fast? Did her mother now fully approve of her marrying that horrible Warren?
***
Iris tried to get out of going to Lord Worsley’s dinner party. She feigned every illness she could think of, but her father wasn’t buying any of them. And her mother… Well, her mother was so caught up in the excitement of making everything perfect for the wedding that she’d forgotten all about Iris’ misery.
“It’s not like we can talk your father out of it,” her mother had told her earlier that morning when Iris confronted her about it. “You’re going to marry Lord Steinbeck whether we like it or not. We might as well make the best of it.”
Make the best of it, indeed! Iris had never heard anything more absurd in her entire life. There was nothing good that was going to come from the marriage. Nothing good at all.
And this evening, she had to go to Lord Worsley’s dinner party. God help her if Lord Worsley’s sister was there. Miss Barlow thought so little of her. It’d make for a disastrous evening if she had to deal with her. She put her face in her hands and groaned. It’d be her luck that Miss Barlow would be there.
A knock came at her bedchamber door. She didn’t have to ask who it was. The upbeat rapping on the door told her it was her father, and he was only too happy about the match. Ever since Warren had eaten dinner with them, her father had insisted everything would be much better next time she saw him.
She glanced at the window. Just how far down would her climb be if she escaped? She didn’t think there was anything she could hang onto. She’d probably have to jump. But would she survive the fall?
“Iris?” her father called from the other side of the door. “I know what you’re thinking, and I must remind you that if you try to escape through the window, you might break a bone.”
She looked at the door. How did he possibly know she’d been thinking of escaping? It was positively spooky when he read her mind.
Reluctant, she stood up and trudged to the door, feeling more like she was going to the gallows rather than a dinner party. She took a deep breath and opened the door. She’d like to say she was surprised by her father’s wide smile, but the truth was, she wasn’t.
“Lord Steinbeck is here,” he said. “And you’ll be happy to know he remembers you.”
So she finally made an impact on the scoundrel. What was she supposed to do? Jump around and sing his praises? Since she was a lady, she managed to keep the thought to herself. Not only would it be unbecoming of her to stoop to that level, but her father was so wrapped up in his adoration of Warren that he’d probably mistake her sarcasm for excitement.
So she chose the safest response she could manage. She rolled her eyes.
“It’s a start,” he told her. “He’s making an effort.”
Remembering her was proof he was making an effort? This time she didn’t hold back her thoughts. “Splendid! I shall swing on the chandelier for joy that Lord Steinbeck finally remembers someone as pathetic as me.”
“Just because he didn’t remember you before, it doesn’t mean you’re pathetic.”
“Sure, it does.”
He opened his mouth to further argue with her, but she breezed past him and hurried down the stairs. She made it to the drawing room in time to see Warren inspecting his reflection in the mirror. Hmm… Selfish, rude, and vain. Was she ever getting the deal of a century in marrying him! That, of course, was another sarcastic thought. But, this time, she managed to restrain her tongue.
Instead, she snuck up behind him and said, “Your cravat is crooked.”
He jerked and whirled around to face her. “I didn’t see you come in.”
No, of course not. He was too busy admiring himself to notice her reflection. “I’ve been forced to come down and go to the dinner party with you,” she said, pretending to yawn. “Usually, dinner parties are fun, but in this case, you’ll be there.” She shrugged. “If the food tastes good, then I suppose I’ll manage to stay awake while you and your friends ramble on about some nonsense until I can slip away and enjoy a more entertaining conversation with the ladies. That is, if there are any ladies. Will there be ladies there tonight?”
He seemed shocked for a moment, but then he gave her that irritatingly sweet smile of his. “I understand what you’re doing, and I deserve it. There is no excusing the way I treated you at my dinner parties. You have every right to be angry with me.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. What kind of trickery was this?
Her father cleared his throat, and they turned their attention to him. Her face flushed. Just how much did her father hear? The words she spoke weren’t intended for an audience, even if she felt betrayed by that audience.
With a smile, her father walked over to them. “I told you my daughter is feeling well,” he told Warren. “She has a tendency to be shy around new people, but I’m sure you will do everything you can to make her feel comfortable this evening.”
“Yes, Your Grace, I most certainly will,” Warren assured him, seeming a little too eager to do as her father wished.
Ah, so that was it. Warren was being nice to her because of her father. She didn’t know whether to be mildly annoyed or downright furious. There was nothing in, or of, herself to warrant Warren’s good graces. He was being nice to her because of her father.
“See?” Her father turned to her and smiled. “Everything’s going to be fine.”
She crossed her arms and glared at her father. That was easy for him to say. He wasn’t her.
“There will be other ladies there,” Warren told her. “Lord Worsley’s sister and Miss Bachman will be in attendance.”
Her jaw dropped. Miss Barlow and Miss Bachman would be there? Together?
Warren frowned. “Are you all right?”
“She’s fine,” her father replied for her. “She’s just nervous. As long as she’s included in the conversation, things should get better.” Her father gave her a pat on the back. “Everything will be all right.”
When she didn’t move toward the door, her father gave her a gentle nudge. But her feet remained firmly in place.
No. She couldn’t. An entire evening with Miss Barlow and Miss Bachman? Just what had she done to deserve this? Was it because of her behavior when Warren was here at dinner? Was she being punished?
“I won’t leave you out of the conversation,” Warren promised.
Warren then made a move to touch her elbow, but she hurried past him to get to the door. Under no circumstances could she allow him to touch her. Sure, Bethany thought it’d be a fate worse than death to be touched by him. But for Iris, his touch had a way of making her weak. She had no defenses against him. Curse her body. Why couldn’t it cooperate with her mind?
She didn’t bother looking behind her to see if Warren followed as she left the house and ran down the steps to the carriage. She assumed he did. But she wouldn’t look. If she looked, then she’d give away the fact that he had power over her, and that was the last thing she’d ever let him learn.
The footman opened the door of the carriage for her, and she let him help her in. Once she was seated, she took a deep breath in an effort to control her racing heart.
Then another horrible thought came to her. She was about to sit next to Warren in this carriage. What if he assumed she was so excited to be near him that she ran all the way out here?
Drat! She shouldn’t have been in such a hurry to get here. In trying to get away from him, she probably made him believe she was eager to be with him. Oh, why did this whole thing of courting have to be so difficult? Gentlemen, especially those with Warren’s conceit, could be flattered by the slightest thing.
Her father stepped into the carriage.
Surprised, she blinked. “You’re coming?” she asked her father.
“I thought I’d chaperone this time,” her father said as he sat across from her. “Your mother offered to go, but she’s been so caught up in planning the wedding, I thought it’d be best if I came instead. Besides, this will be a good chance for you to talk to some ladies. Who knows? They might become your friends. It worked when you met Miss Carlisle.”
Warren sat next to her, and she scooted as far as she could from him. Given the limited size of the carriage, she ended up hugging herself and leaning into the window. If Warren noticed, he didn’t give any indication of it.
“I know Miss Carlisle,” Warren said. “My friend, Lord Dunnaby, enjoys her company immensely.”
“Lord Dunnaby is courting Miss Carlisle?” Her father gave her an encouraging smile. “That’s wonderful. If they marry, then you and Warren can have them over for dinner parties.”
“I hadn’t thought of that, but yes, it would work well that way.” Warren looked at her. “Would that help ease your nerves about dinner parties if your friend was there?”
Her eyebrows furrowed. What was he trying to do? He hadn’t bothered much with her up to now, and suddenly, he was interested in her opinion? “No, it wouldn’t ease my nerves,” she told him. “You’ll be there.”
Warren blinked in surprise, but her father chuckled. “My daughter has quite the sense of humor. She can match anyone in a game of wits if given the chance.”
“Yes, I suppose,” Warren slowly replied, not convinced by her father’s lie.
Nor should he be convinced. He should take this as an indication of her absolute disgust for him. Maybe then, he’d forget this horrible idea of marrying her.
They were quiet for the rest of the carriage ride, and she was relieved. She didn’t have anything to say to either of them right now. This entire evening was going to be draining enough without trying to think of something to say. With Miss Barlow and Miss Bachman there, this just might be the worst evening of her entire life.
Chapter Eight
Warren had misjudged how much he’d hurt Iris when he’d ignored her at his dinner parties. He hadn’t realized he’d been so insensitive that she had outright animosity toward him. As much as it pained him to admit it, Robert was right to criticize him. How many times had he unknowingly ignored people? Was Iris the only one, or were there others?
The carriage came to a stop in front of Anthony’s townhouse. He got out first and stood right by the door so Iris would have no choice but to let him help her down. She glanced at his extended hand then made a move to scoot around him, but he maneuvered so that she had no choice but to take his hand.
“I won’t bite,” he teased, hoping to lighten the mood.
“You might not, but I will,” she replied.
“Iris,” her father said, “that is enough. Take his hand and step down.”
She scowled at Warren but placed her hand in his. Had he taken her hand in the past? He wished he could recall. The sensation was very pleasant. She might not have the beauty other ladies did, but there was no mistaking the spark that shot through him at her touch. No. He probably hadn’t touched her. At least, he hadn’t touched her hand. He would have remembered that kind of spark. He was sure of it.
All too soon, she removed her hand from his. He had to stop himself from reaching out to touch her again, just to see if the spark happened by chance or if there was something to it.
Her father left the carriage and smiled. “I thought I recognized Lord Worsley’s title when you mentioned him,” he told Warren. “He’s the one who just doubled the money in his investment.”
“Yes, and he did it in only three months,” Warren replied. Recalling her father’s words about Iris’ love for discussing finances, he turned to her and added, “Lord Worsley put money into a gentleman’s business that did much better than I expected it would.”
Warren thought she might ask him what the nature of the business was, thereby opening up a conversation where they might talk, if even for a few moments. But she only shrugged as if she couldn’t care less and headed straight for the door.
Yes, there was no doubt about it. She didn’t like him at all. The only reason she was marrying him was because her father was insisting on it. Otherwise, she would have backed out of it already.
He followed her up the steps, her father not far behind him. When they reached the door, he knocked on it.
“I only recently made Lord Worsley’s acquaintance,” Warren told them. “We happened to meet while in the marketplace. He was negotiating the price of a painting he liked, and I stopped to watch his technique. It was quite impressive. I’ve never seen anyone manage to get half off a new item before, and he did it all within five minutes.”
He thought this might impress Iris, but she turned toward him, her lips forming a tight line. “You mean to tell me Lord Worsley, a gentleman known for having more money than he’ll ever need, robbed a poor painter out of half the money rightfully due to him?”
“I wouldn’t say he robbed the painter. He negotiated with him to obtain a more suitable price.”
“More suitable for who?”
“Well…for himself. He was the one who was buying the painting.”
“I happen to be familiar with the painters in the marketplace, and none of them are living in excess like this.” She gestured to the townhouse. “Lord Worsley can afford to pay the full price. He’s just too selfish to do so.”
Her father cleared his throat. “Iris, this might not be the time to have this kind of conversation.”
She shot her father a sharp look. “You’re right. It’s not. It would have been far better had I been there when Lord Worsley was denying the poor painter the money rightfully due to him. Who knows if the painter had a wife and children to provide for? But I suppose if you’re like Lord Stein-blech or Lord Worse-ly, you don’t care.”
Warren didn’t know which part of the insult he should pay attention to the most. She had intentionally referred to him as Steinblech, indicating the mere thought of him made her gag. But she’d also called him heartless. So that was her estimation of him? She honestly thought these things when she thought of him?
“I’m beginning to wish I hadn’t encouraged you to express your opinions,” her father muttered under his breath.
She seemed as if she was ready to respond when the front door
opened.
The three turned to the footman who welcomed them to the dinner party and led them into the drawing room.
The three couples were engaged in a lively conversation, and Warren, Iris, and her father happened to come in while they were all laughing. How Warren wished things were half as pleasant between him and Iris as they were with the other couples. He’d been making it a point to talk to her—to include her—but it wasn’t having the effect he’d been hoping for.
The footman waited until their laughter died down before announcing Warren’s arrival with Iris and her father.
Anthony rose to his feet and went over to them. “Ah, we get to meet the mysterious future Lady Steinbeck at last,” he said and bowed. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Then he turned to her father. “It’s a privilege to have you here. You’re a legend, Your Grace.”
“I am?” her father asked.
“Certainly. My friend here,” he gestured to Warren, “praises you at almost every opportunity he gets.”
Her father smiled and glanced at Warren. “Really?”
“Oh, yes,” Anthony replied. “And how fortunate it is that the Duchess of Ashbourne matched him with your daughter. Earlier this Season, he said he most wished to marry your daughter out of all the other ladies because you would make an ideal father-in-law.”
Warren hid his wince. That comment, undoubtedly, would not help his cause with Iris. She’d assume his only interest in her was to get her father for an in-law. It was bad enough he’d forgotten her name and had ignored her at his dinner parties. Now there was this to contend with.
“My dear brother,” Miss Barlow said, rising to her feet. “Aren’t you going to include us in this discussion?”
“Of course.” Anthony turned to the others. “Lady Iris and Your Grace, this is my little sister, Miss Barlow.”
“I’m not so little anymore,” she playfully argued. “I’m in my first Season.”
“Yes, she is right,” he said. “I stand corrected. She is a grown lady. She’s with Lord Durrant this evening. Miss Bachman, over there, is with me.”
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