“We will do all we can to keep you safe,” the General said now. “But we think it’s best that you return to hiding.”
“To hiding? No thank you, General, I will take my chances.”
August had no wish to return to Southwold. It had been a beautiful place, true, but he couldn’t fathom the thought of moving backward. It would also remind him of a time when he had been anticipating his return to his love, a woman who had proven to be less than faithful and certainly not as inclined to wait for him as he for her.
“Unfortunately, the choice is not yours to make,” the General said, standing as if to prove that their conversation truly was over. “We cannot put the lives of our men at risk by following you around London. And we also have no desire for you to be captured and interrogated, for you may pass valuable information back to the French. No, Westwood, for the time being you will return to The Wild Rose Inn. You must leave by tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” he echoed, aghast, belatedly rising as well. “General, I apologize, but I simply cannot. I—”
“You will be accompanied by two soldiers, who will then leave you at the inn. You will ride on horseback so that you do not draw any attention to your station nor your identity. The last thing we need is the crest of the Earl of Westwood upon a carriage riding down along England’s roads. I wish you well, son. We will be in touch when you are able to return home once more.”
“But what could change?” August asked desperately. “If you find my potential attacker, could not more follow?”
“They could,” the General agreed. “We will find those who pursue you, and hopefully have the opportunity to determine what they know and what they plan to do with you. As I said, we will be in touch, Westwood. Safe travels.”
As he departed the room, August could only stare after him before sinking back down into his chair, his head in his hands. He hadn’t anticipated that his life could become any worse than it was already. Apparently, he was wrong.
3
Iris hummed a little tune to herself as she trimmed the tulips in the garden in front of the inn. You would think her mother would have planted roses for the inn’s namesake, she thought to herself with a smile. Not that the type of flora seemed to matter, as the inn was full of furniture and patterns of every floral arrangement one could ever imagine. It was rather gaudy, that was for certain, but Iris had learned long ago that it was one subject not to broach with Alice Tavners. Her mother didn’t care about much, but this was one aspect that did raise her ire.
Iris sat back on her heels, dusting the dirt off of her white muslin dress inlaid with a pattern of pink roses. She smiled ironically at herself.
Well, no one could ever accuse her of not making an effort here at the inn. Since Daisy and then Marigold had married and left not only the inn but Southwold, many of the tasks had fallen to Iris and her younger sister, Violet. Thankfully, their father had also hired a couple of additional hands around the house to assist their previous one maid, Maria.
Iris bit her lip as she looked at the flowerbed in front of her. She hadn’t realized just how much she would come to miss her sisters. Oh, they had clashed more than a few times, that was for certain, but in the end, there was no one closer to her than the women she had grown up with.
She had encouraged the two of them to marry, for she thought she would then have her own prospects open up. But everything had changed when one man in particular had captured her heart.
“Miss Iris?”
The voice cut through her musings and startled Iris so much that she gave a little shriek and fell backward, over her heels and onto her bottom. She closed her eyes for but a moment as she shook her head. She recognized that voice. But no — it couldn’t be. August Williams had departed the inn months ago without a backward glance. His face had been directed forward, toward the woman who was awaiting him at home in London. He couldn’t be back. No, it was simply her imagination acting up.
“Are you all right?”
Suddenly there were strong hands around her waist, their warmth creeping in through the muslin of her dress, and Iris still refused to open her eyes, for then this dream would end and she would be back alone in the dirt once more.
The hands, however, swiveled her around, and soon she had no choice but to open her eyes — and look up into the warm, dark brown depths that she remembered so well, that she had tried to forget and to push from her mind so that she might move on and accept another.
“Lord Westwood,” she breathed, noting the way his eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled at her — or laughed at her, she wasn’t entirely sure. Iris attempted to maintain her composure, taking deep breaths, which seemed to cause him to realize just where his hands were as her ribs expanded and contracted underneath them. He quickly dropped his arms and stepped back from her, the perfect gentleman once more.
“My apologies,” he said. “I certainly did not mean to startle you.”
“It’s fine. You didn’t,” she said quickly, then amended her words. “Or, rather, you did, but it was my own fault, as I was lost in my reveries.”
She affixed a smile to her face, attempting to mask the quick beating of her heart. She had convinced herself that she felt nothing for this man, that she would remember him as only a brief infatuation, a handsome stranger who had passed through the inn and who would remain nothing more than a lovely memory.
Of course, she also hadn’t thought she would ever see him again, which made all the difference.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, blurting out the words, not at all the polished flirtation she had so practiced and usually perfected.
“Iris!” Her father admonished from behind her now as he had stepped out of the front entrance of the inn. “That is rather impertinent. It matters not why Lord Westwood is here. Come in, my lord, we may discuss this in my office.”
Lord Westwood offered Iris a quick nod and a smile before following her father into the inn. Iris noted then that he had what looked to be a saddlebag in his hand. So the Earl was returning to their inn, then, for at the very least a brief stay. Whatever could he be doing here once more?
As soon as they were out of sight, Iris followed them into the inn, tiptoeing down the corridor until she reached her father’s study. She knelt down, pressing her eye against the keyhole, but then silently cursed. Her father still had the hole blocked.
“Attempting to discover something?”
Iris jumped, causing her to hit her head on the doorknob.
“Ouch!” she exclaimed, rubbing the top of her head as she turned to face her younger sister, Violet. “You startled me.”
“I thought you knew Father had blocked the hole from your prying eyes and ears,” Violet said with a smile as she crossed her arms over her chest and contemplated her sister.
“Yes, well, I thought it was worth a try,” Iris said with a sigh. “Lord Westwood has returned.”
“Lord Westwood?” That bit of information even captured Violet’s attention. “I thought he had returned to London.”
“I thought so, too,” Iris said.
Suddenly the door to their father’s study opened a crack and their Father’s greying head peered out.
“Girls,” he admonished. “We can hear your jabbering from within. What are you doing out here?”
“Iris is attempting to listen in to your conversation, of course,” Violet said with a bit of a giggle and Iris shot a glare toward her.
“I was not. I was simply passing by to see to my duties and met Violet in the corridor. We were discussing what to prepare for dinner tonight. Would the Earl like anything in particular?”
“I’m sure our dinner is the furthest thing from the Earl’s mind at the moment,” her father chastised them, but then a voice called out from within the room.
“I fancy roast duck, actually!”
Iris’ eyes widened as she and Violet shared a look before they both began to laugh. Their father’s face turned bright red and then he shut the do
or on the two of them to return to the room and the man he was clearly trying to impress, a task at which he was failing miserably — like always.
Iris shook her head as she urged Violet down the hall.
“Well,” she said, “roast duck it is, I suppose. We’d best get to the kitchens.”
Iris sighed, and they continued on their way, though despite their task, her mind wouldn’t leave their new arrival and her heart was reminded of what she had felt for him.
* * *
August was relieved to finally escape from Elias Tavners’ study. He hadn’t wanted to share his entire story with the man, but the innkeeper, clearly missing his own days on the battlefield as part of the war effort, had coaxed much of it out of him.
Tavners found the story much more intriguing than August himself, to be sure.
So here he was, once more, wandering the guest quarters of The Wild Rose Inn. Southwold was a pretty, peaceful town, but there wasn’t overly much to keep oneself entertained. Sure, there had been street fairs and there was ample opportunity for walks and the like, but it was not as though there was a bustling social scene like that which he was used to — both in England and during his time in France. There was the ale house to pass the nights, but August had seen enough drunk soldiers for a lifetime.
As he walked toward the sitting room, August caught a glimpse of white fabric float around the corner. Iris Tavners. He had been surprised at the wave of pleasure that had coursed through him upon seeing her again, crouched in the garden with that look of contemplation on her face.
He had been entertained by her during his previous visit — she was a woman who knew how to find the fun in life — but he had been so preoccupied with returning home to Amelia that besides noticing, for a moment, Iris’ beauty as any man would, he hadn’t thought much more about her.
Of course, there had been that moment of misunderstanding, when she must have thought he was leaning in to take her lips, but he had quickly cleared that up. He hoped it wouldn’t be an issue anymore, for he was clearly going to be here for some time.
“Lord Westwood?”
He looked up at the door of the sitting room, realizing now that he was standing like a fool in the midst of the floral walls and furniture, staring at everything and nothing at the same time.
“Miss Violet,” he greeted the youngest daughter. She looked like her sister, but was willowy, pixie-like with lighter hair, whereas Iris was striking. “How do you do?”
“Very well, my lord,” she said with a gentle smile. “I know you have spoken with my father, but as always, if there is anything you need upon your stay, please feel free to ask any of us. We do have a few other guests at the moment. I believe they are currently out fishing.”
Fishing. August managed a smile for the girl, but it was somewhat forced. He couldn’t remember the last time he had fished. He must have been a boy.
“Thank you, Miss Violet,” he said, and she nodded and turned to leave before pausing for a moment at the door.
“Oh, and tomorrow night there is to be a dance at the Johnsons’ farm. You are invited, of course, as are the rest of our guests. We do hope you will join us.”
August nodded. He truly had no wish to attend a dance. It would remind him of the last dance he’d attended, when he had to stand and watch his former fiancée and his best friend, now husband and wife, take to the floor. The evening had not ended well — he’d had far too many drinks and had caused quite a scene before his brother had escorted him out of Almack’s. He cringed as he recalled the humiliation. It had been the last social event he had attended before he had sworn them all off. Once the man who had been at the center of many social engagements, after that he became something of a recluse, besides the odd visit to a club or two.
For he no longer trusted women — any woman. He had thought Amelia was one who would love him and wait for him no matter what, but her affections had proven fickle. While he was serving his country, she had found comfort in the arms of another.
At least no one here knew of all that had transpired in London. He would go to this dance, charm a few of the local young women, and continue on as he had been — waiting for the day he would be told that he was no longer in any danger and could return to his former life. What that life would hold, he had no idea. But it was what he knew and he didn’t see any other options left.
4
Iris tried to convince herself that the only reason she was taking extra care with her appearance tonight was due to the fact that she was supposed to be attracting the attention of Ernest Abernathy. It absolutely was not because of a certain Lord Westwood — the man was out of her reach for more reasons than she could count on one hand.
And yet, when she walked down the stairs of the family side of the inn, she couldn’t help the rapid beating of her heart, nor keep her eyes from wandering to the door of the guest quarters where she knew he would be waiting.
Damn him. Why did he have to return? And damn her own fickle heart. She could have any matter of young men from the village and yet here she was, unable to keep her thoughts from Lord Westwood. Well, she might have no control over her thoughts, but she could certainly control her actions. She determined that she would spend the entirety of the night as well as the remainder of his stay here ignoring him as much as possible.
“Well, aren’t my daughters looking lovely tonight?” Her mother exclaimed as Iris reached the bottom step. Violet had been ready ages ago, but Iris had always taken much longer to prepare herself. Tonight she wore a pretty lavender dress which hugged her generous curves and highlighted the deep chestnut of her hair and her crystal-blue eyes.
“Are we finally ready?” Her father’s voice boomed as he entered the room. “The carriage awaits.”
The boarders who chose to attend apparently would meet them there, having decided to ride their own horses. Iris attempted to temper down her disappointment at the thought as Violet sent a knowing, pitying look her way — one Iris chose to ignore.
The carriage ride was short, and Iris almost convinced herself that tonight was going to be fun and entertaining — most people from the village and the surrounding area would be in attendance, and it was a night for celebration. The Johnson farm had burned to the ground many months ago, and the family had become particularly close with the Tavnerses as they had stayed at the inn during the rebuilding. The village had come together for them, and tonight they would all celebrate the friendship and renewal of their home.
And then Iris disembarked from the carriage, and her mood immediately dove. For there awaiting her was Ernest Abernathy. Drat it all. Oh, how she wished she had never made this promise to Millie. She saw Violet look from the intent Ernest back to her, and soon her sister was in her ear.
“What is happening between you and Ernest Abernathy?” Violet whispered, and Iris shook her head.
“Nothing,” she hissed. “Nothing at all.”
“Then why is he standing there grinning at you like a fool?”
Iris sighed, turning to Violet now so that Ernest hopefully wouldn’t know what they were saying.
“It’s a long story, but I’m doing a favor for Millie.”
“You are?”
Iris narrowed her eyes at her sister.
“Is that so difficult to believe?”
“Well,” Violet said, nibbling her bottom lip, her eyes, the color of her name, studying Iris. “I wouldn’t say it is a particularly frequent occurrence.”
“As it happens, I have a romantic heart myself, Vi,” she said. “And I wish for Millie to live a life of love. In order for that to happen, she needs to rid herself of Ernest. And that’s where I come in.”
“Oh dear,” was all Violet said as Ernest approached. He lifted Iris’ hand and bent low over it as though they were a lord and lady greeting one another at a ball.
“Iris Tavners, you look as lovely as ever,” he said, his eyes raking over her in a way that caused Iris to feel as though he had invaded her very personal
space. “I am so complimented that you have made an extra effort tonight for me.”
Behind his back, Violet made a noise that sounded as though she were choking, and it was all Iris could do to not join in.
She wished now that she hadn’t tried so hard, for it was not for Ernest, but someone else entirely.
As Ernest began to rise from his bent position over her hand, her gaze caught a profile beyond.
A group of riders was cresting the hill, though there was one in particular she focused on. He was hard to miss. She didn’t think she had ever seen shoulders so broad nor a man who held himself with such confidence. She knew the moment he saw her as well, for his horse slowed and despite the setting sun, she could have sworn he stared at her for just a moment, but then he nudged his horse and was off toward the barn once more.
Not that it mattered, she told herself. He was taken by another, and she was moving on. Though not, she told herself as she looked in front of her, with Ernest Abernathy.
“Perhaps we should reconvene later on for our dance?” she asked him now, attempting a pretty smile.
“I was hoping to escort you inside, Miss Iris,” he said. “You are the most beautiful woman in attendance tonight, I am sure. We will look quite fine walking in together.”
Goodness, the man was arrogant. Iris opened her mouth to tell him exactly what she thought of his statement, but then she saw Millie arriving with her father, the local blacksmith. She was looking one way and then the other, and Iris was well aware of who she sought out the moment her eyes settled upon someone in the distance, a large smile crossing her face.
One night, Iris, she told herself. You can do this. She glanced over at Violet, who gave her a nod of encouragement. Even her sister was proud of her for doing what was hopefully the right thing. Iris squared her shoulders, steeled her resolve, and took Ernest’s arm, though she kept her body as far from him as she possibly could.
An Earl for Iris Page 2
