As he continued down the corridor, a nearby sound stopped him right where he stood. It was coming from within one of the chambers, and so out of place he couldn’t help his surprise. But it wasn’t anything concerning, rather… it was a melody, a song, a siren’s call, he thought as he drew closer. While he wasn’t a man who could profess to create music himself, he certainly appreciated it as much as any person did. But this was different. For no matter whether or not it was appropriate to do so, he found himself inching ever closer to the door, his hand coming to the handle, turning the knob to peek inside to determine what — or who — could be creating such beauty.
He stood there for a moment, transfixed at the sight in front of him. A linen gown covered her frame, yet still August was more than aware of the curves beneath it. Her hair was loosely tied back away from her face, a kerchief covering many of the curls, yet still, some escaped and cascaded down her back. Her hands grasped the corners of a blanket that she crisply cracked through the air before she settled it down on the bed beneath. As she went about her tasks, her voice never broke as the words and the tune flowed from her as though it was a part of her.
August wasn’t sure how long he stood there. It was only when he shifted his weight and the floorboard beneath him cracked that Iris spun around to face him, halting her melody.
“My apologies,” he said quickly. “I had no wish to disturb you. I heard your song and wondered, I suppose, how a soldier could make such beautiful music.”
He laughed, hoping his embarrassment would help her forget the fact he had been so openly admiring her.
“Of course,” he continued, “I should have known it was you after hearing you sing with your sisters the last time I stayed here at the inn.”
“Oh,” she said, waving her hand in the air, “I had nearly forgotten about that. I appreciate the compliment, but really, it’s all just for a bit of fun.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” he said in all honesty. “I’ve seen some of the most famous women in the world sing on stage and you could be up there with them.”
“Stop,” she said, her cheeks turning pink, but he could tell she appreciated his words. “I am nothing of the sort. I mostly sing for my own amusement.”
“Though your sisters didn’t seem to enjoy themselves when you hosted the musicale.”
“No,” she said, biting her lip in a way that was rather endearing. “I always thought perhaps if they could hear us together they could see that we should sing or perform more often, but… they never found as much enjoyment in it as I did. They all have beautiful voices, however, and I just wish they would showcase them.”
He shrugged, leaning against the doorframe. “Not everyone enjoys being on display.”
“Fair point,” she said, returning to her work, folding blankets and placing them on a nearby chair. “And you, Lord Westwood? You strike me as the kind of man who enjoys himself around others.”
“I do,” he agreed. “Or, rather, I did. I’ve found myself something of a recluse as of late.”
“Oh?” she said, feigning disinterest, although the woman’s intentions were easy enough to see through. “Did that change recently?”
“It did.”
“Did it have anything to do with your former fiancée?” She turned to him now, her face inquisitive. “That is not why you returned to the inn, was it? To distance yourself from her?”
“No,” he shook his head. “I do not run from my problems. Unless I’m ordered to, that is.”
“But you apparently hide from them.”
She raised an eyebrow and glanced over at him pointedly, and he emitted a low chuckle.
“You are rather direct, aren’t you?”
“I am,” she nodded. “My father would tell you that is a great fault of mine, and he would likely be correct. I find, however, that it is often best to ask exactly what you would like to know, rather than guess or hear half-truths from others.”
“That is a fair point, Miss Iris, and perhaps we would all be better off if more people thought the same.”
“We would. There would be less gossip and idle chatter, that I can tell you.”
He smiled, one of his first true smiles in some time. He liked talking to Iris Tavners, and for more reasons than simply her beautiful face.
Not that he would allow emotions to go any further than that. She may be pretty, but she wouldn’t be taking over any of his actual regard.
“Well, I’m finished here,” she said, walking toward him, and he was overcome once more by the smell of lavender and lemon. Where was it coming from? She must bathe in it, he thought, desire tugging at him.
“I’ll help you,” he said, reaching his arms out to take the bundle from her.
“Oh, don’t be silly,” she said, twisting so that he couldn’t reach her. “If my father saw a guest — an earl no less — carrying soiled linens he would have a fit.”
“That sounds entertaining,” August answered with a grin, and Iris laughed. She had a loud, long laugh, one that reached into a person’s soul and caused joy for the sake of joy.
“You might think. But once he gets going, well… I do not entirely enjoy being on the receiving end of such a thing.”
“I see,” August said, though he didn’t entirely. His father had always been rather benevolent — too much so, perhaps, according to many of his peers. It may have been what led to August’s ability to not overly worry about his responsibilities but rather enjoy life as it came. “You say there are more boarders arriving?” he asked, changing the subject.
“Apparently. Father never tells us much. I suspect it is because he forgets who is arriving and when,” she said, rolling her eyes as August followed her through the hall and then down the staircase. “You never did tell me what brought you back here.”
“Orders,” he said, shrugging, preferring that she think of him as a soldier than a spy who hardly did more than enjoy himself at parties. “I did some… clandestine work. Apparently the French know more about me than they were ever supposed to.”
“Really?” she asked, a spark coming to her eye as she turned and looked at him. “Now that sounds rather intriguing.”
“I suppose some of it is,” he said. “Other parts of it are not.”
She stopped on the stairs now and narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you in danger?”
He wasn’t sure how to answer that.
“I doubt it,” he finally said. “But there was a chance that my identity had been compromised, and so I returned here for a time. Just to be safe.”
She tilted her head to the side, contemplating his words. “You do not think that there is any danger to the rest of us here at the inn — do you?”
He would be lying if he didn’t admit that the thought had briefly crossed his mind. Wherever he went, if what the General told him was true, he could be putting others in jeopardy. But this was where he had been ordered to go, and this was where he would stay until he heard otherwise.
“You will be fine,” he said with what he hoped was a reassuring smile before they parted ways at the bottom of the stairs. “I’ll make sure of it.”
7
“Violet?”
Iris had no idea where her sister was. She had looked everywhere around the inn trying to find her. They had to start preparing the evening meal for the boarders, and Iris was certainly not doing it alone. It was not like Violet to disappear. Sure, there was the odd time she would lose track of time with her head stuck in one book or another, but Iris had checked all of her usual haunts and couldn’t find her anywhere.
Iris was crossing by the front foyer when she heard a voice — a man’s and... Violet’s. Was Violet laughing? Flirting? No, certainly not. It couldn’t be. Iris tiptoed to the open door, standing beside it to better listen to the conversation within.
“Had I known The Wild Rose Inn held such a beautiful young woman, perhaps I would have traveled here faster,” the man said, and when Violet giggled — giggled! — Iris peered
around the corner to get a better look.
The man was certainly good looking, though perhaps not in the traditional sense. He was tall, rather lean, and held himself with an arrogant swagger that Iris knew all too well — she had seen it in Ernest far too often recently. This man’s hair was so blond it nearly shone white, and his eyes... oh dear. They were now trained on her. He had caught her spying. But instead of calling out to her or saying anything regarding her stare, he simply returned to complimenting Violet. Well, this was interesting. Iris took a step into the foyer.
“Violet, is this one of our new guests?” she asked, and when Violet turned to her, her cheeks were flushed a bright pink, her eyes sparkling.
“It is,” she said. “Iris, please meet Thomas Cooper. Mr. Cooper, my sister, Iris.”
“A pleasure,” he said before returning to Violet. “Miss Violet, would you show me to my room?”
“Of course,” Violet said, deliberately not meeting Iris’ gaze as she turned to walk by her to the stairs. “Right this way.”
As he walked after Violet, Thomas Cooper turned and finally looked at Iris — only his gaze didn’t seem so friendly anymore. They locked eyes for a moment, and when they did, an eerie chill ran down Iris’ spine.
She knew if she told anyone they would tell her she was being distrustful, that she was assuming far too much from one look. But Iris could read people. And something about this man told her that he was one she must keep her eye on.
* * *
August entered the dining room to find that the two seats which had been left empty by the departing boarders were filled once again. One man was rather nondescript, who said nothing of note besides a quick hello, introducing himself as Mr. Ridlington, but the other enthusiastically greeted him when he entered.
“Lord Westwood,” he said, as August perused his white-blond hair and lanky build. “I have heard much about you. I am very pleased to meet you.”
August nodded at him, curious. “In what regard do you know of me?”
“Why, by your exploits of course,” the man said, winking at him, and August raised an eyebrow.
“How very interesting,” he said. “As far as I was aware, my actions were known to very few.”
“I have my ways,” the man said with a friendly smile, and August wondered just who he was and what his role had been within the fight against Napoleon and the French. He would have to ask when there were far fewer ears about.
Dinner was fairly uneventful, though August found himself unable to tear his eyes away from Iris the few times she came in to serve. She was beautiful, true — that he had noticed since the first time he had met her. But what he had been remiss in noticing before was the air about her that drew others to her, a quality that made her difficult to resist. It left him longing to spend more time with her, to come to know her better — which was not at all ideal.
“I can see why you are attracted to her,” came a voice from his right, and August turned to meet Thomas Cooper’s knowing gaze. “She is a beauty. But…” he leaned in conspiratorially as though sharing a secret, “I have to admit it’s the sister that I prefer.”
August sat back in his chair and glanced over to Violet. She was certainly a pretty thing in her own right, but perhaps too meek for him. He had always been attracted to women with some backbone. Hence his obsession with Amelia, a temptress that every man he knew had been attracted to. He had thought himself rather lucky to win her over, but as it turned out, he had simply been the man of the moment and not hers forever.
Perhaps he should shift his interest to a woman like Violet, who was more likely to follow her future husband wherever he wished to go — and who would fulfill her promise to wait.
“Did you not just arrive?” he asked Thomas, who shrugged.
“Our first conversation was enough to convince me that she would be my ideal woman,” he said. “Sometimes you know right away.”
“Perhaps,” he said noncommittally as he took a sip from the goblet in front of him.
“Tell me more of Southwold and of this family,” Cooper said, and August looked up at him with a bit of surprise.
“I’m not sure I know much more than anyone else who has recently arrived here,” he said. No one, besides the Tavners themselves, would likely be aware that he had previously stayed here. All of the boarders had changed since then.
“You seem to be friendly with them,” Cooper said. “I’ve hardly seen the owner, as it is.”
“Elias Tavners,” August said, nodding his head. “He is certainly an… interesting man. His daughters basically run the inn, from what I can tell. A former soldier himself, he loves to hear of the war days. If you have any stories, I’m sure he’d love to hear them.” He looked at Cooper. “What are your stories? Where did you fight?”
“Everywhere,” Cooper said with a wink, “and nowhere. Something akin to your own work, I would venture to say.”
August wasn’t sure what to make of the man and his non-direct responses. Was he a spy like August? Would they have not then previously known of one another? Although most of them worked under aliases, so there was a chance that he could have not heard of the man before. Cooper, however, certainly seemed to know much about him.
“Fair enough,” August finally said, taking another sip of his drink, “fair enough.”
* * *
If Iris could, she would slap herself.
After all that she had promised herself — to keep her emotions at bay when it came to August Williams, to not lose her head, to never, ever be a second choice — here she was, longing for him once more.
Every time they were within the same room, she seemed to be enveloped in heat from his very presence. It was ridiculous. She was a grown woman, who had spent plenty of time with other gentlemen. And yet she couldn’t seem to handle a few words spoken with the man.
She had been taken off guard when he had come upon her in the guest chamber earlier that day, but she had to admit that she had enjoyed their conversation far more than she would ever want to. For now, it was more than just his rugged good looks and masculinity that was drawing her to him. It was his entire personality, one that was magnetic. She could picture him surrounded by women in London at ton events, the charming, good-looking earl. A hard ball of jealousy began to swirl within her stomach as she thought of it, in addition to the woman who had captured and broken his heart. What had the lady been thinking? What other man could be more enticing than him?
Not that it had anything to do with her, Iris reminded herself, as she sat at the family dining table across from her sister, with her mother and father at each end. The table seemed much larger than it ever had, and rather lonely without Daisy and Marigold. They both visited often, but it certainly wasn’t the same.
“Girls,” her father said, and she and Violet turned toward him. Iris knew that voice. It was the one he used when he had a suggestion for them — a suggestion that, in truth, was more so orders than anything else. “We have a fair number of guests staying with us now. Guests who are used to more entertainment than walks along the shore and night after night sitting in a small ale house.”
“Isn’t that why they are here, Father?” Violet asked somewhat timidly. “To find solace in what the seaside has to offer?”
He snorted. “They are here because they have been told to be here,” he said, causing Violet to turn her incredulous gaze to Iris, who shrugged in response. “At any rate,” he continued. “I believe we should hold an event to lift their spirits once more.”
“Oh, Father,” Violet cried, desperation within her voice. “Not another musicale. I cannot. Not again. Especially without Marigold here.”
He turned his gaze toward her.
“I still do not know why you and Marigold were so averse to the musicale. I thought it went over quite well. However, I believe two of you is not quite enough to hold it once more. No, I think instead that we should have a sporting event of a sort. These men are used to action. We can have a tourna
ment, and invite others from the village to partake as well.”
Iris looked over to Violet, who was backing up slightly.
“I am not sure…” Violet said, shaking her head, but Iris nodded enthusiastically.
“I think that is a splendid idea!” she exclaimed, which was true. She was always up for something different — something more than simply cleaning the inn and preparing meals, which was becoming rather tedious. She hadn’t had nearly as much to do when Daisy and Marigold were here, but everything had changed with them gone. Now, even with the additional help, much more fell on her shoulders as well as Violet’s. “What are you thinking, Father?”
“How about a tournament of different events?” her mother exclaimed from the other end of the table, clapping her hands together at the thought. “Oh, it would be such fun to watch. Iris, would you organize it?”
“When were you thinking?” she asked.
“In a week’s time?” her mother questioned, and Violet was already shaking her head.
“That is so soon!” she exclaimed, but Iris waved her hand in the air.
“It will be fine. I’ll ask Millie to help. “
“Oh, Iris, you were never much of a planner,” Violet said with a worried frown.
“No, but I make up for it with spirit,” Iris said with a grin, and Violet rolled her eyes. “It will be more fun than you could ever imagine, Violet, I promise you that.”
Violet sighed, but Iris hardly noticed — she was far too busy already imagining all that was to come.
8
“Millie?”
Iris entered the blacksmith shop, pausing a moment to allow her eyes to adjust to the dim light within, not seeing the blacksmith as she looked about her. Millie spent much of her day within the shop or her house, helping her father, and Iris had no idea how she did so day after day. Then again, Iris often questioned how she could spend each day cleaning and cooking, but it wasn’t as though she had much of a choice either.
An Earl for Iris Page 4
