“Iris!” Millie came out of the corner of the shop, the smile on her face only visible once she neared. “How are you? Oh, I have not properly thanked you for attracting Ernest’s attention once more.”
“Err… yes, well…” Iris began, knowing she had been rather remiss in the past couple of days in her mock flirtation. Ernest had come to call twice, and each time she had managed to put him off with excuses of one chore or another, but already he was becoming more insistent. “How is all developing with Burt? Do you have any idea of what might come next?”
“Actually,” Millie said, looking one way and then the other before taking Iris’ hand in hers, “Let’s step outside for a moment.”
Iris nearly exclaimed, “Thank goodness,” but she managed to keep her thoughts within.
“What news do you have to share?” she asked once they were away from the shop and strolling down the road. Millie stopped and turned to toward Iris, taking both of her hands within hers.
“You know Burt asked me to marry him,” she said, and Iris nodded. “Well, as you know, Burt is originally from Lowestoft. He had told his parents he would be asking for me, and they informed their parish, and the banns have already been read. I joined their parish so that they wouldn’t be read here in Southwold.”
“Oh my,” Iris exclaimed, focusing on Millie’s problem, though she was feeling equally as guilty about the continued charade with Ernest. “You must be thrilled!”
“I am,” Millie said, but then she sobered for a moment. “Except that my father is still not pleased. I had thought if I no longer had Ernest’s affections that he would accept the offer from Burt. However, he continues to turn Burt away. He told him that he was sorry but his daughter could never be the wife of a fisherman, barely getting by. What am I to do, Iris?”
Iris pressed her lips together, unsure exactly of what to say.
“I may not be the best person to ask,” she began, speaking slowly. “For I can only tell you what I would do, and as many would tell you, my actions are not always what one would call overly rational.”
“Tell me anyway?“ Millie said, her voice and eyes pleading with Iris, who sighed.
“Very well,” Iris said. “I think that you must follow your heart. If you decide that you love Burt enough that days in poverty are acceptable, then you must marry him. If you cannot accept that… then you do not. But either way, in my view, the decision is yours.”
“I know,” Millie responded, her voice just above a whisper, “but I do love my father.”
“And if he loves you the way I know he does, then he will accept your marriage in time,” Iris said as gently as she could. “But it’s a risk. And risks are not meant for all of us.”
“I agree,” Millie said. “And normally I would not be one to make that leap. But for this… for this I am. But how do I even arrange such a marriage?”
“When is it to take place?”
“Sunday, in Lowestoft. It will take about four hours on horseback.”
“Well,” Iris said, a smile beginning to spread across her face. “I actually have an idea. All you must do is be prepared.”
* * *
When August heard of this tournament of sorts, he had been both wary as well as excited for the day to arrive. He had participated in such events at house parties, of course, but he had a feeling that, like everything else he had encountered so far, this was going to be much different here in the country with regular folks.
He had to admit that he rather enjoyed the lack of pretense — perhaps he was becoming altogether too used to it, which was unfortunate, for at some point he would be returning to his true life.
Iris had been rather busy the past couple of days. When he had caught her eye one evening after dinner and asked where she had been, she had told him that she was planning the tournament her father had announced to them all.
“You are not hiding from me, then?” he had asked with a wink, and she had blushed but had shaken her head with a smile.
“Of course not.”
He was only seeking her presence out because she was the most entertaining of the lot of people who lived here, he told himself, and he would be perfectly able to quell thoughts of anything more than a friendship with her, were they to arise once more.
This morning, he joined the other gentlemen in the village green, where said tournament was to take place. He had been under the impression that only the gentleman of the inn would be participating, so he was surprised to find that many of the villagers had arrived to not only watch but also to take part.
As Elias Tavners stepped up to begin the day, August’s ears perked at the sound of Iris’ lilting voice nearby.
“Not now,” she was saying in somewhat hushed tones, and when he glanced over, the man from the dance — Abernathy, he recalled — was at her side. August had seen him around the inn a time or two, but never with Iris, and he had come to believe her words that there was nothing between the two of them. Now, he questioned whether or not that thinking was correct, for the man was leaning over Iris’ shoulder, a hand lightly resting on her waist as he looked over her head at what was happening in front of them.
August couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from that hand, and he was shocked when he felt his stomach tighten and a ball of jealousy begin to rise up through his throat. The envy was similar to that which he had felt when he had seen Amelia in the arms of his best friend, which was ridiculous. He barely knew Iris Tavners whereas he and Amelia had been betrothed. It must be that he was simply jealous of the relationship the two of them shared — one which he had actually once been a part of himself.
“… lawn bowls, shuttlecock, and archery!” Elias Tavners finished exclaiming, and August realized he had not been paying the least bit of attention to anything the man had said. It seemed, however, their tournament games were now established, and teams were beginning to form.
“Overall,” Tavners said, “we will hold a competition between the villagers and our boarders. Ladies and gentlemen are both welcome to take part.”
August was now close enough that he could hear the conversation between Iris and Abernathy.
“Women are participating?” the man said with disdain and Iris nodded, a smug smile on her face.
“Yes,” she said. “I told my father I would only plan such an event if we had the ability to take part as well. I see no reason why not. They are all perfectly acceptable games for ladies.”
“But with men?”
“Yes, Ernest,” she said firmly. “You will play with women. But not to worry. Violet and I will be participating with the inn’s guests.”
August smiled at that. He also enjoyed the fact that he would be placed against this man who clearly thought quite highly of himself.
“Come, Lord Westwood,” Iris said, and he jumped, not realizing that she had even known he was there. “You and I will begin at shuttlecock.”
They were participating along with Violet and Thomas Cooper. The man nodded to August before they began. August had never played with four on a side before, but he quickly found the rhythm. Players from each side batted the battledore back and forth. Once it dropped, the next player rotated in.
Iris was the first player on the team, and August was so enjoying watching her play that he nearly didn’t notice when it was his turn to rotate in. Iris was laughing to such an extent that when he ran in with his racquet outstretched and his eye on the battledore, she stepped backward, not seeing him, and crashed into him, sending them sprawling together on the grassy ground beneath them.
“Oof!” he exclaimed as she landed on top of him, nearly knocking all of the air out of him. After a moment in which he caught his breath and determined that they were both fine, he became aware of just how soft were her curves atop his body. They seemed to mold into him perfectly, and when he looked up, her face so close to his, her mouth but a breath away, it took nearly all of his willpower not to lean in and take her lips within his.
But that w
as when he became aware of more than just her. The chatter around them had nearly gone quiet as the other players of this particular game gathered around them.
“Are you all right?” Violet asked, breaking the silence as she leaned down over them.
“I say,” came a much more masculine voice that was accompanied by hands reaching down in offer to Iris. “Get up, Iris, this is embarrassing.”
Iris’ cheeks flamed a bright red, but it took August a moment to realize that she was not embarrassed — no, she was angry at the words coming from the man who seemed to feel he was her suitor.
She ignored the hands of Ernest Abernathy and instead pushed herself up off of August, shifting over him as she did so.
“My apologies, Lord Westwood,” she said, a smile on her face now, though whether it was for him or for the benefit of the onlookers, he wasn’t entirely sure. “I became so caught up in the game that I lost where I was for a moment.”
“Nothing broken,” he said, standing himself and stretching his hands out as though to show her. He caught her eye, saw the spark there, and it was then that he began to laugh. After a moment, she joined in as well, and soon the group of them — with a few exceptions — joined in with a chuckle.
After an uneventful remainder of the game, they moved on to lawn bowls, a game August was certainly familiar with. He caught Iris’ eye more than a time or two, and when she stood next to him as they awaited their turns, he felt the brush of her fingers against his. She kept her gaze forward, as though it was an accident, but he couldn’t help the jolt of heat that shot through him, even at so innocent a touch.
Just a mild flirtation, he told himself. Nothing more. Women were not to be trusted. He had learned that from Amelia, and look at Iris — beautiful, yes, but clearly there was something between her and this Ernest Abernathy, though what, he wasn’t entirely sure. She didn’t seem to hold any affection for him and yet…
“How are you at archery, my lord?” she asked him with a raised eyebrow as they walked over to the next event.
He shrugged. “I enjoy it.”
He was actually quite proficient, but he wasn’t arrogant enough to say so.
“Shall we have a wager?” she asked with a bewitching grin.
“What did you have in mind?” he asked, unable to help his intrigue.
“If I win, I can ask you whatever question I’d like and you must answer.”
He wasn’t so sure about that. “And if I win?”
“The same reward.”
He mulled it over for a moment. He would like to know more about Abernathy, though he felt as though she may answer his questions regardless.
“Very well,” he finally said, figuring that he could answer her in whatever way he’d like no matter the question — not that she would ever beat him. “You have a deal.”
She nodded, and he addressed the target first. He took careful aim, and his arrow notched just next to the bull’s eye. He smiled in satisfaction.
And then she stepped up, confidently picked up the bow, shot him a smile, and hit the target right in the heart.
9
Iris smiled triumphantly. Ever since the stable master next door had taught her to shoot years ago, she had retained her uncanny eye for hitting the target. Not that she would have told Lord Westwood that before they had their little competition.
Ernest came up behind them now.
“I hardly think this a fair competition,” he said in regard to their tournament game. “Why, I’m sure the Earl has received private lessons since he was a child.”
Iris turned to Lord Westwood to determine his reaction, and an icy hardness had glazed over his eyes as he looked at Ernest.
“Perhaps I did,” he said. “But still it seems that the young lady here has bested me. The question is, will she best you as well?”
Ernest picked up the bow, closed one eye, and released the arrow. It sailed toward the target, notching in the outside circle. He threw the bow to the ground and turned to look at the two of them.
“Perhaps I am no longer interested in archery,” he said, narrowing his eyes at Iris, and she smiled, which he apparently was not entirely expecting. But it no longer mattered what he thought of her, for her plan was complete.
Just then, Millie’s father came running up, slightly out of breath.
“Iris,” he said, “have you seen Millie?”
“Not since yesterday,” she said, biting her lip. She liked the blacksmith and had no wish to hurt him, but at the same time, he hadn’t trusted Millie enough to determine her own happiness. Iris only hoped it would all be resolved in time.
“Do you know where she might be?”
Iris took a breath. Enough time had passed that she could tell him what she knew. She and Millie had discussed this. Millie didn’t want to overly worry her father and had asked Iris to tell him the truth of the matter.
“She and Burt are well enough away from here,” she said, steeling her resolve. “They are to be married.”
“She what?” the blacksmith said, his words somewhat hushed yet threatening, nonetheless.
“They are going to be married tomorrow,” Iris said, standing as tall as she could with her shoulders back. “She loves Burt, Mr. Smith, as you well know, and all she longed for was to be married to him.”
“This is outrageous!” Ernest cut in, standing next to Mr. Smith. “She and I were to be married.”
“Until you became interested in this one instead,” Mr. Smith said bitterly, and then the two of them turned to look at her.
“You orchestrated this, didn’t you?” Mr. Smith said as he eyed her with accusation. “You, Iris Tavners, always have your nose where it doesn’t belong. Stay out of my family, and stay away from Millie, do you understand me? Where is she?”
“Nearby,” Iris said slowly.
“Lowestoft,” he determined accurately, and Iris bit her lip.
“Come, Abernathy, perhaps we are not too late.”
The two of them made for the stables next to the blacksmith shop, leaving Iris standing with Lord Westwood, Violet, and Mr. Cooper. They were all staring at her.
“Did you do this?” Violet asked. “Were they correct?”
Iris kept holding her head high. She would not feel ashamed for her actions. She had done what she felt was right, and she wouldn’t apologize for it.
“Millie and I made the plan,” she said, looking to Violet, willing her sister to understand. “It was what she wanted. And they won’t catch them now. It’s too late. We made sure of it.”
“It was why you were so enthusiastic about this tournament,” Violet said, her eyes widening as she realized the truth of it. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t want to involve you,” Iris said with a shrug. “Then there would be no blame that could be placed upon you.”
She was too nervous to look at Lord Westwood, not wanting to see the judgment in his eyes.
“Iris!”
Her father’s voice boomed as it came closer and Iris cringed.
“Well,” she said, attempting an air of nonchalance, “perhaps I best go see what Father would like to speak to me about. I shall see you all soon.”
And at that, she practically ran away, unsure of which man she would prefer to face.
* * *
August told himself none of this mattered as he sat in the sitting room the next evening. Why should he care anything at all as to whether or not Iris Tavners was actually involved with the son of the apothecary? It was simple village dramatics, and very soon he would be gone from here once more and Southwold and all of its inhabitants would be nothing but a memory.
But then he saw Iris from his chair near the window which overlooked the lane in front of the inn, and it was as though his feet had a mind of their own as they stood, walked out the door, and approached her. She had been looking one way and then the next as though she was searching for someone, her arms wrapped tightly around herself like she was chilled despite the warm lat
e summer air.
“Miss Iris?” he called and she jumped, turning toward him.
“Lord Westwood,” she said, a hand on her breast. “You startled me.”
“So it would seem.”
“And please, just call me Iris. Most people around here do.’”
“Very well,” he said with a nod and then placed his hands on his hips. “Listen, I know it has nothing to do with me, but I am overcome by curiosity. Why were you allowing Abernathy to think there is something between the two of you when you clearly can’t stand the man?”
She looked affronted.
“I am not sure what you mean,” she said, tossing her head back ever so slightly. A couple of curls had come loose from her chignon and bounced around her shoulders with the movement.
August shook his head to clear his errant thoughts. “Come now, Iris, I am no fool,” he said. “You practically cringe when he approaches, and yet he acts as though the two of you are betrothed. Why?”
“It’s as you said,” she said, narrowing her eyes at him ever so slightly. “It has nothing to do with you. If you really wanted to know…” her lips began to turn up in a smile, “you should have bested me at archery and you would have your question.”
He had thought with all that had happened she would forget their wager, but apparently, she was much swifter than he had given her credit for.
“Consider me curious,” he said with a shrug. “Has it anything to do with your friend Millie and her runaway marriage?”
She sighed and looked at him with some chagrin.
“So you have it all figured out, do you?”
“It seems that I am near the truth.”
“Very well,” she said, kicking the cobblestone path below her foot. “Come walk with me if you’d like and I will tell you what you are apparently so interested in knowing.”
Her story was fairly succinct and August assumed she had left out a few details, but it was also understandable. Her friend Millie, the blacksmith’s daughter, was to marry Abernathy but much preferred the fisherman. So Iris had captured Abernathy’s attention instead.
An Earl for Iris Page 5
