Chapter Eighteen
Iris didn’t go look for Charlotte, as Lord Huntington had bade her. She didn’t enter the breakfast parlor either, though she could hear the low murmur of feminine voices and knew she’d find Violet and Honora there.
She couldn’t confide in her friends without first offering some sort of explanation for the snarled web of secrets she’d become enmeshed in, and she couldn’t do that. Not yet. She’d only just begun to untangle the fragile threads of the truth from the lies, and she couldn’t explain to them what she didn’t understand herself.
Only one thing was clear in her head.
She’d been wrong about Lord Wrexley.
A part of her wanted to believe Lord Huntington was lying—about the wager, and the reason Lady Beaumont was in Lady Fairchild’s garden that day, and now about Miss Hughes—but she knew he wasn’t. Perhaps he could hide some secrets behind the shifting colors of his eyes, but he wasn’t a liar. There’d been nothing but naked truth in those hazel depths just now.
She’d been wrong about Lord Huntington, too.
About Finn.
“Good morning, Iris. Where have you been off to so early?”
Iris was standing at the bottom of the stairs, staring at them without seeing them, but she turned at the sound of Lady Annabel’s voice.
“I wondered why I didn’t see you in the breakfast parlor—” Lady Annabel began, but as soon as she saw the look on Iris’s face, she took her arm and hurried her down the hallway. “Come with me.”
Iris didn’t resist, but let Lady Annabel tug her along toward Charlotte’s private sitting room.
“Sit.” Lady Annabel turned to ring the bell as Iris sank into one of the plump chairs in front of the fireplace.
“Tea, please, if you would, Mary,” Lady Annabel said, when the maid appeared. Once the servant had gone again, Lady Annabel took the seat opposite Iris, but she didn’t say a word until Mary had returned with the tea tray and disappeared again, closing the door behind her.
“I gather from the expression on your face this isn’t about School of Venus.”
Iris shook her head.
“Pity. I have a suspicion it would be much easier if it were.” Lady Annabel fetched a teacup from the tray, poured Iris some tea, and then set the cup down in front of her. “Drink some tea, Iris. You need a restorative.”
Iris took an obedient sip of her tea. “I was wrong, Lady Annabel.”
Lady Annabel didn’t look in the least surprised to hear it. “Yes, I imagined that would happen at some point. Love affairs are complicated enough with one gentleman, and you’ve had to manage two of them. Your rate of error rises accordingly, I’m afraid. Who were you wrong about? Lord Wrexley, or Lord Huntington?”
Iris opened her mouth to say Lord Wrexley, but she bit the words back before his name could leave her lips. She’d been wrong about him, yes, but Lord Huntington was the man she’d truly wronged.
Shame made her avoid Lady Annabel’s eyes. “Both of them.”
Lady Annabel sighed. “Look at me, Iris.”
Iris looked up to find Lady Annabel’s steady, calm gaze on her face. “If you recall, I did warn you this could become complicated.”
“But…I thought you meant the other part, about the…the…” Iris’s face heated. “Well, you know.”
“Oh, no. The physical part is fairly straightforward, though if one is lucky, not lacking in variety. But love—well, I’m afraid that’s much more complex.”
Iris stared at her. Love? Which of the two gentlemen in question did Lady Annabel suppose she was in love with?
Not Lord Wrexley.
The thought came out of nowhere.
No. Surely not—
“I suppose you’ve discovered what a scoundrel Lord Wrexley is?”
Iris choked on the sip of tea she’d just taken. “You knew Lord Wrexley was a scoundrel, all this time?”
“Of course. I’m a wicked widow, Iris. I know a scoundrel when I see one.”
“But why didn’t you just tell me, then?” Iris dumped her teacup on the tray with a clatter. “It would have saved me so much fuss and bother.”
Lady Annabel arched one blond eyebrow. “Would you have believed me?”
“I…well, of course I would have at least listened, even if I didn’t—”
The eyebrow inched up another notch. “Didn’t Lord Huntington tell you Lord Wrexley was a scoundrel?”
Iris’s lips turned down in a sulky frown. “Yes.”
“Did you believe him?”
Goodness, it was unpleasant to admit it when one was wrong. “Not entirely.”
“No, you wouldn’t, would you? No one can convince a lady a gentleman is a scoundrel. It’s the sort of determination she must come to on her own, and it sounds as though you have. I suppose Lord Huntington’s told you about Miss Hughes?”
Iris’s mouth fell open. “Miss Hughes! He said only a few people knew her story. Why, even Lady Honora doesn’t know, and Lord Wrexley is her cousin!”
Lady Annabel sighed, and set her teacup aside. “Diana’s story isn’t widely known, and Lord Huntington isn’t aware of my connection to her family. Her mother, Lady Farrington, and I grew up together. We were dear friends, and Miss Hughes was something of a niece to me, though not by blood.”
Dear God, what a tangle. How had a simple house party turned into a drama worthy of the London stage? “But neither Lord Wrexley nor Lord Huntington act as if they know you.”
“They don’t. Miss Hughes’s unfortunate association with Lord Wrexley took place after I’d married. I was living in Derbyshire and heard of it all through letters from her mother. I can assure you, Iris, Lord Wrexley is as guilty as Lord Huntington claims he is.”
Iris fell back against her chair, shaking her head. “What a fool I am. Lord Huntington tried to warn me about him, but I didn’t believe him.”
“You’re not a fool. Lord Wrexley is a skilled dissembler who exploited your innocence for his own gain. But scoundrels like Lord Wrexley don’t interest me much. Once their perfidy has been revealed, they become nothing more than tedious caricatures of themselves. I think we’ve said all we need say about him.”
“I hope I can forget him as easily as you can.”
“You will. But I’m pleased Lord Huntington has told you the truth about him at last. I’ve been waiting for him to do so all week. I’d begun to worry I’d have to tell you myself.”
Iris lapsed into a pensive silence as she stared into the fire. When he’d told her he’d been betrothed before, and that he’d loved Miss Hughes, the strangest sinking sensation had squeezed her heart. Perhaps he loved her still. Perhaps a lingering loyalty to Miss Hughes was the reason he wanted to marry a lady he didn’t care for.
“He told me he never talks about it.”
“No, he doesn’t. Otherwise such a scandal couldn’t have been kept secret for so long. Lord Huntington has his flaws, just as we all do, but he’s an honorable gentleman, Iris. Not a simple gentleman, or an easy one, but an honorable one.”
“Perhaps, but he’s distant and difficult to talk to.”
“Yes, I’ve heard people say so, though I find him to be a touch awkward and shy more than anything else.”
“Shy? He’s a marquess!”
“His title is irrelevant, Iris. When all the trappings are stripped away, he’s simply a man, just like any other.”
“He’s cold and detached. Don’t you think he’s cold and detached?” Iris was beginning to feel quite desperate.
Lady Annabel leaned forward in her chair and gave Iris a long, stern look. “Tell me, Iris. How many gentlemen do you know who’d marry a lady who’d been ruined by another man? Who’d go to the trouble to arrange a marriage for that lady, after she’d betrayed his trust in such a hurtful way? Miss Hughes committed a grave offence against Lord Huntington, and he would have been more than justified in letting her suffer the consequences of it. He didn’t—he saved her instead. Does that sound like something a cold, detached man would do?”
It didn’t. Of course it didn’t. “No.”
“And what of you, Iris? You jilted him. Perhaps you were justified in doing so, but he would have been equally justified in never giving you another thought after that. What must it have taken, do you suppose, for a proud man like Lord Huntington to chase you to Hampshire, and offer for you a second time to protect you from a scoundrel like Lord Wrexley? Again, do those sound like the actions of a cold, detached man?”
“No.” Iris’s cheeks burned with shame. “I’ve been unbearably selfish, haven’t I?”
“No. You’ve been unbearably young and inexperienced, and there’s nothing to be ashamed of in that, but now it’s time for you to behave like a woman, Iris, not a girl. As I said before, Lord Huntington isn’t an easy man. Do you understand what I mean by that?”
Iris was beginning to understand, but her intuition whispered when it came to Lord Huntington she’d hardly peeked under the surface. “He’s strong-willed.”
“Yes, he is. But then so are you. You’re well-matched in that way.”
“He’s overbearing and domineering. Controlling.”
Lady Annabel smiled. “Both in and out of the bedchamber, if Lady Beaumont can be believed. He needs a lady who can manage him, certainly.”
Iris thought of his flashing hazel eyes, his low, commanding voice, his stern jaw, and a shiver ran down her spine. “I haven’t the vaguest idea how to manage such a man.”
“I’m surprised to hear you say that, Iris, since you’ve been managing Lord Huntington since you arrived at Hadley House.”
Iris’s mouth fell open, and she regarded Lady Annabel in shock. “Why, what have I done to manage him? He lectured me for running races with Lord Wrexley, and he forbade me from riding Chaos, as if he had a right to forbid me anything, and—I didn’t tell you this, Lady Annabel—but he tried to take School of Venus away from me last night, as well.”
“And did he?”
“No. I, ah…I took it back from him.” Iris didn’t explain how she’d gotten it back. Lady Annabel was a wicked widow, yes, and likely wouldn’t be shocked, but Iris was still a bit shocked herself over what she’d done.
“What about the horse?” Lady Annabel swept a meaningful look over Iris’s riding habit.
“I rode Chaos this morning.”
“Ah. And the race?”
A hesitant smile touched Iris’s lips. “I told him it would do him good to race himself, and then I said…I believe I told him I’d bent one of my stays.”
Lady Annabel laughed. “It’s no wonder he’s so enamored of you.”
Iris’s smile faded. “I don’t know that he is.”
Lady Annabel moved to the edge of her chair, reached over, and took Iris’s hand. “He’s here, isn’t he? He’s here, and he’s made it clear he wishes to marry you.”
“Out of obligation, Lady Annabel, not love.”
“Do you truly believe that?”
Iris shook her head. She wasn’t sure what she believed anymore. “I don’t know. I’d ask you to help me untangle it, but you’ll say this is one of those decisions only I can make, won’t you?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so, but I will say this. It would be something special indeed to have the heart of a man like Lord Huntington entrusted to your keeping. I believe you’re strong enough to understand the value of it, and to do justice to it, but you’ll have to help him, Iris. He didn’t grow up surrounded by love, as you did. His childhood was a lonely one, and he won’t always know how to go on.”
Iris frowned, remembering something Lord Wrexley had told her. “Was there some scandal—something to do with his mother?”
“Yes. She left him when he was a boy—ran off with a Scotsman and never came back. There are rumors he has half-brothers there, a pack of wild Scots born on the wrong side of the blanket. His father died a few years after his mother left, and Lord Huntington was left to the care of a distant guardian, who promptly sent him off to Eton and left him there. It couldn’t have been easy on him. Boys are cruel. I’m sure you can imagine what he endured, given the scandal about his mother.”
Iris thought about what he’d said that day, when she asked him if he’d ever raced as a child, and her throat closed.
I was never a child.
For a moment she couldn’t speak, or catch her breath, because of the fist squeezing her heart.
Because he had been a child, just a child, left alone—
“It’s remarkable, really, he became the man he is.” Lady Annabel’s voice was quiet.
“Yes. It is.”
Lady Annabel patted her hand, then rose and walked to the door. “You have a decision to make. I saw Lord Huntington ride off with Captain West and Lord Derrick before I left the breakfast room, and Lady Honora and your sister went for a walk. I’ll tell Charlotte you need a bit of quiet in here, shall I?”
“Yes, thank you. You’re very kind, Lady Annabel.”
Lady Annabel made an impatient noise in her throat. “No, I’m not kind. I do this only for my own amusement, Iris.”
Iris smiled at that, but once the room was still, she wondered if all the quiet in the world would be enough, and her smile faded.
* * * *
It was dark by the time Finn made it back to Hadley House. Captain West and Derrick had returned hours ago, but he’d followed Wrexley all the way to Alton before he turned his horse’s head back toward Winchester.
He couldn’t rest easy until he was certain Wrexley was gone for good.
His steps were weary and his heart sank as he made his way into the house and stopped in the silent entryway. He could think of nothing but Iris, but she’d have gone to bed long ago, and all the things he wanted to say to her—all the words he’d rehearsed on his solitary ride back to Hadley House—would have to wait until tomorrow.
“She’s in Lady Hadley’s sitting room.”
The hair on Finn’s neck rose in warning, but when he turned he saw it was only Lady Tallant. She appeared to be waiting for him.
“I’ve done all I can to help you, Lord Huntington.” Her slender figure detached itself from the deep shadows surrounding the stairwell. “I do hope I haven’t wasted my efforts.”
Finn was unable to account for her sudden appearance, and too exhausted to make sense of her words. “I don’t understand you, Lady Tallant. Help me with what?”
“With Miss Somerset, of course. I consider myself indebted to you on Lady Farrington’s account, you see—she was a dear friend of mine, and I always settle my debts.” She cocked her head, her eyes narrowing as she studied him. “But despite my best efforts you’ve managed to make quite a mess of things, haven’t you?”
Finn stared at her, still not sure what to make of this strange conversation. “You knew Lady Farrington?”
“Lady Farrington, her daughter, and the part you played in saving Miss Hughes from ruin. I’ve related the story to Miss Somerset.” She pointed down the hallway, in the direction of the library. “You’ll find her behind that closed door, and I believe she’s ready to listen to whatever you choose to say. A word of advice, Lord Huntington? Make the most of this opportunity. I can’t do everything for you, after all.”
She began to mount the stairs, but turned back to face him again before she reached the landing. “Miss Somerset is a remarkable young lady, but I suppose you know that already. It’s why you’re in love with her, isn’t it?”
It didn’t occur to Finn to deny it, or refuse to answer, or to tell Lady Annabel it was none of her concern how he felt about Miss Somerset. He simply told the truth, without hesitation. “Yes. She’s…extraordinary.”
His quiet voice was nearly swallowed into the silence of the still, empty space, but Lady Tallant heard him. “Ah. Perhaps there is hope for you after all, Lord Huntington.” With that, she resumed her climb until she disappeared into the darkness at the top of the stairs.
Finn didn’t waste any more time, but hastened down the hallway and eased open the door to Lady Hadley’s sitting room. He half-expected to find Iris asleep, but when he entered the tiny room she was curled into a corner of a large sofa, her legs tucked beneath her, eyes wide open. A book lay in her lap, but she wasn’t reading. She was staring into the fire.
He stood for a moment to admire the way the dying embers cast a glow around her and turned her hair a deep gold before he came the rest of the way into the room and closed the door behind him.
The soft click made her turn, and when she saw him her breath caught in her throat, and Finn closed his eyes for a moment to savor that tiny gasp. It was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard, and his heart leapt with hope.
“It’s late.” He settled onto the other end of the sofa, leaving plenty of space between them. He already ached to touch her, and he was determined not to tempt himself further by sitting too close to her. “I didn’t expect you to be awake.”
She kept her eyes on her lap as she fiddled with the pages of her book. “I was worried about—that is, I couldn’t sleep.”
Finn hesitated. He needed to tell her Wrexley was gone and wouldn’t return to Hadley House, but if Iris really did love the villain, as Wrexley claimed she did, she wouldn’t thank Finn for his interference, and he didn’t think he could bear to see any coldness in her blue eyes when she looked at him.
Not now. Not tonight.
Finn cleared his throat. “Lord Wrexley is—”
“I wasn’t worried about Lord Wrexley.”
This time it was Finn’s turn to catch his breath. Had she been worried about him?
“After our talk in the stables today, I spoke with Lady Tallant, and she told me…I was wrong about him. The wager, and his part in Lady Beaumont’s appearance in the garden that day. You tried to warn me, but I wouldn’t listen to you. I was wrong about you, and I—I beg your pardon, Lord Huntington.”
Relief rushed through Finn then—a relief so powerful he felt dizzy with it—but there was one more thing he had to know before he could put the question of Lord Wrexley behind them forever. “Do you…are you in love with him?”
Her blue eyes were soft as they rested on his face. “No.”
Finn’s eyes drifted closed as her whispered word washed over him. With that one small word, she’d managed to fill that lonely, cold space inside him he’d despaired of ever reaching.
She didn’t love Wrexley, and that meant there was still a chance for them. “Iris, I need…I want to…” He trailed off, because whatever he said, whatever words he chose, he knew they wouldn’t be enough, and in the next moment he was beside her, so close his knee brushed against hers when he reached for her.
Finn wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms, but she held him back with a gentle hand on his chest. “I’ve been in here all day, thinking about our betrothal, and how I jilted you, and I need to tell you—”
“It doesn’t matter anymore.” He wrapped his fingers around the hand on his chest and leaned forward to rest his forehead against hers. “None of that matters now.”
“It does matter. I need to tell you the truth, Lord…Finn. I lied to you when I told you I jilted you because of the wager, and because of Lady Beaumont, and because you didn’t kiss me that day in Lady Fairchild’s garden. Those were never the reasons. I thought they were, but they were excuses, just as you said the day we first came to Hadley House. I lied to myself, just as surely as I lied to you.”
She looked into his eyes, and the pleading look in hers nearly broke his heart in two. He wanted to tell her it didn’t matter, that she didn’t have to say anything more, but if they were going to move forward from this moment, they had to do so with nothing but the truth between them.
Finn cupped her cheek in his hand. “All right, sweet. I’m listening.”
“I was afraid—” Her brows drew together and she broke off with a slow shake of her head.
He stroked her cheek. “What were you afraid of?”
She drew in a deep breath, as if to help her push the words out, but when she did speak, her voice was a whisper. “I was afraid if I married you I’d become the lady I pretended to be during our courtship. I was afraid…” Her voice caught, and her gaze dropped to her hands. “I was afraid I’d lose myself, and I’d never become anything more than who I am right now.”
Finn’s throat went thick with words, with denials, because she said it as if who she was now was nothing special.
Didn’t she know? Didn’t she see how remarkable she was?
No, she didn’t, and why would she?
He hadn’t.
But now he did, and there was no going back from it.
“I’ve never admired fair hair.” He reached for a loose lock of her hair and tucked it behind her ear, then brushed his fingertips across her cheekbone. “Blue eyes, either. I’ve always preferred ladies with dark coloring.”
She blinked once, twice, then her brows pulled down in a frown. “Yes, ah….well, every gentleman is different.”
“Or pink lips.” He touched a finger to the center of her bottom lip. “Especially when they hide such a sharp tongue, as yours do. You’ve a temper, for all that your lips look like rosebuds, and I’ve never wanted a lady with a temper.”
The rosebud lips pressed into an irritated line, and she wrapped her fingers around his wrist to pull his hand away from her face. “If you’ve quite finished—”
“I haven’t.” He slid his fingers to the back of her neck and held her, a half smile on his lips as his gaze touched every part of her face, and this time, he didn’t think about it before he said it. This time, he didn’t worry he’d stumble over his words, or say the wrong thing. He didn’t try to deny it, or reduce it to something less than what it was. “I never wanted any of it, until you. I want you, and it’s not because of Wrexley, or because the ton will gossip about us, or because I feel an obligation toward you. I want you because I’m in love with you, Iris.”
Her fingers went slack around his wrist, and she stilled.
He brushed a gentle kiss against her mouth, then trailed his lips across her cheek to whisper in her ear. “You’re everything I never knew I wanted, and everything I can’t live without.”