Chapter Twenty-three
“Iris? It’s been four days, and I’ve had quite enough of this nonsense. Open this door at once.”
Iris let out a low groan and threw her arm over her eyes. Had it really been four days since she’d locked herself in her bedchamber? One would think Violet would have given up and gone away by now.
“Grandmother is threatening to send for Dr. Graham if you refuse another meal. Do you really want him here, prodding at you with his cold hands? At least open the door, if only to prove you’re still able to move.”
Iris’s mouth pursed with self-righteous indignation. Violet might be terribly clever, but she didn’t know as much as she thought she did.
Iris had moved. Not ten minutes ago, she’d rolled from her left side to her right.
She sagged against her pillows and squeezed her eyes closed. If she’d spent most of the morning languishing in her bed—just as she’d done the day before, and the day before that—it was no one’s concern but her own.
There was a faint thud, as if Violet had let her forehead fall against the door. “I know your heart is broken and you feel wretched, Iris, but you can’t hide in your bedchamber forever.”
Certainly she could. If a lady couldn’t hide in her bedchamber when her heart was broken, then when could she? Heartbreak seemed a perfectly good reason to never rise from her bed again.
And she was heartbroken. It had been two weeks since she’d fled Hadley House, and each moment of that time she’d thought of nothing but Finn. She woke every morning with her foolish heart leaping wildly in her chest, certain he’d call on her, and retired to her bedchamber every night with every hope dashed.
Finn didn’t come.
Her heart wasn’t just broken. It was shattered.
She longed for him with a visceral ache that left her breathless and teetering on a precarious edge between hope and anguish. Each day he didn’t come another piece of her heart splintered loose with a dry crack, until she was left with nothing but thousands of tiny shards.
So many shards there was no hope of it ever being whole again.
But just when she’d thought there was nothing left of her heart to break, Honora had paid her a visit and given her some news that had toppled Iris into an abyss of misery the likes of which she’d never known before and despaired of ever escaping.
Lord Derrick, who’d been paying Honora frequent calls since their return from Hampshire had told her Finn wasn’t even in London. Honora had pressed him, but Lord Derrick had been either unwilling or unable to say where Finn was, or when he intended to return.
Or if he intended to return at all.
That had been four days ago. Iris hadn’t left her bedchamber since.
She tried not to think of Finn, but he invaded her every waking thought, and when she did manage to fall into an exhausted sleep he haunted her dreams. She was tormented by the memory of his cool gray eyes as they’d looked that day in Charlotte’s drawing room, when she’d told him she intended to race Chaos. He’d looked at her as he’d done early in their courtship, before he’d cared at all for her.
Before he told her he loved her.
The next day Chaos had been injured in the race, and she’d been so overwhelmed with guilt and grief she’d left Hampshire without a word to Finn. She’d fled like an overwrought child at the first sign of strife, and now, two weeks later, she bitterly regretted it.
Hiding in her bedchamber was hardly the answer, but here she was nonetheless, staring at the ceiling, her heart as heavy as a stone in her chest.
Her grandmother and sisters continued to lay siege to her locked door, but Iris had responded to Violet’s threats and Lady Chase’s scolding with a resounding silence. Even Hyacinth’s gentle pleas had failed to lure her out again.
There was another quiet thud, and then Violet’s voice came through the closed door again, shakier this time. “You’re not the only one with a broken heart, Iris.”
Iris’s eyes flew open, and she struggled upright. “I’m not?”
“No, you’re not.”
Lord Derrick had called on Lady Honora every day since their return…
Oh, no. It couldn’t be. “Is it…it’s not Lord Derrick, is it?”
There was a brief silence from the other side of the door, then Violet sighed. “If you don’t mind, Iris, I’d rather not stand in the hallway and shout about Lord Derrick through a closed door. Let me in.”
Iris scrambled off the side of the bed and hastened to the door. As soon as she opened it and saw Violet’s ravaged face, her heart sank. “Oh, Violet. I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize, but I should have. What kind of lady is so selfish she doesn’t notice her sister’s broken heart?”
“A lady whose heart is also broken.” Violet came in and perched on the edge of Iris’s bed, her shoulders hunched in defeat. “Love makes us all selfish, I think. If it didn’t, I’d be happy for Honora and Lord Derrick, but I’m not, Iris. I’m not.”
“Oh, my dear.” Iris sat next to Violet and opened her arms, and Violet fell into them.
“I don’t know why I’m surprised at it. I’m not the type of lady a gentleman falls in love with. I’ve always known it, and I never expected to come to London and have some grand love affair. It’s just…I suppose I thought Lord Derrick was different than other gentlemen. He’s so kind, and…ah, well. It doesn’t matter now.”
Tears pricked behind Iris’s eyes as she ran a soothing hand over her sister’s back. “Is it quite a settled thing between Honora and Lord Derrick?”
“He’s courting her, and she confided in me she believes he’ll make an offer before long.”
“She intends to accept him?”
“Yes. Why wouldn’t she? He’s…well, he’s lovely, isn’t he? I wonder we didn’t foresee this would happen. I can’t think of two people who are better suited.”
Iris wanted to deny it, to reassure Violet no one could ever suit Lord Derrick as well as she could, but the truth was she’d wondered more than once whether Lord Derrick’s easy calm was a good match for Violet’s sharp, restless inquisitiveness.
Whereas Lady Honora and Lord Derrick…
Well, Violet was right. One had only to look at them to see they were as ideally suited as two people could hope to be. “Does Honora know you’re—?”
“In love with Lord Derrick? No, and you mustn’t tell her, Iris. If she knew, she’d likely try to discourage him, for my sake.” Violet attempted a laugh, but there was a trace of bitterness in it. “You see how well-matched they are? She’s every bit as lovely as he is.”
Iris sighed. Dear God, what a muddle. “Love is dreadful, isn’t it?”
Violet dragged her sleeve across her eyes, then managed a watery smile. “I’ll take care to avoid it from now on, yes. I never planned to marry anyway, as you know. Why, in another month or so I won’t even recall what I saw in Lord Derrick and will be quite reconciled to my original plan of becoming London’s most infamous bluestocking spinster.”
“Oh, dear. Grandmother won’t like that.”
“No, it’ll drive her mad, I’m afraid. Hyacinth will have to land a duke to make up for our shortcomings.”
Between Violet’s disappointment and her own, Iris’s heart was battered beyond repair, but she could see her sister was attempting to put a brave face on it, so she forced a smile. “Come, Violet. I’ve lingered in my bedchamber long enough, and I think we’d both benefit from some fresh air. Let’s go for a ride in Richmond Park.”
Violet brightened a little. “Yes, all right. I’ll change into my riding habit, and meet you downstairs.”
Before Violet could move, however, their grandmother hobbled over the threshold, and pointed her cane at Iris. “Well, miss, I’m pleased to see you’ve put aside this foolishness and risen from you bed at last.”
As far as Lady Chase’s rebukes went, it was a mild one. Their grandmother wasn’t known for forbearance, but ever since Iris had returned from Hadley House and confessed to the disaster she’d made of her courtship with Finn, the old woman had shown remarkable restraint.
Violet gave her grandmother a cautious smile. “We thought we’d take a ride in Richmond Park this afternoon.”
“No, no, that won’t do, I’m afraid. Iris has a visitor waiting for her in the drawing room.” Lady Chase swept a shrewd gaze over Iris, and her lips pinched together with displeasure at what she saw. “You look a perfect fright. Brush your hair and wash your face before you go down, Iris, and for pity’s sake, change that gown.”
With that she hobbled back out the door, leaving Iris and Violet staring at each other.
“A visitor?” Iris’s heart began to race in her chest. “Do you suppose…could it be Lord Huntington?”
Violet gave Iris a gentle push toward the washbasin. “I don’t know, but I hope so. Quickly, Iris. Wash your face, and I’ll help you with your gown and hair.”
By the time Violet had fussed and brushed and smoothed her into ladylike respectability, Iris was so breathless with nerves and anticipation her knees felt as if they would collapse beneath her. She stood outside the closed drawing room door for a moment with her palm pressed to her stomach to calm the flock of birds that had taken up residence under her ribs, then took a deep breath, grasped the knob with damp fingers, and pushed the door open.
And when she saw who it was, her heart plummeted right down into her slippers.
“Ah, Iris. How do you do? Your grandmother tells me you’re out of sorts, so I’ve come to take you for a drive in my carriage.”
“Lady Annabel.” Iris tried to force a smile onto her stiff lips. “I—that’s very kind of you. It’s lovely to see you again.”
“Is it, indeed? But you look a trifle disappointed, though of course I can’t imagine why you would be. Did you expect someone else? No, I can only suppose your grandmother is right, and you’re suffering from low spirits. Well, come along then. Fresh air will cheer you.”
Iris was quite sure nothing less than a handsome, hazel-eyed marquess would ever cheer her again, but one didn’t argue with Lady Annabel, particularly not when she had such a determined gleam in her eyes.
“There now. This is lovely, isn’t it?” Lady Annabel asked, when they were seated in her phaeton and she’d taken the ribbons. “Well, Iris. Lady Chase despises me, as you know, and yet she put aside her dislike and asked me to call on you, and now I see why. You look unlike yourself—so pale and dispirited. Is something troubling you?”
Iris plucked at her skirts. She hadn’t lived up to Lady Annabel’s faith in her, and now she could hardly look her friend in the eye.
“Iris?”
If she said Finn’s name she’d burst into tears, so Iris didn’t say it. “Have you had any news from Charlotte, Lady Annabel? I’ve expected to hear from her every day since my return to London. She said she’d write to tell me how Chaos did, but she hasn’t. I think Captain West must not have been able to save him, and Charlotte doesn’t want to tell me.”
Despite her vow to avoid another bout of pathetic sniveling, tears flooded Iris’s eyes. She couldn’t think of that race, or of Chaos, without a rush of unspeakable grief.
“Now, Iris. Why do you assume the worst has happened? Perhaps it’s not what you think at all.”
Iris didn’t argue, but stared sightlessly ahead and watched one street blur into the next as Lady Annabel guided the phaeton through London.
“What of Lord Huntington?” Lady Annabel asked, after they’d driven for a while in silence. “Has he called on you since his return to London?”
“Lord Huntington is back in London?” For one moment Iris’s heart burst with hope, only to be dashed again when it occurred to her Finn hadn’t called on her. “When did he return?”
“Just last night. No doubt he hasn’t had a chance to call on you yet, but no matter. We’re very near Grosvenor Square, so we’ll just call on him, shall we?”
“What? No, my lady! He won’t want…I don’t think he wishes to see…that is, it isn’t proper for me to call on a gentleman!”
Considering what else she’d done with Finn, propriety was a thin excuse indeed, but Iris clung to it with both hands. What if she appeared on his doorstep, and he refused to see her? Her heart wouldn’t survive the blow if he sent her away—
“Proper?” Lady Annabel waved that away with a tinkling laugh and turned onto Brook Street, where Finn kept a handsome townhouse at the north end of Grosvenor Square. “Oh, what nonsense. I’m certain he’ll be pleased to see you.”
Panic seized Iris, and she gripped Lady Annabel’s arm. “He won’t be, Lady Annabel. I left him in Hampshire without a word of explanation. I don’t know that he’ll ever forgive me.”
“Why not beg his pardon and see? Ah, here he is.”
Iris mouth went dry. Dear God, Finn was standing in the drive watching the phaeton approach, an indecipherable expression on his stern face.
Iris fell back against her seat as every hope of escape evaporated.
“Lord Huntington—how convenient we should find you right here, waiting. I’ve brought you Miss Somerset, as promised. Do hand her down, won’t you? She looks a trifle unsteady.”
Finn’s large hand enveloped Iris’s, and he helped her to alight. He hadn’t taken his eyes off her since he sighted the carriage, but now he tore his gaze away to bow to Lady Annabel. “Thank you, my lady. You’re very kind to bring her to me.”
Lady Annabel raised an eyebrow at that. “I assure you, I’m not kind in the least. I do this for my own amusement only.” She set the horse in motion with a practiced flick of the reins, and disappeared down Brook Street.
Iris and Finn stood in silence for long moments, staring at each other, until at last Finn cleared his throat. “I hope you’ll forgive me for bringing you to Grosvenor Square. The proper thing would be for me to call on you at your grandmother’s house, but I, ah…I have something to show you I hope will please you.”
Iris’s throat worked. Oh, how she wanted to tell him she was pleased already—pleased to be near him, to inhale his clean scent and look into the beautiful hazel eyes she’d dreamed about every night since she’d left him, but a tight ball of emotion welled in her throat, and she could only nod.
He flushed a little when she didn’t answer, and an anxious frown crossed his lips, but he held out his arm to her. “It’s just this way.”
Iris slid her hand into the crook of his elbow, her breath catching at the familiar feel of his muscled forearm flexing under her fingertips, and let him lead her through a garden still scented with lavender, despite the lateness of the season.
He didn’t pause, but led her through the garden to the mews behind the house and into a spacious stable with a grand, wood-timbered ceiling.
“My lord?”
Iris searched Finn’s face in the dim light, but he only tucked her arm closer against his side and led her down a long central corridor, past rows upon rows of stalls.
At last he came to a halt at the last stall on the left.
“He’s not fully healed,” he said in a rush. “His leg is fragile still, but the gash has closed, and there’s no longer any risk of infection.”
Iris peered into the stall, and for the second time that day, her knees went so weak they threatened to buckle.
Chaos. Finn had brought Chaos to her.
She tried to speak, but all she could manage was a choked gasp as she raised her shaking hand to cover her mouth.
The horse’s sleek gray coat had been brushed to a glossy shine, and his liquid black eyes were as clear and alert as Iris remembered. As soon as he saw her he whinnied impatiently, as if he were scolding her for taking so long to come to him.
“Captain West said the bone is mending much faster than he expected.” Finn shifted from one foot to the other, his uncertain gaze fixed on Iris. “There’s quite a lot that can be done for a fractured cannon bone, it turns out, if one has the patience to see it through.”
She remained silent, still too overcome to speak, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. This was the reason Finn hadn’t returned to London at once. He’d stayed in Hampshire with Chaos, to heal the horse and save him from having to be shot.
He’d done it for her.
“It was a neat trick getting him here from Hampshire without putting any strain on his leg. Have you ever seen a horse van?” The words began to tumble faster and faster from Finn’s mouth when she still didn’t speak. “The famous racehorse Sovereign was brought to Newmarket Racecourse in one last year, and Captain West suggested we try the same with Chaos. It took five days to get from Winchester to London, but you see how fit he is, even after such a long journey…”
He trailed off into an awkward silence, and it was then Iris realized he was nervous. Lord Huntington, the grand marquess, the quintessential English gentleman, was nervous, because he wanted so badly to please her.
And after all, he wasn’t Lord Huntington, was he? Not to Iris. To her, he was Finn, the man she loved, who’d given her the most precious gift she could ever hope to receive.
Himself.
“We’ll have to be careful with him for the next several months, but after that you’ll be able to fly over the ground on his back through Richmond Park, just as you told me you always wanted to.”
Iris gazed up at him, still too dazed to speak. What could she say? How could she ever put into words what this meant to her?
“Iris.” Finn’s tone was pleading. “Say something, sweetheart.”
“I—he’s…this is…” She curled her fingers into his waistcoat and buried her face against his chest as her breath caught on another sob. “There’s nothing you could have done that would mean more to me than this.”
He groaned as his arms closed around her. “I’m so sorry, sweet. That day, in Lady Hadley’s drawing room…I want you to know I never doubted you, Iris. I turned away from you because I doubted myself. It’s haunted me, the sadness on your face that day, and the way I let you leave. I never should have—”
“Shhh.” She touched her fingertips to his lips to hush him. “I turned away from you, too. I left Hampshire without a word, and I’ve regretted it every single day since. What you’ve done for me…” She gestured helplessly at Chaos as she struggled to find the words. “The two gentlemen I love more than anything else are here with me, and I couldn’t ask for anything more.”
He clasped her face in his hands and took her lips in a passionate kiss that left them both breathless.
“I can think of one more thing to ask for,” he said, when he’d eased her away at last.
“Oh? Do you want me to read the rest of School of Venus to you?”
His eyes darkened, and he let out a husky laugh. “Two things, then.”
She traced his lips with a gentle finger, then pressed a kiss to the dimple on his chin. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t give you, Finn.”
His forehead touched hers. “I love you, Iris. I want you to be mine.”
His. Not just a wife, and not just the Marchioness of Huntington, but his.
Iris rose onto her tiptoes and wrapped her arms around his neck. “I already am.”