Chapter Six
“I know very well you’re not asleep, Iris. You may twitch and mutter all you like, but you’re not fooling me, and you look quite ridiculous.”
Iris raised one eyelid just far enough to peek through the tiny slit hidden under her eyelashes. Lady Honora was tucked into one corner of the carriage, her brow furrowed with worry. Violet was next to her, and her sister looked as if she were about to leap across the carriage and shake Iris until her eyes closed for good.
Oh, dear. Her sister didn’t look pleased, and when Violet wasn’t pleased, she could be—
“We’ve been trapped in this coach for hours, and in that time you haven’t said more than a dozen words to either of us.” Violet stuck out her foot and prodded Iris none-too-gently with her toe. “Well, I won’t speak for Honora, but I’ve had enough of it. You will speak to us, and tell us what’s made you so cross, or I vow I’ll spend the rest of the ride to Hampshire singing as loudly as I can.”
Singing? Dear God, not that. Violet was infamous in their family for her lack of musical ability. She could even make a pianoforte sound tone deaf.
Iris sighed, and opened her eyes. There was no use carrying on with the ruse. Even if she’d truly been asleep, Violet’s shouting would have woken her, and someone had to save Honora before she burst into tears.
“What nonsense, Violet. Why should I be cross?”
Iris forced the corners of her lips to curl upwards, but Violet, who wasn’t fooled in the least by the anemic smile, rolled her eyes. “I haven’t the faintest idea. I thought you wanted us all to go to Charlotte’s house party.”
“No. I didn’t object when Grandmother ordered us to go, but that’s not at all the same thing as wanting to go, is it?”
“Well, why shouldn’t you want to go, for pity’s sake? It wasn’t as if you were doing anything in London this past week but sulking and muttering darkly to yourself.”
“You haven’t been out of the house in days, Iris,” Lady Honora added. “You refuse to walk or ride in the park, or make calls, or go shopping. One would almost think you’re hiding.”
Iris opened her mouth to deny it, but then closed it again. There was no point in trying to fool them, especially Violet, who seemed to know her thoughts even before she had a chance to think them.
Had it only been a week since she’d sent Lord Huntington on his way? It felt like years since he’d sat across from her in the drawing room, his hazel eyes growing darker and darker with every word out of her mouth. By the time he took his leave they’d gone such a deep green she might almost have imagined his heart was affected, if she hadn’t known better.
That was provided he had a heart. She’d never seen any definitive proof of its existence.
That alone was reason enough to jilt him, and she didn’t regret doing it. No, of course she didn’t. It was more a matter of, well…what should she do now? She’d begun to suspect—oh, it was just a niggling doubt, mind you, not even a worry yet, and certainly not a panic—it might have been wise to plan her next steps before she’d jilted Lord Huntington.
Not for her own sake, of course, but for everyone else’s.
Perhaps you should start by telling your grandmother what you’ve done.
Iris bit her lip, her stomach twisting into nervous knots that pulled tighter with every day she continued her deception. She’d half-expected Lord Huntington to complain of his treatment to Lady Chase. He hadn’t, not even when Iris refused to receive his calls, but her grandmother would have to know eventually, and she wasn’t going to be pleased when she discovered Iris had jilted the Marquess of Huntington.
Dash it, why couldn’t he have been some inconsequential viscount, instead? She might have been able to reconcile her grandmother to that.
But it was done. She’d sent Lord Huntington away, and there was nothing left for it but to confess the truth. Well, most of the truth. Oh, very well, as little of the truth as possible. It would be preferable, for example, if the word blindfold didn’t make it into the discussion.
Iris stared down at hands, her cheeks reddening with shame. She’d been so busy congratulating herself for her high principles in refusing to wed a hypocritical marquess, she hadn’t spared a thought for how her actions might impact her sisters’ prospects, or considered how disappointed her grandmother would be.
It was all Lord Huntington’s fault, of course. He’d been so sure she was docile and predictable, he’d driven her to rebellion and recklessness, blast him.
Jilting him should have been the first in a series of thoughtful, judicious steps to secure her future happiness. Instead it was the only step, and now she’d taken it, she hadn’t the faintest inkling what to do next. It was quite possible no other suitor would offer for her. One couldn’t refuse a marquess without consequences, and especially not the Marquess of Huntington, who all of London revered as a perfect gentleman.
Iris’s lips tightened. Perfect, yes, if one overlooked his lordship’s fondness for blindfolds, and his appalling taste in mistresses. But then she was just as guilty as every other young lady this season who’d clamored for his attention. As recently as a few weeks ago she’d thought him as perfect as anyone else did, which just proved the entire lot of them were about as discerning as a flock of sheep.
I may never receive another offer, once word gets out—
“You’re muttering even now, Iris, and you have that wrinkle between your brows again.” Violet tapped her own forehead, right between her eyes. “Right here. If you keep scowling like that, it’s going to become permanent, and I can assure you, it isn’t attractive.”
Iris gave her skirts an irritated jerk. For goodness’ sake, she should have kept up the pretense of sleep. “I’m not muttering, or scowling—”
“Is this about Lord Huntington?”
“No!” Blast it, how did Violet always know everything? “I’m simply worried about Hyacinth, that’s all.” Their youngest sister, Hyacinth, had left for Brighton with their grandmother several days ago, a few days after Iris had jilted Lord Huntington. “Perhaps we should have gone to Brighton with them.”
“There’s nothing at all to worry about. The doctor says Hyacinth suffers from a depression of spirits as much as anything else.” Violet gave her a shrewd look. “But it’s not worry for Hyacinth that’s troubling you.”
Perhaps not, but Iris thought it was as good an excuse as any for her low spirits. “How can you say that, Violet? I’m a most attentive sister.”
“So am I. That’s how I know you’re lying. So, back to Lord Huntington—”
“It’s awful, that business with Lord Harley!” Iris blurted, cutting her sister off before Violet could worm the truth out of her. She’d have to tell them everything and find out what they thought it best to do, but she needed a moment to think of the proper way to put it so as not to enrage Violet, or send Honora into hysterics. “My goodness, Honora. Can you imagine Lord Harley’s cheating at cards?”
“He’s a perfect scoundrel.” Lady Honora smoothed her skirts, a tiny smirk on her face. She never had an unkind word to say about anyone, but she couldn’t quite hide her satisfaction at having escaped a marriage to Lord Harley.
“They say he fleeced Lord Akers, and now he’s fled to the Continent to avoid a duel,” Violet said. “You must call on Lord Akers and thank him, Honora, for offering to put a ball in Lord Harley’s forehead. He’s saved you from what was sure to be a miserable marriage.”
They all laughed at this, but a bitter lump lodged in Iris’s throat at the thought of Honora’s narrow escape. There wasn’t a sweeter-tempered lady in all of London, or one more deserving of a worthy suitor, and yet she would have been sacrificed to Lord Harley without a second thought.
Cheating, mistresses, scandalous dark desires…was there a gentleman left in London who wasn’t a blackguard? And if there was, how was an inexperienced lady meant to distinguish him from the horde of cheats and debauchers? It wasn’t as if knowing how to flutter a fan and dance a quadrille would be much help.
“I never liked Lord Harley. At one point I thought he would offer for you, Iris.” Violet gave a little shudder of distaste. “Thank goodness he didn’t. Both of you deserve far superior gentlemen.”
Lady Honora would likely get a superior gentleman, too. Now Iris had jilted Lord Huntington, it was only a matter of time before he offered for Honora. He’d wanted her all along, and there was no question she’d make a lovely marchioness. As for Lord Huntington’s, ah…proclivities, Iris doubted Lady Honora would ever find out about them. She was much too ladylike to lurk in the bushes and eavesdrop on her betrothed, and even if she did find it out, it wouldn’t make any difference. Lady Honora was a conventional sort of lady, and would consider the title fair compensation for any, well…irregularities.
Iris sighed. If only she were also a conventional sort of lady. It would be so much easier that way, but she’d been raised in Surrey, by parents who believed a splendid match was one where the parties were in love with each other. It had led to all kinds of ridiculous notions on the part of their five daughters.
Iris could almost hear the gossips now. Love? My goodness, dear. How provincial!
“Yes, well, I’m pleased you were able to join us at the house party after all, but let’s get back to the matter at hand, shall we? What do you think, Honora? Lord Huntington has called on Iris every day without fail since he began courting her, and yet I haven’t seen the man once this past week.” Violet gave Iris an accusing look. “It’s as if he’s disappeared entirely.”
“How dramatic you are, Violet.” Iris forced a laugh, but the knot in her stomach twisted tighter. Perhaps she’d wait to tell them after they arrived at Hadley House. Yes, that would be much better. One didn’t deliver distressing news while trapped in a small carriage with no chance of escape. “It’s no great mystery. He’s only gone off to his country seat in Buckinghamshire for some sport.”
Yes, that would do. Gentlemen were always dashing off to the country on a whim, weren’t they?
“Sport?” Violet folded her hands in her lap. “Well, that explains it, I suppose.”
“I wouldn’t have thought Lord Huntington could bear to be separated from you for these last few weeks before your wedding, Iris.”
Lady Honora said this with such sweet sincerity, Iris forced back her snort. Lord Huntington couldn’t bear to be separated from something, certainly, but it wasn’t her. Still it wasn’t her place to shatter Honora’s illusions. “Yes, yes—his devotion to me is truly unparalleled.”
All these lies were also Lord Huntington’s fault, of course. She’d never had to lie about a thing before she met him.
I don’t have to lie now, either.
That was true enough, but it was too late to take it back, so she’d have to embellish on the lie instead, to make it believable. “He’s gone off to Huntington Lodge, to shoot…”
Birds? Was it birds in August, or fox-hunting?
“Pheasants?” Violet offered helpfully.
“No, not—” Lady Honora began, but Violet silenced her with a look.
“Yes! Yes, of course. Pheasants. Just so.” Iris settled back against the squabs. There, that should do.
Violet leaned forward, her eyes narrowed. “Pheasant season doesn’t start until November.”
Iris glared at her sister. Violet was as wily as the wiliest fox. “Well, as to that—”
“You’re lying.”
“No. He really did go to Buckinghamshire, to…to…” Dash it, what could Lord Huntington be doing in Buckinghamshire that made the least bit of sense?
Lady Honora gave a delicate cough of disagreement. “I saw him in Bond Street yesterday, Iris.”
Iris froze for a moment, then deflated, slumping back against the squabs. Why could the truth never wait for the most convenient timing?
“Are you quite finished telling tales?” Violet asked.
It appears so. “Yes.”
“Well, then? What’s happened? Did he jilt you? Because the ton won’t have it if he did. The Marquess of Huntington might be able to get away with quite a lot, but even he can’t—”
“He didn’t jilt me. He, ah…well, it’s a bit more complicated than that.”
“If he didn’t jilt you, then why hasn’t he called on you? It doesn’t make any…” Violet hesitated, and then her eyes went wide. “Oh no. Don’t tell me you—”
Iris squeezed her eyes closed. “I jilted him.”
“You jilted the Marquess of Huntington?” Lady Honora let out an odd squeak, and collapsed against the squabs in a heap of pink silk skirts, quite overcome.
“I jilted him,” Iris repeated. No, it still didn’t seem real, even when she said it aloud. It would soon enough, however, once the ton swept in to persecute her with their vicious gossip.
“But why? I mean, the ton would have made things uncomfortable for him if he’d jilted you, but for you to jilt the Marquess of Huntington? Why, they’ll have your head on a platter! My goodness, Iris. What have you done?”
Violet looked so horrified Iris’s own heart gave an anxious lurch in her chest. “I—I—he doesn’t care for me. Not at all.”
There was more, of course, so much more, and part of Iris wanted to blurt it all out, then lay her head on the carriage cushion and weep. If she told them everything—about Lord Huntington’s wager, and Lady Beaumont, and the cravats and insatiable appetites and desires—they would understand. Lady Honora would soothe her, and Violet would fall into a rage on her behalf, then they’d both stroke her hair and tell her she’d done the right thing, and she’d feel so much better.
But something made her hold her tongue. She wasn’t trying to protect Lord Huntington, of course. He’d chosen his debaucheries, and he could live with them, but she hadn’t even told him she knew his secrets. She certainly wasn’t going to tell Violet and Honora.
His secrets weren’t hers to tell.
“Oh, Iris.” Lady Honora’s face was the picture of dismay. “This isn’t because he refused to kiss you in the garden, is it?”
Iris didn’t answer, but turned away from Honora’s anxious face to look out the window. Lord Huntington thought that was the reason, but of course the kiss was only the sharp point of the dagger, and everyone knew it was the blade that did the real damage.
Iris could have overlooked a great deal to secure the match her grandmother had gone to such trouble to bring about. Lord Huntington’s wager with Lord Harley, his mistress, his disinterest in her—it was all quite distressing, but she would have gone through with the marriage, nonetheless. His lordship could blindfold his mistress with his cravat and tie her to London Bridge if he chose, and for her grandmother’s and sisters’ sakes, Iris would have done everything she could to ignore it.
But to imply she’d engaged in an indiscretion with Lord Wrexley? To cast aspersions on her virtue, and call her very character into question when he was the one guilty of so many secret sins?
No. It was too much.
Here was a man who’d hold his wife to absurd standards of propriety with one hand, while he tied his mistress to…to…well, whatever it was one tied a mistress to, with the other. Perhaps there were ladies docile enough to overlook it for the sake of becoming a marchioness, but Iris wasn’t one of them.
And marriage—a lifetime of marriage, no less—to a gentleman who didn’t care a whit for her, who’d dismissed her as dull and tedious before he ever troubled himself to know her at all? A gentleman who kept a mistress, and used his cravat for a purpose no cravat was ever intended to be used?
She thought of Lady Beaumont’s cruel taunts, her catlike smile. That vicious woman didn’t deserve the least bit of good fortune to fall in her path, but as it turned out, perhaps Lord Huntington would keep her as his mistress, after all.
Either way, she didn’t have a thing to fear from Iris.
Not anymore.
“I warned you he might not kiss you, Iris,” Honora persisted, twisting her hands together in her lap. “He’s a gentleman.”
A short laugh escaped Iris, and even she could hear the note of panic in it. “Yes, you did, and you were quite right. When I tried to hint a kiss would be welcome, he scolded me as if I were a naughty child.”
“But he made you an offer.” As far as Lady Honora was concerned, this settled the question of his affections. “Why should he do that if he didn’t care for you?”
Iris couldn’t bear to admit he’d chosen her because he thought her dull and predictable, or worse, that she’d begun to think it of herself, especially after she’d seen the way Lady Beaumont raged and teased and tempted. That moment, when she’d sunk to her knees in front of him…
Iris had only been able see her red, silk-swathed back through the gap in the branches, but whatever she’d been doing, it had to do with Lord Huntington’s breeches.
Not just his breeches.
She cleared her throat. “I think he regretted his offer, so you see, it’s really for the best if we don’t marry.”
Violet looked like she wanted to argue, but whatever she saw in Iris’s face made her pause and bite her lip. “You haven’t told Grandmother.”
“No. I meant to, every day.” Iris gave Violet a pleading look. “I should have done so at once. I’ve only made this worse by keeping quiet, but—”
“Oh, dear God, Iris. You have no idea how much worse you’ve made it!”
“What do you mean?” Iris sank her fingers into the velvet seat cushion to steady herself, because she was sure she wasn’t going to like whatever Violet said next.
“Charlotte and Captain West invited Lord Huntington to their house party!”
“Oh, no,” Lady Honora moaned, burying her face in her hands. “Oh, Iris. It’s going to be dreadfully awkward for you.”
“Why would they invite Lord Huntington?” It was a foolish question. No one knew she’d jilted him, so why wouldn’t they ask him to come? As far as they knew, he was her betrothed.
“Grandmother suggested it to Charlotte. She thought you’d be pleased.” Violet reached for Iris’s hand. “I’m so sorry for it.”
Iris gave her sister’s hand an absent pat. “It would be awkward indeed if he were to come, but he won’t.”
Lady Honora frowned. “But why shouldn’t he?”
“Think of it. Charlotte, Captain West, and Grandmother don’t know I’ve jilted Lord Huntington, but Lord Huntington certainly does. Why would he accept an invitation to attend a house party with the lady who’s just jilted him? I’m certain he’ll stay far away.”
“Yes, that makes sense.” Lady Honora’s face cleared. “He won’t come.”
Violet wasn’t as hopeful. “Perhaps not, but what of the other problem? You’ve refused a marquess, Iris, and not just any marquess, but the Marquess of Huntington. Grandmother is going to be apoplectic, and that’s to say nothing of your future prospects.”
I have no future prospects.
“My prospects are bleak at best, but I’m willing to entertain brilliant suggestions, if either of you should happen to have one.”
A long, grim silence followed, then Violet straightened against her seat. “I do have one idea.”
Lady Honora leaned forward. “What is it?”
“Lord Derrick will be there. You could encourage him.” Violet kept her gaze on her lap, suddenly absorbed with smoothing the wrinkles from her skirts. “It would go a long way toward soothing Grandmother’s hurt feelings over the loss of Lord Huntington if you had another suitor to replace him.”
Iris was fond of Lord Derrick. He had lovely brown eyes, and to look into them was to see into the heart of him. He might be the one gentleman left in London who wasn’t harboring a shocking secret, if only because he couldn’t hide a thing in those melting brown eyes.
But he was Lord Huntington’s dearest friend, and even if he did happen to show an interest in her, Iris would discourage him despite her enjoyment in his company, because Violet also enjoyed his company, and with rather more fervor than Iris did.
Violet fussed with her skirts to avoid Iris’s gaze, and Iris felt a rush of warm affection for her sister. How dear Violet was, to offer up the gentleman she herself favored. “No. Lord Derrick is a kind, charming gentleman, but I don’t think we’d suit.”
Violet said nothing to this, but she drew in a deep breath, and then let it out again in a sigh of relief.
“My cousin, then!” Lady Honora beamed at them, her dark eyes triumphant. “You’ll become Lady Wrexley!”
All three ladies turned at once to look out the window. Lord Wrexley was escorting them to Hadley House, but he’d opted to take his horse rather than ride in the carriage, and Iris had quite forgotten about him. They were friends, and he wasn’t grand or stiff like Lord Huntington. His relaxed manners and effortless charm put her at ease, but she’d never before considered him as a potential suitor.
Now, as she watched him from the carriage window, she wondered why. He was certainly handsome, and he handled his mount with an easy grace she couldn’t fail to appreciate.
He caught her eye, and gave her a wide smile as he touched his riding crop to his hat.
Iris smiled back, then settled against the squabs. Her trust in her own judgment had suffered a severe blow after she’d so misjudged Lord Huntington’s character, but she knew Lord Wrexley quite well, since he was always about when she visited with Lady Honora.
Of course, despite their familiarity, there was a chance he hid a dubious character under his gentlemanly exterior, just as Lord Huntington and Lord Harley did. He could well have his own secrets—a mad wife hidden in the attics at his country estate, perhaps—but he seemed to be exactly what he appeared to be, that is, a carefree young earl with open, easy manners and a handsome face.
“Lord Wrexley.” Violet tapped her finger against her lips, considering. “He is an agreeable sort of gentleman, isn’t he?”
“Oh, yes, he truly is. He’d make any young lady an enviable husband.” Lady Honora squeezed Iris’s arm, her smile giddy.
Iris hesitated, glancing at Violet. “Well, I’ve got to do something. I’ve behaved rashly, dismissing Lord Huntington with so little thought. It will hurt Grandmother, and there’s the issue of yours and Hyacinth’s prospects—”
“I would never want you to marry a gentleman who would make you unhappy because you’re worried about my prospects, Iris, and neither would Hyacinth.”
“I know you wouldn’t, Violet, but—”
“I don’t deny it would solve a great many problems if Lord Wrexley were courting you by the end of Charlotte’s house party—not just to console Grandmother, but because it will help to silence the gossips’ wagging tongues. But you have to have some affection for him, and he must feel the same for you, or else you may just as well have married Lord Huntington.”
If she did encourage Lord Wrexley, and he wasn’t what he appeared to be…
The ton wouldn’t overlook two jilted lords. No, if she encouraged him, she’d have to see it through to the end, or else she’d be well and truly ruined, and her sisters right along with her.
But surely Lord Wrexley was safe enough? Honora would never adore him as she did if he were a villain, and Iris herself had never seen any reason to doubt his character. “Well, I’ve always been fond of him.”
“Oh, it’s perfect!” Lady Honora clapped her hands together with delight. “He’s so natural and easy, particularly for a gentleman of fashion. I’m sure you’ll adore him, Iris, just as I do.”
Violet was a bit more circumspect. “Shall we see how you feel when we arrive?”
The knots in Iris’s stomach were twisting tighter and tighter, but she pasted a smile on her face for her sister’s sake, and nodded. “Yes. I think that’s a good idea.”
But she’d already made up her mind, because she no longer had the luxury of consulting her feelings. If Lord Wrexley showed the slightest interest in her, she would encourage him. If all went well, she could be betrothed to him by the end of the house party.
They didn’t speak much after that. Lady Honora lapsed into a happy silence, Violet ceased her scolding, and Iris stared out the window, watched Hampshire roll by, and tried not to think of either Lord Wrexley or Lord Huntington.
Several hours later, when the roof of Hadley House peeked through the tops of the trees at last, Iris straightened in her seat. “We’re nearly there.”
Violet leaned to look out the window. “Charlotte says it’s an odd house. Very large, with a maze of hallways leading in every direction.”
Iris smiled. “Captain West wasn’t as kind as that. He told me once Hadley House makes the London rookeries look organized.”
“I suppose we’ll find out soon enough. Now, don’t look so grim, Iris. You adore Charlotte, and Lady Tallant will be here, as well. You’ve always longed to make her acquaintance.” A sly grin drifted over Violet’s lips. “I doubt our grandmother knows she was invited.”
“Lady Tallant? Oh, dear.” Honora bit her lip. No doubt she was imagining what her own mother, Lady Fairchild, would say if she knew her daughter was attending a house party with one of London’s infamous wicked widows.
Of course, Charlotte herself had been a wicked widow, but she also happened to be the Marchioness of Hadley, so the ton was inclined to forgive her colorful past, particularly now that she was married to Captain Julian West, a celebrated Waterloo hero.
Lady Annabel Tallant, however, remained as wicked as ever. She was a dear friend of Charlotte’s, and the ton thought her so wicked, Lady Chase had forbidden her granddaughters the acquaintance, even after Iris begged for an introduction. She’d always been rather taken with Lady Tallant, despite her wickedness.
Or perhaps because of it.
“It’s bound to be a lively party, with—” Violet’s voice was swallowed by her sudden gasp, and she reached out to grip Iris’s arm.
“Violet? What is it?” Dread slithered up Iris’s spine.
“For goodness’s sake, Violet, are you ill?” Lady Honora went pale. “You’re frightening me!”
Violet didn’t answer, only pointed out the widow, toward the front of the house, where a small knot of people were gathered to welcome them. Charlotte, of course, and her husband, Captain West. Lady Tallant—oh, so elegant! And Lord Derrick, so handsome in his dark blue coat, and next to him—
Iris groped for Violet with one hand, and for Lady Honora with the other, her heart leaping into her throat.
Next to him, his mouth pulled into a stern line, his hazel eyes fixed on their carriage as it rolled up the drive, was Lord Huntington.