Chapter Eight
Iris had stayed by Lucy’s side the entire night, save a handful of dances, choosing to only dance when her charge also had a partner. This was a big enough ball that leaving the girl to her own devices could result in a disaster.
Lucy had certainly come a long way since they’d begun working together; she was a quick and eager student. She was no longer so nervous and jittery. Still, Iris could tell that Lucy did not yet feel as though she belonged in Society. Perhaps she never would. Iris had lived in this world, among these people, her entire life, and sometimes even she did not feel as though she fit in.
She’d tried to explain as much to Lucy, but the fact that Iris had been born into the aristocracy meant that she didn’t truly understand where Lucy was coming from. She hadn’t been borne into this life; she’d simply been dropped into it by way of her brother. All things considered, she was doing a remarkable job. After all, things could be much worse. She could be as bad as Lady Dearborn, the American heiress that Lord Dearborn had married to salvage his family’s coffers. The woman was crude, to say the very least. Her family had made their money in tobacco, and the poor woman had never quite shaken off the dirt.
Iris had even gone so far as to point out the woman to Lucy so she could watch her and recognize that she was, in fact, doing better. At least Lucy was English and didn’t have that crass American accent.
A gentleman approached, and the four of them—Iris, Harriet, Agnes, and Lucy—all curtseyed when he arrived. There was no hint as to why he’d stopped by their group or which lady had caught his eye. Iris had never met him, but it seemed that Agnes knew him because the man and her brother Christopher were acquaintances.
“Lord Vesper,” Agnes said.
“Lady Agnes, I was hoping you would introduce me to your charming friends,” he said, his eyes locked onto Lucy.
This was potentially a good thing. Thus far, all the gentlemen who had approached Lucy for a dance or an introduction had been much older than her, or had any number of other faults that Iris had seen—too rotund, too poor, too bald. Still, a dance was a dance, and it was good practice for Lucy. And the girl seemed to enjoy dancing, regardless of what her partner looked like.
Agnes went about introducing each of them to Lord Vesper, and he nodded appropriately, but his gaze lingered longest on Lucy. A good thing indeed. He then requested a dance, and it just so happened that the girl had an opening at the very next quadrille, so he led her gracefully to the ballroom floor. There was not too much touching in the quadrille, a perfect dance for a potential suitor.
It was on Iris’s tongue to ask Agnes about Lord Vesper, but at that moment Lord Wakefield came by to collect Agnes for their dance, the first of two he’d requested for the evening. Agnes had never been overly fond of dancing, but she seemed willing, perhaps even eager—if Agnes could ever be said to be eager about anything—to dance with him. Interesting. Then again, it could simply be that he was the man that Agnes had selected for her own redemption project. The Merritt to her Fletcher.
Harriet, too, had been pulled away for something, and Iris was left alone to watch the couples on the dance floor. From her right, though, she felt eyes on her. She tilted her head to look and found Merritt’s steel-blue gaze. He lifted a glass in her direction in a silent toast. It was a small movement, and one that most would miss, but she had caught it.
He was watching her.
Warmth spread through her, and she knew she likely blushed, but there was naught she could do about it. If anyone were to ask, she’d have to feign a headache or the like, but dear heavens, he was handsome. She could scarcely pull her eyes from him, and then they’d dart back of their own will like a moth to the proverbial flame.
He cut a striking figure in the ballroom. He stood taller than most. His raven-black hair fell in subtle waves as if they minded no one, and perhaps on another man it would have appeared untidy, but on him, it was perfect—and rather seductive as it beckoned for her to run her fingers through the soft curls. But she couldn’t very well do that here.
Good heavens, what was the matter with her? It was all those kisses he’d stolen from her. And the sensations he’d managed to pull from her body, as if she were an instrument and he the finest of musicians. He’d turned her into a wanton. And the other night in the carriage… Now her cheeks truly flamed. She turned her body away from him so that even if she wanted to, she could not see him, lest she turn around again. Thankfully, the set ended, and her companions had returned to her side.
Lord Vesper had no sooner deposited Lucy next to Iris than he backed into a footman carrying a tray of champagne glasses. They shattered on the floor around them and splashed onto Lord Vesper’s trousers and shoes.
“You daft fool!” he barked. “What the devil do you think you’re doing? Don’t simply stand there, clean me off!”
The footman nodded, and Iris cringed. The servant couldn’t have been more than ten and seven, ten and eight at the very most. His ruddy cheeks darkened, and his lip quivered ever so slightly. He fell to his knees and began wiping at Lord Vesper’s feet and legs.
Lord Vesper kicked out and nearly toppled the boy over. “You’re spreading it around.”
“Here, let me help,” Lucy said, then knelt by the footman and began gathering shards of the crystal glasses and setting them back on the tray.
Lord Vesper’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head at the sight. “What are you doing?”
“Helping,” Lucy said, a frown furrowing her brow.
“Get up,” Lord Vesper said. “People are watching.”
Lucy looked affronted. “I care not if people watch. The man needs assistance, and I am able bodied enough to do so.”
“It is true what they say, then. You are lowly born and merely performing a duty true to your social standing,” Lord Vesper spat.
Lucy balked.
Iris stepped over to the man and told herself to be careful. She squared her shoulders. “You have insulted my friend.”
“She is the daughter of a merchant.”
“She is the sister of an earl,” Iris said.
Lord Vesper snorted. “An earl by accident, by the demise of a very distant relation.”
“Perhaps, but she has more nobility in her right arm than you have in your entire body. And furthermore, she does not need to abuse a servant to explain away her clumsiness.” Then she turned away from him, knelt, and began to assist Lucy and the footman. Harriet and Agnes joined in as well.
She was breathing so heavily from anger and exhilaration she nearly felt faint. And then he was at her side.
Merritt.
…
He’d frozen when it had first happened. A stupid and foolish thing, but he hadn’t expected that sort of reaction from a gentleman. One of the old matrons, yes, he’d expected them to be vile and rude to Lucy. But he hadn’t thought the men would be. She was a beautiful girl and had a fat dowry. She would make a good match for any of the men in this room.
But that bastard had been cruel. Merritt hadn’t even fully heard the words, but he’d seen the man’s expression and then Lucy’s. And then Merritt had watched Iris speak to the man and whatever she had said to him had firmly put him in his place. He’d balked then turned on his heel and stormed off. And then all those women, bless them, had knelt with his baby sister and helped her do servant work, here in the midst of the ballroom.
When he finally reached them, two other servants had arrived with a broom and mop in tow. Merritt helped each of the ladies to their feet, and he nodded to all of them.
He leaned close to Iris’s ear. “I don’t even know how to thank you.”
“I hadn’t realized you’d heard.”
“I didn’t exactly hear, but I saw. I can gather what he said and your response.” He glanced at his sister and saw the tears glistening in her eyes. “I want to dance with you, want desperately to be close to you right now, but I need to take her home.”
“Go. I understand,” Iris said.
She was beautiful and kind and bold and brave and a million other amazing things all tied into one woman unlike any he’d ever met. He bowed, then took Lucy by the arm and led her out.
In the carriage, he expected Lucy to cry, but she didn’t. She’d swiped at her cheeks once and then squared her shoulders, much as he’d seen Iris do in the ballroom.
“She’s remarkable, isn’t she, Merritt?” Lucy asked.
“Lady Iris? Yes, she is.” What happened tonight may have highlighted how remarkable a woman Iris was, but it had revealed something else as well: how vile many members of Society truly were. After all, four women had knelt to help his sister, but an entire ballroom full had stared in shock and whispered about her behind their fans. Yes, there were far more Lord Vespers in Society.
“You should marry her.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I am serious. You do need a wife.”
He’d be a liar if he said he hadn’t had that very thought himself, but he’d shoved it aside. Iris was a true lady. He was a newspaperman. Yes, he now bore the title of earl, but in truth, that wasn’t him. He was a merchant’s son, and marrying her would fully entrench him into the aristocracy in a way that he’d been able to avoid thus far.
“She would be the perfect partner for you.”
Something that felt remarkably like guilt gnawed at him. But he hadn’t done anything wrong. The story he was writing would be anonymous. He’d seen Iris move through Society with grace; no one would ever suspect she had skills that no proper lady ought to. He knew there had to be other women out there, else who would have trained her. The story itself was so sensational, he doubted anyone would believe it was true. He shoved that guilt aside.
“Yes, it is rather astounding that she isn’t married already,” he said.
“You know why, though, don’t you?”
“No, I don’t believe I do.”
“Oh, it’s quite tragic. She never had a proper introduction into Society. Never had a coming out ball as young ladies generally do.”
“How so?” Merritt asked, unable to hide his curiosity. “She is the daughter of an earl.”
“Indeed, but only three months before her debut, her father died, and the entire family went into mourning.” Lucy shook her head.
“That is rather tragic,” Merritt said.
“That is not all,” Lucy said. “After a year, she was set to debut again, a bit older, but still young and beautiful, and then her mother died.”
How had he not heard any of this part of Iris’s past? He’d only inquired into her reputation, he hadn’t looked beyond the last couple of years. He’d merely wanted to ensure that Lucy would be in capable hands.
“So back into mourning?” he asked.
“Yes, but also a move directly here to London to live with their aunt and uncle. I believe Iris’s brother was only nine or ten at the time, and though he normally would have been sent off to school, Iris kept him home with her for three additional years. At that point, Iris decided she didn’t want a proper debut and asked that her aunt do a small introduction. But Iris never got to be a debutante the way most ladies of good breeding do.”
“Does this have any effect on whether I host a proper ball for you?” he asked.
“I have not decided on that yet,” Lucy said, her voice filled with caution. “You were right, though. They can be cruel. But many of them are delightful.”
Iris was unmarried because she hadn’t had a ball. Certainly that couldn’t be the only reason. She was a beautiful, intelligent woman who stood out in any crowd. Perhaps she’d had a string of suitors, even proposals, and she’d declined for whatever reason. And at what point had she left her aunt and uncle and gone to live in her family’s townhouse in London with her brother? He’d been a young heir, and she’d been his surrogate mother. No wonder she was so protective of him.
Again, guilt pressed into him, this time more sharply, as if he’d stepped on a shard of glass. He shoved it away. He hadn’t gotten where he was today without making enemies. Not that he saw Iris as an enemy. True, he’d questioned his decision to run the story about Iris and her unique skills, especially after what she’d done for Lucy tonight. He had already contacted his usual sources to look for anyone who might know about such training for proper ladies. So far, he’d received no additional details, but he knew that these things take time. It was best that Iris didn’t read his paper because she would likely see the upcoming story as an act of betrayal.
At this point, though, Merritt had lost sight of why he had made this bargain with her in the first place. Yes, he wanted her help with Lucy, and she’d more than accommodated him. He should reward her by pulling those foolish articles from his paper. Perhaps what he truly needed to do, though, was pull her brother aside and have a conversation with him.
The Earl of Nickerson shouldn’t be too difficult to find. Merritt could invite him to the newspaper’s offices. Since he was such a fan, perhaps he’d see that as a compliment and be more receptive to Merritt’s comments. Surely, the boy didn’t torment his sister on purpose, after all that she’d endured losing her parents the way she had. And now she lived primarily to assist others, taking care with her brother’s reputation and taking care of crime on the streets of London.
Remarkable indeed.
Merritt sat at a back table at Walsh’s gentleman’s club. Though he had seen the man he sought as soon as he’d stepped into the room, Merritt had chosen to wait and observe a while before approaching him. Jasper Bennington, Earl of Nickerson, Iris’s younger brother. Merritt could see the similarities in their appearance—they shared the same lean height and similar coloring, but where Iris’s hair was a vibrant red, Jasper’s was a pale strawberry blond.
At the moment, the boy sat at a table playing a game of chance. He looked well into his cups, and it was not even nine in the evening. This was not what Merritt’s articles were about. Obviously, the boy was simply using them as an excuse to misbehave.
“Lord Ashby,” a voice said from his right.
Merritt looked to find Christopher Watkins standing there, and he nodded in response.
“May I join you for a moment?”
“Of course.”
“I wanted to speak to you about your series of articles, the ones on being a gentleman,” Watkins said.
Splendid. Had Iris persuaded her friend’s brother to convince him to put a stop to the articles? He certainly didn’t need another lecture about them.
Christopher sat and scooted his chair closer to the table. “The piece about being discreet whilst seducing your staff was particularly enjoyable.”
Merritt raised a brow. Perhaps Iris was correct and he was, in fact, being a bad influence on the weaker members of the aristocracy.
“I’ve found all of the pieces entertaining, but this one was quite amusing. But I must know, was that referring to Lord Sanderson’s scandal with all of the ladies’ maids in his household?”
Merritt smiled. On the other hand, perhaps here was a gentleman who actually recognized the articles for what they were intended to be.
“I’m afraid I cannot reveal my sources or inspiration,” Merritt said. But he was impressed that the man had figured out the truth. Merritt always worked hard to make his anonymous stories as discreet as possible. It created a puzzle, which only fed the gossipmongers.
Christopher smiled knowingly.
They talked for several more minutes about the nature of the articles. By the time Christopher excused himself, Merritt was forced to question the one opinion he’d held most tightly. Perhaps, there might be an intelligent man with a title after all.
Except once Chris had left him to his own devices, Merritt was once again faced with the unpleasant task of watching Nickerson piss away more of Iris’s carefully managed money.
There may be one intelligent man with a title, but it most assuredly wasn’t Lord Nickerson.
It was time for them to have a talk, man to man. Merritt scrawled a note on a calling card and sent it with a footman over to Jasper’s table. The boy looked at the card, and the messenger indicated where Merritt sat. Jasper nodded, then finished his hand and stood, making a bit of a to-do about having to meet with another peer.
Jasper walked over to Merritt’s table, and Merritt had to give him credit. He walked a perfectly straight line and didn’t amble or sway in the least.
“You requested a meeting with me,” Jasper said as he dropped himself into a chair. He frowned at Merritt. “Do we know each other?”
“No, though I am an acquaintance of your sister’s,” Merritt said.
Jasper’s expression didn’t shift. “Is that why you wanted to speak with me?”
Merritt leaned forward, clasped his hands together. “Partially. Do you know who I am, Nickerson?”
The boy glanced down at the calling card in his hand. “The Earl of Ashby.”
Merritt grinned. “Yes, but also, I own the Daily Scandal.”
That seemed to impress him more than any connection Merritt had with Iris. “Excellent paper,” Jasper said.
“Yes, thank you for that assessment.” Merritt considered the best way to broach the subject and decided abruptly and bluntly would be the best way. Jasper didn’t seem to be too keen on making inferences. “I know you have enjoyed the series of articles on how to be a gentleman.”
Jasper nodded. “My sister talks too much.”
Merritt chuckled. “I suppose you could say that about her, but she is concerned for your welfare.”
“Did she ask you to speak with me?” Jasper pressed his hands on the table and made to stand.
“On the contrary, I believe your sister would be rather annoyed with me were she to discover anything about this meeting,” Merritt said.
Jasper leaned back, pacified for the moment. “She has nothing to worry about. I am a grown man.”
“Indeed. I’d dare say a grown man of what, eight and ten?”
“Nine and ten. Only last month.” Jasper tugged at his chin where a hint of whiskers grew. Merritt doubted the boy could fill in a full beard if he so chose.
“Yes, well, as a man, you should know that from time to time we gentlemen can share experiences and give advice.”
Jasper’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Go on.”
“Well, I understand you are taking to heart some of the information from the articles.” Merritt leaned forward so that they could exchange a great secret. “It is not known in many circles, but not only am I the editor of said articles, but I wrote them as well.”
Jasper leaned forward as well. “Indeed? Then you have many pieces of advice to share?”
“Precisely.” Merritt had already assessed that explaining the articles were meant more in jest than practicality would not work with Jasper. “But you should know that those pieces were not meant to be taken quite so literally. Drinking and gambling should be done, after all, in moderation. One does not want to waste away one’s mind and fortune in the darkened rooms of clubs when one could be at home enjoying the warmth of softer creatures.” The image of Iris, nude and snuggled against him, flashed through Merritt’s mind.
“Ah yes, women. I have had my fair share,” Jasper said.
Merritt doubted as much, but wasn’t going to call into question the boy’s words. “What I am telling you is, slow down. You do not need to enjoy all the fleshly treats in these first few years. You have plenty of time to lose the family fortune in a game of chance.”
Jasper frowned and waved his hand. “This is how gentlemen behave. I’ve seen it.” He motioned at the room around them. “It is how all these men behave. You also, no doubt.”
“I have had my share of drunken nights, but I’ve never lost a coin in one single game of chance.”
“How is that possible?” Jasper asked.
“I do not play.”
“Well, that speaks nothing of your skill,” Jasper said.
“Do not misunderstand. I did not say that I don’t know how to play; I simply choose not to. I’ve worked far too hard for the funds in my coffers to fritter them away with a deck of cards.”
“My family has a very fine coffer,” Jasper said.
Iris’s brother had a weak character. That much was evident. No wonder she was concerned and willing to put the blame elsewhere so she didn’t have to admit the truth to herself. “Perhaps, but no fortune is never ending. Take care. Gamble less. Drink less. Worry your sister less.”
Jasper’s eyes narrowed. “That is what this is about, isn’t it?”
“What?”
“Iris.” Jasper paused, eyed Merritt. “Are you in love with my sister, Ashby?”
“You are a fool. This is not about your sister. This is about the integrity of my articles. You, sir, are making a mockery of my advice.” And with that Merritt stood and walked away.
In love with Iris? That was preposterous. He desired Iris; he recognized that. It was hard to ignore.
Merritt did not believe in love, aside from the familial type. He’d thought he’d fallen in love once, but he’d been a fool. The woman, the daughter of a viscount, had been everything he’d sought in a potential mate: smart, funny, beautiful. Unfortunately, he hadn’t been good enough for her. She had never seen past his lack of title, despite his fortune. Though she claimed to care about him, she “simply couldn’t marry without a title.”
That had been the moment he’d realized the truth about the gentry. They cared for nothing but bloodlines. All of the things he valued most—hard work, ambition, integrity—mattered naught to them.