Iris wasn’t sure there was a time in their marriage that she’d liked the man she’d married. She’d certainly never respected him and, in fact, learned to loathe him very early in their life together.
They stepped out the front door and onto the street. The sun was high and felt warm on their shoulders as they walked. Carriages rolled by and horses’ hooves clopped along.
“Shall we endeavor to find some peppermint sticks?”
“Yes, please.”
Well, that was a quick response. Clearly, Henry had liked Theo’s offerings.
They walked for a while, letting the afternoon sun warm them, not exactly chatting, but she asked him questions, which he answered.
“We have yet to examine those shops there.” Iris pointed across the road. “Shall we do so now?”
“Yes, please,” Henry said politely.
They were about to cross the road when a large, lumbering carriage pulled to a stop before them.
“Where are you going?” the elderly occupant demanded of Iris and Henry.
Searching her memory for the woman’s name, she found one—the Duchess of Yardly. The woman her uncle had warned her to stay away from.
“Good day to you, Duchess.” Iris dropped into a curtsy.
“Who is that?” She jabbed a walking stick in Henry’s direction.
“That is my son, Lord Challoner. Henry, this is the Duchess of Yardly.”
Her son bowed.
The woman wore a hideous shade of plum. Iris loved the color normally. But this was more a bruised plum that had been left on the tree too long. The dress was made up of a great quantity of fabric and reached her chin. The sleeves were puffy and nipped in at the elbow. Lace banded the cuff and under the bodice.
It was a total fashion disaster, but Iris found herself liking it simply for the audacity of wearing it in a public setting and clearly not caring what anyone thought.
“Hello, Henry. This is Walter.” The duchess jabbed her cane toward the large gray-haired dog seated across from her. “And this is Romulus.” She swung the cane to where a small brown dog was sitting beside Walter. The little dog was gazing at him adoringly.
Beside her, Henry rose to his toes to look in the carriage. He loved animals, but his father had forbidden one from entering their household. Iris had thought about getting a dog for him. She’d just not gotten around to it yet.
“Come and greet them, boy,” the duchess said.
Much to Iris’s surprise, Henry did as she asked. Moving to the carriage, he opened the door.
“They both like to be patted. Walter, especially, loves his ears ruffled,” the duchess added. She now had both hands balanced on her cane and a surprisingly gentle look on her face.
“You have two lovely dogs,” Iris said, joining her son. She held out a hand, and Walter sniffed it.
“Romulus is mine, but Walter is Dimity’s—Lady Raine’s—dog. He wanders between houses, as he was raised on the streets. You never know when he will turn up,” she said and then cackled, sounding to Iris exactly like a witch would.
“Would you like to join me? I thought to have a drive around the park and see what those fools are up to. I like to hurl out a few insults to keep them on their toes,” the duchess added.
“Fools?” Iris asked. Henry was now on his knees inside the carriage patting both dogs. Walter licked his cheek with a long slurp, and Romulus was nuzzling his hand. Her son’s smile told her they needed to get a dog. It was genuine and happy.
“Society, gal! Keep up.”
“Right, of course. Thank you for your kind offer, but we are going to find peppermint sticks,” Iris said. “I am not dressed for promenading.”
“Neither am I.” The duchess cackled again. “Very well, I will not force you. After all, society is an acquired taste and takes time to adjust to. But, Henry, I wish for you to come and visit me. You can walk Romulus.”
“Really?” Her son sounded excited.
