Bolstered by her mother’s words, she vowed to be the dutiful daughter her father expected her to be. She’d meet with Mr. Ershwin and Mr. Newhurst when they came to call, confident in the fact that her path would soon cross with Tristan’s once more.
Eight
Despite the dire circumstances Tristan had left behind when he’d gone off to seek employment, nothing prepared him for Iris’s despair upon his return. She burst into tears as soon as he entered the parlor and found her. And as he hugged her close, her delicate shoulders shook while muffled sobs squeezed at his heart.
“What is it?” He ran a soothing hand over her back and did his best to squash his rising panic. “What’s happened?”
“I am…I am…to be…married,” she choked out between gulps of air.
The breath seized in Tristan’s lungs, trapped there until he managed to hiss it free. His hold on his sister tightened while thoughts poured through his mind.You’re only sixteen. You’ve not even made your debut. This simply can’t be.
Forcing himself to exude an air of calm for her sake, he eased away just enough to face her, handed her a handkerchief, and gently asked, “To whom?”
She dabbed at her red–rimmed eyes, then at her nose. “To Baron Shrewsberry.”
It took every ounce of control Tristan possessed not to roar at her pronouncement. Allowing his fury free reign wouldn’t make Iris feel better. Nor would it help the situation as a whole. But the very idea of Papa agreeing to hand his daughter over to an old lecher like Shrewsberry made Tristan’s skin crawl.
Married twice before, the baron had an uncanny ability to outlive wives who were decades younger than he. Whether because he possessed an almost supernatural degree of good health or because the poor women gave up on living once shackled to him, Tristan did not know. What he was absolutely certain of was that he would do all in his power to make sure Iris remained safe from the man.
He found a smile he’d not believed he had in his possession. “Don’t worry. I’ll speak with Papa.”
More like murder him where he stood unless he saw reason.
“And say what?” Iris slumped into a chair with all the appearance of a drooping flower. “This match was Papa’s idea. He approached Shrewsberry because he knows the man favors young girls and that he’s been struggling to find a new bride whose parents will give their consent.”
“Your consent is required as well,” Tristan gritted.
“And I shall give it,” Iris said. She raised her chin and straightened her back, showing strength for the first time since Tristan’s arrival. “For Emma’s sake.”
“For…” Tristan blinked. “No. You do not have to sacrifice yourself for any of us. Emma wouldn’t want that any more than I do.”
“One of us deserves to marry well and with the funds made available to me through marriage, Emma will be able to have a proper debut. Shrewsberry already agreed to cover the expense. It’s in the contract.”
“The contract is already drawn?” Tristan could scarcely believe it. No one had mentioned a thing. Not one word about any of this in the letters he had received from Mama or from Iris during his absence.
As if reading his thoughts, Iris told him, “We knew you’d protest, so we thought it best not to tell you since it’s the only way forward for our family.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Tristan asked, the control he’d held on his anger finally slipping.
“It means Papa has gambled away whatever money you sent us.”
“How can that be when I sent those funds to Mama so she could make sure they were spent on necessities? Which she assured me they would be when she wrote to thank me.”
“You know she hates confrontation as much as I do,” Iris told him. “All Papa had to do was show his anger and she relented.”
Tristan pushed his fingers through his hair. “Dear God. This is a nightmare.”
“The wedding is to take place in a couple of weeks.” Iris’s voice cracked as fresh tears slid down her cheeks. With a sniff, she swiped them away.
“We’ll run away and take Emma with us. Anything to escape this.”
“What?” Iris stared at him, wide–eyed.
“Surely you must have thought of such a recourse yourself.” He couldn’t imagine her not doing so.
“Of course I have, but what sort of life would that be? There’s no guarantee a worse fate won’t find us. Emma is only ten and since you’d have to work, you’d not be there to protect her or me. What if one of us gets sick? What if you die and leave us penniless?”
“I can assure you I’ve no intention of dying.”
