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 theonlystep, 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 alwaysknoweverything? “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 fromsomething, 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?
