Iris watched from the corner of her eye as they strolled toward the garden, stifling the overwhelming urge to hurl her ball at Lord Huntington’s broad back. He hadn’t wasted any time taking her advice about Lady Honora, had he?
Well, it was nothing to her. She just hadn’t imagined he’d fling himself headlong into a new courtship when just yesterday he’d burst intoherbedchamber and demandedshemarry him.
But he’d already ruined her morning, and she refused to spend her afternoon wondering what he and Honora would get up to in the gardens. Not that she cared one bit what Lord Huntington did, but he’d made rather a muck of his stroll in the garden withher. Perhaps he meant to do better this time.
And if he didn’t intend to kiss Honora in the garden, then why should he look so eager? No one wanted a walk that badly.
Honora’s arm was tucked securely into his and she was looking up at him, her dark eyes alight, a sweet smile gracing her lips. He was speaking to her in low tones, a smile hovering at the corners of his mouth as he gazed down at her. Whatever he was saying, Honora seemed to find it fascinating. She seemed to findhimfascinating.
Honora, and every other lady in London.
Every other lady, that is, but Iris.
He never smiled at me like that.
No, he hadn’t, and she’d jilted him for it. It was done, and now Lord Huntington might court whoever he wished. After all, Iris had meant every word she’d said about Honora making a splendid marchioness. Indeed, it was as if she’d been born to the role, and if Lord Huntington was satisfied with treating young ladies as if they were interchangeable, that was all very well.
Iris didn’t have a word to say about it. Not one word.
But if she did have a word, that word would be—
“…Offensive. I beg your pardon, Miss Somerset, for my foul temper. I’m ashamed of my poor sportsmanship.” A warm hand cupped her elbow, and she looked up to find Lord Wrexley grinning down at her, not looking ashamed in the least.
He really had the most charming grin. Oh, perhaps it wasn’t as mesmerizing as Lord Huntington’s slow curve of the lips, but if it didn’t quite steal her breath away, at least Lord Wrexley didn’t hoard his smiles, as if giving one away would leave him with one fewer, instead of earning him one in return.
“Oh, I don’t blame you, my lord. It’s the game, I think. It tries one’s patience, doesn’t it?”
He sighed, and let the ball in his hand fall to the ground with a dull thud. “I haven’t played bowls in ages, but I don’t recall ever finding it so tedious before. Has it always been?”
Iris, who preferred much more energetic exercise to the sedate games deemed appropriate for ladies, let out an answering sigh. “I believe so, yes. We could play at shuttlecock, if you like, but it’s just as dull.”
“No, let’s not. I’m frightened of shuttlecocks.”
A laugh bubbled up in Iris’s throat. “No, you’re not. What nonsense, my lord.”
“No, indeed. One flew right into my face when I was a boy, and the feathery end poked me in the eye. Nearly blinded me. I stay far away from the wretched things. What about you, Miss Somerset? No devastating shuttlecock injuries in your past?”
“No, but we didn’t play shuttlecock much when I was a child. Bowls, either. My father was an avid sportsman, you see. If he’d had a son, perhaps my sisters and I would have had to content ourselves with lawn games, but as it was, we were forever dirtying our frocks with climbing trees and running races, or charging about the countryside on horseback.”
Iris’s throat swelled a little. She tried not to think about those carefree days now. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d flown across the countryside on horseback, her eyes streaming from the wind and every pin scattering until her hair flew out behind her. It felt like another lifetime.
“The elegant Miss Somerset, in a dirty frock? How scandalous. I wish I’d seen it.”
His pale blue eyes gleamed as he smiled down at her, and warmth flooded Iris’s cheeks. “Oh, well.” She gave him a shy glance. “Perhaps we should run a race, then.”
She’d spoken in jest, but Lord Wrexley seized on the idea at once. “Yes, of course! That’s just what we should do.”
“But I can’t. This gown…” Iris glanced down at her dainty, pin-tucked muslin gown.
Pink, of course. They were all pink.
“It’s a pretty gown.” Lord Wrexley’s gaze drifted over her figure. “But if you tear it, you have others, don’t you?”
“Yes.” She did, dozens of others—a veritable regiment of dainty pink gowns. All at once Iris had a sudden, savage urge to rip into every sweet pink fold of this one, until she’d torn a gaping hole into each of the tiny gatherings.
“Well, then?” Lord Wrexley’s lips curved in a most tempting smile. “Shall we race?”
“It’s not proper.” She glanced over at the terrace. Several ladies had come to call, and Charlotte had taken them out to the terrace for refreshments. “Lady Hadley’s guests, and Lord Derrick, and Lord Huntington…”
