“Shy?He’s a marquess!”
“His title is irrelevant, Iris. When all the trappings are stripped away, he’s simply a man, just like any other.”
“He’s cold and detached. Don’t you think he’s cold and detached?” Iris was beginning to feel quite desperate.
Lady Annabel leaned forward in her chair and gave Iris a long, stern look. “Tell me, Iris. How many gentlemen do you know who’d marry a lady who’d been ruined by another man? Who’d go to the trouble to arrange a marriage for that lady, after she’d betrayed his trust in such a hurtful way? Miss Hughes committed a grave offence against Lord Huntington, and he would have been more than justified in letting her suffer the consequences of it. He didn’t—he saved her instead. Does that sound like something a cold, detached man would do?”
It didn’t. Of course it didn’t. “No.”
“And what of you, Iris? You jilted him. Perhaps you were justified in doing so, but he would have been equally justified in never giving you another thought after that. What must it have taken, do you suppose, for a proud man like Lord Huntington to chase you to Hampshire, and offer for you a second time to protect you from a scoundrel like Lord Wrexley? Again, do those sound like the actions of a cold, detached man?”
“No.” Iris’s cheeks burned with shame. “I’ve been unbearably selfish, haven’t I?”
“No. You’ve been unbearably young and inexperienced, and there’s nothing to be ashamed of in that, but now it’s time for you to behave like a woman, Iris, not a girl. As I said before, Lord Huntington isn’t an easy man. Do you understand what I mean by that?”
Iris was beginning to understand, but her intuition whispered when it came to Lord Huntington she’d hardly peeked under the surface. “He’s strong-willed.”
“Yes, he is. But then so are you. You’re well-matched in that way.”
“He’s overbearing and domineering. Controlling.”
Lady Annabel smiled. “Both in and out of the bedchamber, if Lady Beaumont can be believed. He needs a lady who can manage him, certainly.”
Iris thought of his flashing hazel eyes, his low, commanding voice, his stern jaw, and a shiver ran down her spine. “I haven’t the vaguest idea how to manage such a man.”
“I’m surprised to hear you say that, Iris, since you’ve been managing Lord Huntington since you arrived at Hadley House.”
Iris’s mouth fell open, and she regarded Lady Annabel in shock. “Why, what have I done to manage him? He lectured me for running races with Lord Wrexley, and he forbade me from riding Chaos, as if he had a right to forbid me anything, and—I didn’t tell you this, Lady Annabel—but he tried to takeSchool of Venusaway from me last night, as well.”
“And did he?”
“No. I, ah…I took it back from him.” Iris didn’t explainhowshe’d gotten it back. Lady Annabel was a wicked widow, yes, and likely wouldn’t be shocked, but Iris was still a bit shocked herself over what she’d done.
“What about the horse?” Lady Annabel swept a meaningful look over Iris’s riding habit.
“I rode Chaos this morning.”
“Ah. And the race?”
A hesitant smile touched Iris’s lips. “I told him it would do him good to race himself, and then I said…I believe I told him I’d bent one of my stays.”
Lady Annabel laughed. “It’s no wonder he’s so enamored of you.”
Iris’s smile faded. “I don’t know that he is.”
Lady Annabel moved to the edge of her chair, reached over, and took Iris’s hand. “He’s here, isn’t he? He’s here, and he’s made it clear he wishes to marry you.”
“Out of obligation, Lady Annabel, not love.”
“Do you truly believe that?”
Iris shook her head. She wasn’t sure what she believed anymore. “I don’t know. I’d ask you to help me untangle it, but you’ll say this is one of those decisions only I can make, won’t you?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so, but I will say this. It would be something special indeed to have the heart of a man like Lord Huntington entrusted to your keeping. I believe you’re strong enough to understand the value of it, and to do justice to it, but you’ll have to help him, Iris. He didn’t grow up surrounded by love, as you did. His childhood was a lonely one, and he won’t always know how to go on.”
Iris frowned, remembering something Lord Wrexley had told her. “Was there some scandal—something to do with his mother?”
“Yes. She left him when he was a boy—ran off with a Scotsman and never came back. There are rumors he has half-brothers there, a pack of wild Scots born on the wrong side of the blanket. His father died a few years after his mother left, and Lord Huntington was left to the care of a distant guardian, who promptly sent him off to Eton and left him there. It couldn’t have been easy on him. Boys are cruel. I’m sure you can imagine what he endured, given the scandal about his mother.”
