“Let’s put aside the question of the race for a moment. You might havemarriedLord Wrexley, Iris, and if you had, you can be sure your fortune would have ended in the pockets of every scoundrel in London. Forgive me, Honora,” Violet added, her face softening when Honora began to weep again.
“I still can’t quite believe it. Such a gentlemanly man. I never would have suspected this of him.” Charlotte shook her head, her lips pulled tight.
Iris glanced at Lady Annabel, who was the only one who hadn’t looked the least bit surprised to learn of Lord Wrexley’s perfidy. She raised an eyebrow at Iris in an unspoken question, and Iris gave her a tiny nod.
Lady Annabel cleared her throat. “Lord Huntington, Iris. What of that matter?”
“He’s…that is to say, we’re both…well, it’s all rather complicated—”
Violet, who’d never had much patience for equivocation, threw up her hands at this. “Oh, for goodness’ sake, Iris. It’s not as if anything you’ve said this morning makes the least bit of sense. Just say it, won’t you?”
“Very well, then. We’re betrothed.”
“What?” Violet stared at her. “How can you be betrothed? You’ve jilted him!”
“Twice.” Lady Annabel hid a smile behind her teacup. “But as they say, the third time’s the lucky one.”
“Twice? Whatever do you mean?” Violet looked from Lady Annabel to Iris, her eyes narrowed, but when neither of them answered, she threw up her hands and resumed her furious pacing. “Are you only marrying Lord Huntington because Lord Wrexley’s out of the question now? I know you’re worried about what Grandmother will say, and you want to avoid a scandal, but those are not sound reasons to marry. Grandmother will reconcile herself to the circumstances, and the scandal will fade, but a marriage is forever, Iris.”
“Not always.” Lady Annabel took a polite sip of her tea. “Just as well, too, in some cases.”
No one seemed to know quite what to say tothat, and a brief silence descended, but then Iris cleared her throat. “It’s not the scandal, or Grandmother, Violet. It’s…I was wrong about Lord Huntington. He’s really quite…well, I know he might not seem so from a casual acquaintance, but he’s nothing at all like I imagined he was.”
“You’re in love with him,” Violet said, her tone both relieved and irritated at once. “Well, Iris. I’m happy for you, but you could have saved us all a great deal of fuss and bother if you’d realized that two weeks ago.”
Lady Annabel laughed. “Ah, Miss Violet. I think you’ll find when it’s your turn love is many things, but convenient isn’t one of them.”
Violet darted a quick look at Lady Honora, then looked away. “I don’t intend to take another turn.”
“Well, I think it’s lovely.” For the first time that morning, Honora smiled. “I’m very pleased for you, Iris.”
“Yes, it’s a good match. I’ll think they’ll suit.” Lady Annabel winked at Iris. “But of course Lord Huntington won’t be at all pleased over this race business. I assume you’re thinking of racing, Iris, or you wouldn’t have called us here at such an ungodly hour.”
“I’m considering it, yes.”
Violet groaned. “Oh, no. Lord Huntington’s going to go mad when he hears of this. Really, Iris, you do know how to ruin an otherwise perfectly lovely house party. Why in the world would you choose to race?”
“Because Lord Wrexley is Honora’s cousin, Violet, and he’ll be obliged to flee to the Continent if he has to forfeit the money from this wager.”
He might simply turn around and wager it again, of course—wagering was a sickness, and it was made worse when one escaped the consequences of it, not better. But if Lord Wrexley stayed in England, there was at least a chance Honora and Lady Fairchild could help him, whereas if he fled to the Continent, he’d never return.
But there was more to it than that, and it had nothing to do with Lord Wrexley. Violet was right—Iris didn’t owe him a thing. Quite the opposite.
And yet…
She couldn’t quite forget it had been Lord Wrexley who’d encouraged her to run races with him on the lawn that day, and Lord Wrexley who’d arranged her first ride with Chaos. Oh, he hadn’t done it for her, of course. His intentions toward her had been far from honorable. Finn had been right all along when he said Lord Wrexley was only concerned with his own satisfaction.
But however villainous his intentions, Lord Wrexley’s feigned charm and wicked schemes had led to Iris finding a part of herself again. A part she treasured, and one she might have lost for good if he hadn’t happened along. She no longer had any illusions about Lord Wrexley. He wasn’t a good man, but this race wasn’t about him at all.
It was about her.
Perhaps it didn’t make sense, but this was something she felt compelled to do, with a kind of bone-deep certainty she couldn’t dismiss. If she did—if she turned a deaf ear when her every instinct was screaming at her to race, then where would it end? She’d turn a deaf ear the next time too, and then the next, until she’d denied the truth to herself for so long she’d no longer remember who she was anymore.
Finn wasn’t going to approve of this. That much was certain. But if he truly loved her, he’d never ask her to deny such an elemental part of herself, no matter what his objections might be. He’d want her to be who she was as much as she wanted it for herself.
“You’ll want to race Chaos, I expect. Poor Captain West isn’t at all ready for this new debacle, I’m afraid. He won’t like it any more than Lord Huntington does, but I may be able to persuade him.” Charlotte tapped her chin, considering. “He’ll want to see you ride Chaos first, though, Iris.”
“Chaos! What, that enormous gray beast?” Honora went pale. “Surely you don’t intend to racehim, Iris?”
