by Eva Shepherd
But she had been wrong about the reason for his surprise. While he did object strongly to anyone who dared to see him as in need of their help, if he had shown any reluctance it was because when he had touched her naked arm, when his fingers had felt her bare skin, he’d had a somewhat disconcerting reaction, one which he did not wish to experience again.
They formed a line of couples, then paraded out of the drawing room, down the hallway and into the dining room. Lady Iris led him to their chairs and he was pleased to discover they were seated together. No doubt that had been arranged by the mother.
He tilted his head and concentrated, listening carefully until he detected Estelle’s sweet voice from the end of the table, chatting happily, presumably to her husband.
Bitter bile rose up his throat. He should not have done that. He did not need to be reminded that she was now happily married. The pain she had caused him meant nothing to her. She had moved on with her life and left him far behind, discarded and forgotten.
If he was to survive this dinner party he was going to have to do his darnedest to ignore Estelle’s presence.
Taking his napkin, he flicked it hard, then, gripping the edges, placed it on his lap, trying to blot out the sound of her voice.
But that was impossible. It was as if all his senses were focused on Estelle. The sound of her laughter rose above the cacophony of voices, causing him to wince. Once that laughter had brought him so much joy. Now it cut through him like a lance.
‘I’m sorry you have to endure this,’ Lady Iris said quietly. ‘I don’t know what has happened between the two of you and I don’t expect you to tell me, but I can see that this is causing you pain, and I am sorry you were forced to attend this dinner party.’
He shook his head. ‘It is of no mind.’
‘Please be assured, my mother is not a cruel woman. She would never do anything to anyone that she thought might hurt them and would never have expected you to attend this dinner if she had known it would cause you to suffer such distress.’
He could point out that her mother had all but threatened him, had given him the option of attending this dinner party or having to suffer the horror of a constant stream of visitors, but Lady Iris was trying to be kind and was showing remorse on her mother’s behalf.
‘You have nothing to remonstrate yourself for.’ And in that he was not merely being polite. This dinner party was not her fault. Estelle’s presence was not her fault. And he had to admit, having her at his side was at least making something that would otherwise be intolerable, almost bearable. It was as if there was someone on his side, and for that he appreciated her.
Perhaps he had somewhat underestimated Lady Iris. He had dismissed her as a mere chatterbox with a perpetually sunny disposition, but there was much more to her than that. She had shown bravery when she had entered his room, and now he could see that she also had a sensitive, compassionate nature. She had also refrained from asking him about his reaction to Estelle’s presence. He had expected her curiosity to get the better of her and for her to at least ask some subtle questions to prompt him into revelations, but she had not even hinted that she expected him to reveal all. He knew from experience that young women loved to gossip, but maybe this young woman was the exception.
That was something else he should perhaps apologise for. He had unfairly misjudged her when she had entered his life, dripping wet but still cheerful. Yes, there was certainly more depth to the young lady than he had at first assumed.
The first course was served and Iris made the required polite conversation. Theo forced himself to make equally polite responses—after all, as he’d already conceded, none of this was Lady Iris’s fault. In fact, she was giving him every impression that she had his best interests at heart, something he had not experienced for a long time, if ever.
So the least he could do was be civil and polite, even if what he really wanted to do was leave this damn dinner party and escape back to his sanctuary, away from these people, away from Estelle and away from the reminder of what he had once had.
When the next course was served, Lady Iris turned from him to speak to Lord Pratley, while Theo made murmured agreements to the lady on his left while she twittered on about the weather and the highlights of the Season, the favoured conversation topics of Society ladies.
Rising above the politely murmured conversation, Theo could hear Lord Pratley talking to—or should that be talking at?—Lady Iris. His conversation appeared to consist entirely of compliments, telling Lady Iris how beautiful she looked tonight, how her pink gown flattered her complexion, a complexion he compared to the pink blush on a white rose, how her blue eyes were sparkling like sapphires, and her beautiful blonde hair was like rich, creamy buttermilk.
In response to each compliment, Lady Iris merely said a polite, almost bored thank-you. Could the man not tell that his compliments were not having the desired effect, that the recipient was not enjoying his flattery? A lack of vanity was another of Lady Iris’s more admirable qualities, or at least she was not susceptible to flattery the way so many other young ladies were.
In that way she differed remarkably from Estelle, who could never get enough compliments. And when he had been with Estelle he had indulged her vanity at every opportunity. Had he sounded as pitiful as Lord Pratley did right now when he had showered Estelle with compliments? That was not what Theo had thought at the time. All he was aware of was the wonderful fact that he was engaged to the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, a woman who was desired by so many men. She had never tired of hearing how beautiful she was and he had never tired of telling her so.
He had to admit that sometimes it had been as if he was praising his most prized possession, and the compliments were for himself and his ability to attract the attentions of a woman so many other men wanted. Like a puffed-up ass, he had thought being the fiancé of such a beautiful woman somehow reflected on his prowess as a man. He had enjoyed being the envy of other men and had been proud to have Estelle on his arm. Such conceit now seemed so petty and pointless.
But he had loved Estelle, and deep down, despite what had happened between them, that love had never died.
Lord Pratley’s loud voice interrupted his thoughts. He had now moved on to Lady Iris’s lips, which he was comparing to rosebuds, rich claret and ripe strawberries. Then he went back to her eyes. Apparently sparkling sapphires weren’t enough, because Pratley believed they also bore a striking similarity to the sky on a summer’s day, and to cornflowers and borage. Borage? Was that even blue? Theo had no idea.
Instead of encouraging more of his compliments, as he knew Estelle would have done, Lady Iris turned the conversation to Lord Pratley’s planned fishing trip to Norway. As the Viscount talked about all the salmon he planned to catch, where he would be staying and the adventures he and his friends were expecting to have, Lady Iris merely made murmurs of interest. Theo wondered what the expression on her face would reveal. Was she bored? Her responses had been polite but showed no real enthusiasm. Or was she enjoying the Viscount’s company?
‘It’s a shame you can’t come with us,’ he heard Lord Pratley say. ‘But maybe you will next year?’ Pratley gave a loud guffaw, which drowned out any response Lady Iris might have made.
Theo gripped his knife and fork more tightly. The audacity of the man. Was he assuming that he would be married to Lady Iris before next year’s fishing season? She had said nothing about Pratley being her intended. Her mother had said Lady Iris received many offers each Season, and Pratley’s clumsy attempt at courting suggested that she did indeed have at least one conquest this year, one she was evidently not particularly interested in.
Theo had to wonder why not. Why would Lady Iris not be interested in a courtship with Pratley? Theo thought him a buffoon, but he was a good catch for any unmarried young lady. He was from a distinguished lineage, was known to have a substantial estate and income, and, as fa
r as Theo knew, had all his faculties. So why was the mother interested in Theo when Lady Iris already had an equally, if not better, catch already on her hook?
Although the question he should be asking himself was, why did he care? Lady Iris was merely a casual acquaintance, one who meant nothing to him. Her mother might be seeing him as a potential husband, but neither he nor Lady Iris saw it that way. Why should he care what was happening between Lady Iris and Lord Pratley? But still, the impertinence of the man made his blood boil.
‘Sir, may I remove your plate? The next course is about to be served,’ a footman said close to his ear, interrupting Theo’s thoughts.
He released the tightly held knife and fork and sat back in his chair while the servants shuffled round them, serving the next course.
‘Oh, salmon, lovely—my favourite,’ Lady Iris said in her usual sunny voice.
‘Well, you’ll be able to catch all the salmon you want next season, won’t you?’ he said, his voice more curt than he’d intended. ‘Enjoy fishing, do you?’
‘Were you eavesdropping on my conversation with Lord Pratley?’ she said, a teasing note in her voice.
‘I could hardly avoid hearing Pratley prattle on, could I?’ he said quickly, to cover up any embarrassment over being caught doing something that might suggest he cared about her relationship with another man.
‘Hmm, well, in answer to your question, I have no idea whether I enjoy fishing or not because I’ve never tried.’
He wanted to say that would make her unique among young ladies. She might not have tried salmon fishing but fishing for a suitable husband was a sport most young women excelled at. He knew from bitter experience what it was like to be reeled in by a beautiful woman. Men could be so ridiculous at times. Just like Pratley, he had once thought he was the one who had done the chasing, but he had been skilfully landed like a helpless fish at the mercy of an accomplished angler.
‘Perhaps when you’re married to Pratley and he whisks you off to Norway you’ll be able to find out,’ he bit out.
What on earth was wrong with him? Why should he care whether she married Pratley or any other man? The strain of the evening was having more of an effect on him than he had realised. The sooner this evening was over and he could return home the better. In the meantime, he needed to rein himself in and adopt a more composed manner.
She laughed lightly, but made no comment. But why should he expect her to tell him what her arrangement was with Lord Pratley? He had no more right to ask her about Pratley than she had to ask him about Estelle. And, he had to admit, she had been a lot more restrained than he was in that regard.
‘Eat your food—it will be getting cold,’ he said to cover his discomfort. He lifted his wine glass and was pleased that the weight showed the footman had refilled it.
‘Well, it’s actually a salmon mousse, so I don’t think there’s much danger of its getting cold.’ She gave another of her little laughs. Did this young woman laugh at everything? ‘And you had better drink some more of your wine. It’s probably in equal danger of getting cold.’
‘As you command, my lady,’ he said, taking a long quaff.
He was being unfair to her and he knew it. It was hardly her fault if Pratley had intentions towards her. And it mattered not a bit to him whether she had intentions towards Pratley or not.
He needed to settle down, stop being a cad and go back to making polite conversation like the well-bred gentleman he had once been.
He racked his brain for something polite and pointless to talk about, but nothing would come. Once he had been the master of making small talk. Using a lot of words to say virtually nothing had become second nature to him, honed over years of attending dinner parties such as this and seemingly endless balls. But now he was out of practice and could think of nothing trivial to say.
Before any witty comment or pithy observation could occur to him the sound of Estelle’s tinkling laugh rose above the polite murmur of the other guests’ voices again. Lady Iris appeared to have heard it as well, as the sound of her knife and fork on her plate ceased. Although why Estelle’s happiness should affect Lady Iris he did not know. But then, neither did he know why Pratley’s assumption that he would be marrying Lady Iris should affect him the way it did.
Estelle’s joyful laughter rang out yet again, cutting him to the quick, and causing every muscle in his body to tense.
He grabbed his glass, lifted it to his lips and was annoyed to discover it empty. With a tap on the glass, he signalled to the servant that he needed more wine now. The man instantly leant over him and refilled the glass.
Theo drained it, trying to steady his mind and relax his body. He knew from experience wine could not anaesthetise pain, but tonight he was going to give it another try.
* * *
Iris looked down the table, to where Lady Redcliffe was seated. She was smiling brightly, laughing loudly and talking animatedly, as if she was having the best time of her life. And yet, she kept flicking quick glances in the Earl’s direction as if to reassure herself that she had his attention.
Her husband gave the appearance of either being oblivious to this behaviour, or enjoying it, sitting across the table from her, looking as proud as a peacock. Every man around her was focused on Lady Redcliffe and she was glowing, revelling in being the centre of attention.
Iris wished Lady Redcliffe would stop laughing so loudly and drawing attention to herself. Iris rarely cared about such things. After all, her family could get raucous at times and she herself was known to laugh loudly on occasion, even when she knew such behaviour was deemed unacceptable for a young lady. But even though she wished it wasn’t so, Lady Redcliffe’s laughter was grating on her nerves. Was it because it sounded so false, or was it because of the effect it was having on the Earl? Or, much worse than either of those reasons, was it simply that she was jealous because Lady Redcliffe was drawing the Earl’s attention away from her? Was she that self-centred? The poor man was suffering and she was being a vain and frivolous woman, wanting to keep his attention all to herself.
Yes, she was pathetic, and not particularly nice. It was the Earl that was being forced to endure something which was causing him great anguish, and here she was feeling sorry for herself.
He should never have been forced to attend this dinner party. If it weren’t for her and her mother the Earl would be at home beside his fire with Max. She looked down to the other end of the table, where her mother was sitting beside Lord Walberton. Her mother sent her a sad smile. Lady Redcliffe’s behaviour and the Earl’s reaction had not been missed by her ever-astute mother.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Iris murmured.
He shook his head. ‘You’ve nothing to be sorry for,’ he said, raising his hand to signal the footman. ‘And certainly not for this rather fine Bordeaux.’
He lowered his glass and drew in a deep breath. ‘Lady Iris, really, you have nothing to apologise for,’ he repeated, his voice conciliatory. ‘I’m a grown man and I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself, but I thank you for your concern.’
She looked at his wine glass and frowned, hoping that wasn’t the way he thought he could look after himself.
‘You don’t appear to have eaten your salmon,’ she said.
‘No, I have no appetite,’ he said sharply. Then in a softer voice he continued, ‘It’s a shame Max isn’t here. Living on my own, I have got into the bad habit of giving him anything I don’t eat myself.’
Iris smiled, pleased that he was no longer speaking in such a terse manner and pleased that Lady Redcliffe’s laughter was no longer filling the air.
‘He’s such a lovely dog,’ she said. ‘As much as I adore Sookie, I must say I’m rather taken with Maxie-Waxie.’
‘And him with you. I’ve never seen him latch on to anyone as quickly as he did to you. It almost made me jealous.’
Iris winced slig
htly at the mention of jealousy and cast a quick glance in Lady Redcliffe’s direction. Catching the lady’s eye, Iris quickly looked away.
The salmon course was removed, the dishes hardly touched by either the Earl or Iris. With reluctance she turned back to Lord Pratley and braced herself for another round of compliments. Surely the Viscount must have run out of flattering things to say by now. After all, how many comparisons could he make to her eyes, hair, lips and skin? Perhaps he’d now move on to her nose, telling her it was like a tulip bulb, a potato or a mushroom.
She smiled to herself, which was a mistake as the Viscount thought she was smiling at him and instantly launched into complimenting her teeth.
‘Lady Iris,’ he said, raising his glass as if in toast. ‘You have the most beautiful smile I have ever seen and it’s an honour to be bathed in its glow. Your teeth are as white as snow and as straight as...’
He paused to think and Iris was tempted to supply him with a few comparisons. As straight as a row of tombstones in a graveyard...as straight as the cutlery on this table...as straight as the pickets in a cottage fence.
Unable to think of anything which he felt best described her teeth, he went back to complimenting her lips, and Iris drifted off, merely providing the occasional ‘mmm-hmm’ for the sake of politeness.
Why men thought women required constant flattery about their appearance Iris would never know. She looked over at the Earl. He had absolutely no idea what she looked like and that was rather wonderful. She could be a breathtaking beauty or as plain as a pikestaff and it would make no difference to him whatsoever. And yet, he had been engaged to a beautiful woman. Was this before or after he had lost his sight? Iris wondered. Was it something other than her beauty that had attracted him to Lady Redcliffe? He couldn’t see her now, and yet she still had a strong hold over him, so presumably it wasn’t just her beauty that he adored.