by Eva Shepherd
Iris made no answer, reluctant to explain to her mother that even though the Earl had kissed her it hadn’t been due to passion but to teach her a lesson about the dangers of arriving unaccompanied at a man’s home. Then he’d rejected her. He had been more than capable of controlling himself, even though she hadn’t been. She doubted that he would have behaved in that manner if he’d had Lady Redcliffe in his arms. No, her mother meant well, but this was a lost cause and the sooner Iris put that kiss behind her the better. She sighed loudly. That was something she knew was going to be an all but impossible task to accomplish.
‘We are just going to have to make him realise that his love for you is much greater than anything he may have felt for Lady Redcliffe,’ her mother continued in a voice full of confidence.
Iris gripped her mother’s arm and stopped her in her step. ‘Mother, you can’t make someone fall in love,’ she stated emphatically. Iris knew that from personal experience—hadn’t enough men over the last five Seasons tried to convince her that she was in love with them, and they had all failed? The Earl was in love with another woman and nothing was going to change that. His rejection of her was all the proof she needed.
‘Yes, you can,’ her mother said, still smiling and not the slightest bit discouraged. ‘Your father didn’t realise he was in love with me until I convinced him of that fact. Then all I had to do was act terribly surprised when he finally proposed, as if I had never even considered him as a possible husband.’
‘But I thought your marriage was arranged.’
‘Yes, it was. Arranged by me. I have not told anyone this, Iris, so please keep this just between the two of us.’
Iris nodded.
‘Without being too obvious, I managed to convince my parents and his parents that our marriage would be advantageous to both families. Then I convinced your father, who until that point had not even noticed me, that he was hopelessly in love with me. They all thought it was their own idea and that innocent little me had nothing to do with it. So, if I could convince two well-established families and a stubborn eldest son who was certain he wanted to remain single that our marriage was exactly what they all wanted, then convincing the Earl of Greystone that he loves you should be no problem whatsoever.’
Iris stared at her mother. In awe? In horror? In admiration? She wasn’t sure.
‘Oh, refrain from looking at me like that, my dear. You know this is exactly what you want. It is what you wanted from the moment you met the Earl.’
‘It was not and it still is not.’ Iris shook her head. ‘I didn’t like him when I first met him. He was rude and bad-tempered, plus he’s a recluse and, as we both know, in love with another woman. I could never be married to such a man.’
Her mother rolled her eyes again. That unfamiliar gesture was almost becoming a habit. ‘You can lie to yourself, Iris, but you can’t lie to your mother. The Earl is the man for you.’
Iris was tempted to inform her that she had now lost count of the number of white lies she had told, but thought it would be in her best interests to keep that to herself.
‘When you lie, you blink your eyes repeatedly. You have done it ever since you were a little girl,’ her mother continued. ‘When you said you had a headache I knew you were lying, but, as I also knew you wanted to escape from Lord Pratley and his relentless courting, I said nothing. Although I did not think you would be silly enough to go for a walk when there was a storm coming and stay out all night. That did take me rather by surprise. Then the next morning when you started telling me about the Earl of Greystone you started blinking hard enough to generate your own storm. All I could think was, oh, this is interesting. That was why I had to meet the Earl. And that was why I took the liberty of inviting him to the dinner party.’
‘You’re so wrong, Mother,’ Iris said, holding her eyes open as wide as she could, so she wouldn’t blink.
Her mother laughed and patted her gently on the arm. ‘Anyway, I know you want to marry the Earl and I think he would make an excellent husband for you, so that is what is going to happen. And after what I witnessed this morning, I would be well within my rights to insist that he do the honourable thing and marry you.’
‘No, please, Mother, no,’ Iris gasped out, trying to form the words in her head that would explain that what had happened between them was not the Earl’s fault, that he had shown a greater level of restraint than she had been capable of, and he did not deserve to be punished for his actions.
‘Oh, cease your worrying. I would not do that.’ She patted Iris’s arm in reassurance. ‘I do not blame you and I do not blame the Earl. These things happen when young people fall in love. Their passions can get the better of them and they forget all the rules that Society places on them.’ Her mother sighed lightly and looked off into the distance. ‘I know exactly how it feels. Before we married, when your father and I were still courting, we too often—’
‘Yes, Mother, I get the idea,’ Iris cut in, horrified at the thought of what her mother was about to reveal.
Her mother merely laughed. ‘All I am saying is that it happens, and I am not one to judge. Nor will I make the Earl feel any obligation towards you. We do not want him thinking he has been forced into marriage. That is no basis for happiness. This all has to be the Earl’s idea, or at least he has to think it is his idea.’ She looked at Iris and gave her a conspiratorial smile, although to Iris’s mind there was no conspiracy—this was all her mother’s idea.
‘So, to that end, I will ask Lady Walberton if we can extend our stay for another month. That should give us enough time to make the Earl realise just how much in love with you he actually is.’
Iris continued to stare at her mother, her mouth open but unable to speak. Unlike the mothers of so many other débutantes, her mother had never taken an overly active role as matchmaker. But she appeared to be making up for that now and Iris did not know whether that was a good or bad thing, for her or the Earl, or whether she was now about to be punished for all her lies and all her bad behaviour, and was about to suffer a complete and utter humiliation.
Chapter Eighteen
Lady Walberton was delighted that Iris and her mother would be staying longer and not the slightest bit surprised. It was all so mortifying, the two ladies conspiring together in their hopeless quest. She could almost understand her mother’s delusions—after all, she hardly knew the Earl—but Iris would have expected Lady Walberton to be aware just what an impossible task her mother had set herself.
But there was nothing for it. It had all been agreed, and they would be staying for at least another month. And if Iris was being honest, she did not mind. The balls, parties, dinners and picnics remaining on this Season’s social calendar no longer held any appeal, so she might as well stay in the country and make the best of things.
And, if she was being really honest with herself, the fact was she did not want to return to London, knowing it would possibly mean never seeing the Earl again. And what would be the point in participating in the rest of the Season? She had no interest in any other man, had never had the slightest interest in any man, until she met the Earl. And now that he had kissed her, she was certain no other man would interest her ever again.
It was a cruel trick of fate. After having rejected so many men over the last five Seasons, she had fallen in love with a man who did not want her.
And what was worse, she had been given a taste of what the Earl could offer, had sampled his kisses, and then it had all been taken away from her.
Even thinking about that kiss was torture enough, albeit an exquisite torture. It had been unlike anything she had ever experienced, and he was unlike any other man she had ever met. It hadn’t been her first kiss, but it was certainly the first time she had been affected so completely.
Many a man had stolen a quick kiss, and the most it had elicited from her was a giggle. None had caused a tempest to erupt deep within her, an insatiable,
burning desire to consume her, leaving her demanding more, much more, and none had left her with such a desperate sense of loss.
Was it simply because his kiss had been unlike those quick, passionless pecks she had experienced in the past? There had been no playfulness to his kiss, not even any gentleness. He had kissed her with such force it had overwhelmed her, swept her off her feet and left her defenceless. Was that a good sign or a bad one? Iris had no way of knowing. She wanted to ask someone, but most certainly was not going to ask her mother. She suspected her mother would know the answer, but it would be far too embarrassing to talk to her about such things. She could ask her married sister, Hazel, but that would mean writing a letter and Iris wasn’t sure how to put her confusion into written words. And even less sure if she wanted to commit such thoughts to paper. What if the letter fell into the wrong hands? That too would be more mortifying than she could imagine.
So Iris was left wondering about that kiss, wondering about the Earl, and wondering about her mother’s determination that Iris and the Earl would soon be marrying. Her mother had promised that she would be subtle and the Earl would not feel as if his hand had been forced, but when her mother announced that the Earl would be hosting a county fête, she had to suspect some not so subtle hand-forcing had come into it.
Her mother had convinced Lady Walberton that a village fête should be held in the next few weeks, that it should have a medieval theme, and that, as the Earl of Greystone’s home still contained parts of the original castle, it would make a simply splendid backdrop.
Lady Walberton could only agree and commend Iris’s mother for such a clever idea. Then she busily gathered all the local ladies to form an organising committee.
Somehow, Iris doubted the Earl had seen the idea as either commendable or clever, but according to her mother he had agreed immediately.
Iris suspected her mother was now telling her own white lies. When she questioned her mother about this, Iris had been horrified by the answer.
‘My dear, when it comes to the Earl, he will do exactly what I ask.’ She had sent Iris a knowing smile. ‘He is not a stupid man. He kissed my daughter and will know that I am quite within my rights to demand a lot more of him than hosting a local fête. This will be a very small price to pay for the liberties he has taken.’
‘You mean, you blackmailed him?’ Iris asked. Her mother was constantly surprising her, and not in a good way.
‘No, not blackmail, dear. All I did was politely ask him to host a fête that will be of benefit to everyone in the county and he graciously accepted.’
Graciously? Iris doubted that very much.
‘So you have nothing to worry about,’ her mother added, then left the room, humming the ‘Wedding March’ to herself.
Iris watched her leave, suspecting she actually did have a great deal to worry about.
* * *
On the day of the fête, it was as if he had been caught up in a storm, one far worse than the one that had blown Lady Iris into his life. This storm was called Lady Springfeld and was creating havoc in his life and in his house.
Only a few short weeks ago he had lived alone, just him and Max, and had hardly seen his neighbours in years. Now it was as if the entire county had congregated on his grounds and were making themselves entirely at home.
It was most definitely not what he had wanted, but Lady Springfeld had given him no choice. That joyful, sunny lady had a dark side and was a master in the nefarious art of blackmail. When suggesting that he host a fête she had managed to casually drop in a series of threatening words, such as ‘kisses’, ‘impropriety’, ‘reputations’ and even that fateful word ‘marriage’. She may not have said it outright, but she made it clear that she knew what had happened between him and Lady Iris and that she had every right to demand that he marry her daughter. And on that point, unfortunately, Theo knew her to be right. Lady Springfeld now had him at her mercy.
He supposed he should be grateful that she was not completely outraged on behalf of her daughter, but instead of being completely incensed she seemed rather pleased about it. They really were a rather peculiar family.
If she had insisted that he marry Lady Iris he would have consented—after all, it was no less than would be expected in the circumstances. His behaviour had been unacceptable. If he’d been forced to justify what he had done, he would have said that he had never expected her to actually allow him to kiss her. But that really was no justification at all. A gentleman should never have behaved in the way he had towards a lady unless he was prepared to accept the consequences.
And for him the consequences would at least be a fête, not a marriage—a small price to pay for a kiss that, he had to admit, had left him reeling. Not only had he not expected her to allow him to kiss her, but neither had he expected her to kiss him back, and to do so with such ferocity. That had most certainly taken him by surprise and continued to take his breath away, every time he thought about it. And, unfortunately, he was thinking about it rather more than he wanted to. Despite his determination to put Lady Iris out of his mind, he kept remembering her soft lips on his, the feel of her satin-like skin, and those glorious, full breasts filling his hands.
He shook his head, as if to physically drive out that thought. It was the last thing he should be thinking of, particularly when the mother was somewhere in the vicinity and his estate was full of milling hordes.
He settled down in his chair and scratched Max’s head. But at least nothing more was expected of him than letting the county loose on his grounds. He could hide away in his drawing room until it was all over, and life returned to normal.
He rang his bell so he could ask Charles to inform him of all that was going on at this infernal fête. Charles entered and the ringing continued, even though the bell had been returned to the table. Most odd.
‘What’s that noise?’ he asked, moving his head from side to side to try to find the source of the continued tinkling.
‘I’m afraid it’s me, my lord,’ Charles said just as the ringing stopped. ‘It’s the bell pads round my shins. You did say we were to do whatever the organising committee required of us, and when they found out about my little hobby they insisted I dress in costume for the entire day.’
‘Your little hobby?’ What on earth was the man talking about?
‘Yes, my lord. I’m a Morris dancer, and the committee has asked me and my fellow Morris dancers to put on a performance at the end of the day.’
Theo turned his head in the direction of his butler. Charles was a secret Morris dancer—who would have thought it? He’d known the man for more years than he could remember but never knew that about him. This must be what comes from having servants with not enough to do, he decided. They take up unusual little hobbies.
He closed his mouth, which had fallen open in surprise. ‘I see,’ he said, not sure he really understood at all. ‘And do the organisers of the fête have everything they need?’ Please say yes, he silently implored his butler. The last thing he wanted was to be bullied around by the ladies of the committee, who over the last few weeks had acted as if they were organising a military campaign and not a simple county fair.
‘Yes, the ladies appear to have everything under control. It’s quite a spectacle, really. They’ve organised court jesters, jugglers, acrobats and men dressed as knights to entertain the crowds, along with Morris dancers, of course. We’re going to provide the grand finale.’
Theo could hear excitement starting to rise in his butler’s usually emotionless voice.
‘There are stalls selling everything you can think of,’ Charles continued. ‘Herbal concoctions, ale, elderberry wine, flowers, vegetables, baking. And, if I do say so myself, our servants have done us proud. The gardeners’ flowers and vegetables are among the best on show, and no one can beat Cook’s gooseberry pie. That’s sure to win a prize.’
Now the man was getting r
ather more animated than was seemly for a butler.
‘In that case, you had better take the rest of the day off so you can join them and do your dancing or whatever it is you do.’
‘Thank you, my lord,’ he said, the ringing of bells presumably signalling a bow. ‘But Lady Springfeld would like a word with you. Shall I show her in?’
Theo suppressed an annoyed sigh. Being left alone inside his own home would have been too much to hope for. ‘Yes, show her in, then go off and enjoy yourself.’
‘Very good, my lord,’ Charles said, and jingled his way out of the room.
Lady Springfeld burst in the moment Charles departed. ‘Lord Greystone, this simply won’t do. You must go outside and circulate. It’s expected of the host.’ She lowered her voice. ‘And I know you want to do what’s right.’ There it was again, that veiled threat.
He heard another woman enter the room, somewhat less boisterously. Lady Iris. He’d recognise her scent anywhere, and the way she moved. It was that youthful yet gracious swish of her skirts that gave her away.
He bowed to the two women. ‘If you insist, Lady Springfeld,’ he said, reminding himself that it was at least a better option than being dragged up the aisle.
‘Oh, good,’ the mother trilled, as if she had given him a choice. ‘You can take Iris’s arm and she can escort you. I’m far too busy with the organising.’
‘Delighted,’ he said, offering his arm and feeling anything but delight at what was expected of him. He would do a quick circuit then retreat and leave the rest of them to their merriment.
‘Oh, and we will expect you to present the prizes, so do not disappear, will you?’ Lady Springfeld said as she bustled off, no doubt to boss around some other poor, helpless dupe.
Theo stifled a sigh and with resignation escorted Lady Iris out of the room. Not that he had any reservations about touching her again or having her close beside him. After all, that had been something he had been thinking about constantly, but when he had fantasised about having her in his arms again it had most certainly not been under circumstances such as these.