by Gill, Tamara
A tall, light-haired gentleman joined their group. He picked up her gloved hand, bowing over it. He, too, was an attractive man, as tall as the duke, but where Penworth was dark and broody, this gentleman seemed light and amusing.
Opposites in all ways.
"Lord Templedon, may I introduce you to Miss Iris Cooper?"
"A pleasure," Lord Templedon murmured, his voice teasing. "Would you care to dance the next set with me, Miss Cooper? If you're not already engaged, of course." He slid a contemplative look to the duke.
"I am not engaged, my lord. I would like to dance," she replied, taking his arm.
His lordship led her out onto the floor, and she caught sight of the duke watching them. A shiver of awareness stole through her at the glower the duke's visage held. Did he not like Templedon? Iris looked up at the man placing them among the throng of dancers, wondering if something was wrong with him. Was he a rogue, a rake? Did he gamble?
"You're frowning at me, Miss Cooper. Do you find my company deplorable?"
She shook herself, laughing to cover her etiquette slip. "I apologize. I was woolgathering," she lied. "I'm very happy to dance with you."
He smiled, and she decided he could not be so very bad. Not when he had lovely, kind eyes such as he did.
"I'm glad to hear it. I understand you're from Cornwall. Is this your first Season?"
The question took her aback. The duchess had not schooled her on what to say should someone not know of her from her first Season.
"This is my second Season, my lord. I had my first several years ago, but it was cut short after a carriage accident."
"By ho, are you the miss who was thrown from the carriage in Hyde Park in ’05? Killed old Redgrove, did it not?"
Iris felt her mouth gape. Killed old Redgrove! Had manners changed so much in the seven years she had not been in London that this was how one spoke? "Ah, yes, my lord. I was that unfortunate woman with Baron Redgrove when he lost his life."
The dance took her from his lordship for a moment, and she was glad of it. What sort of person spoke of such a tragic event as if it were some fodder for gossip? Did he have no empathy at all?
"I remember that year. Redgrove was a friend, you understand, not a close one, but we circulated in the same social sphere at times. I do not remember you, however, and I always remember a beautiful woman." His gaze traveled over her face, landing on her scar, and she fought the urge to explain it to him. To make an excuse as to why it was there.
Annoyance ate at her instead, and a little part of her wanted to make him uncomfortable by his ogling. His curt, unfeeling words. "I received this scar the same day Old Redgrove was killed. It is my trophy from that day."
Two pink marks formed on his cheeks, and for several turns of the dance, he could not look at her.
Iris was happy about the fact. She did not think they had much to say to each other, and certainly, she could never consider a man who spoke so dismissively of an accident that could happen to anyone as if it were nothing. Horses were flighty beasts at the best of times. In fact, Iris was surprised such accidents did not happen more often.
"Apologies, Miss Cooper. I did not mean to offend you."
She sniffed but refused to meet his eye. The dance came to an end, and even though there were two more dances within the set, she curtsied, wanting distance from him. "If you'll excuse me, my lord. I do believe I need to sit out the remainder of the set."
"Of course." He bowed, led her back to the duchess, and took his leave.
The duchess beamed with pleasure. "Templedon would be a good match, Iris. It is fortunate he has taken an interest. With his interest along with Penworth’s help, you will have no trouble finding a husband."
Already the Season felt tedious, especially if gentlemen like Templedon made their interest known. She could never marry someone with no empathy and with little care for anyone else, except to gain enough fodder for gossip.
"I am not certain of Templedon. He seems a little unkind."
"Oh, my dear. Did he say something to offend you?" the duchess asked, reaching for her hand.
"A little, yes. I feel he does not have a compassionate heart. Too involved in himself to love another."
"Well, at least you know that now, dear. And the Season is young, and there are more gentlemen interested. Why look at them all, hovering close by, waiting for their turns to dance with you."
Iris studied them, all reasonably handsome, titled, and spoiled by their mothers and nannies. She could only hope there were some among them all who cared for others and did not speak so dismissively of people's tragedies.
Penworth certainly seemed to be such a gentleman, but then, he had shown no interest in her other than being affable and helpful. She was the daughter of a vicar. Even she was not fooled enough to reach so high as a duchess’s coronet.
A pity, really, for Penworth was certainly handsome, eligible, and kind. He would make a good match for someone one day.
* * *
Josh led Iris and his mother into supper, deciding to sit with them and enjoy the varied and delicious feast the Cliffords had on offer. He was pleased with Iris's evening so far. The gentlemen had continued to present themselves, allowing him to introduce them, and she had danced with several of them. All but Templedon were a suitable match. They were all titled and wealthy, not looking to line their pockets with a dowry Miss Cooper did not have.
But there was something wrong with it all. Something that did not sit quite right with him. As much as he tried to support and care for his sisters, all of them were older than he was. And they had more than handled their journeys to their blissful married state. But Miss Cooper was different.
She needed protection, guidance, and support after all that had happened to her. He did not pity her, but it was certainly something that he could not name, a presence he felt whenever around her.
She sat across from him, laughing at his mother's recount of the night she had first met the duke, her future husband. Josh listened, smiling at the story, having heard it numerous times, how the duke had been set on marrying his mama's cousin, who did not want to marry him at all since she was already in love with someone else.
His mother had told the duke of her cousin's plight, and her strength and honesty had caught the duke's attention instead, and the rest, as they say, is history.
They were married not four weeks later.
Miss Cooper's eyes took on a dreamy state. Clearly, she adored the story as much as he always had, and it pleased him she did. He would ensure she found the same happy balance in her life. She was genuine, without guile or airs, and he liked that about her.
He liked it more than he ought.
Chapter 6
The following morning, Iris sat in the library, writing a letter to her mama, updating her on all her adventures so far. The shopping, the outings to the numerous balls and parties. That tonight they were to attend the opera at the Theater Royal, Drury Lane.
She had never attended the theater when she'd been in town during her first Season. Her mama having determined the outing too risqué for a debutante, so while her friends had attended, she had not.
But her mama was not here this time, and the duchess was, if anything, looking forward to the evening out more than Iris was herself.
"My dear, I have news," the duchess said, walking into the room and waving a missive in her hand along with a small printed card. "I have just received word that Lady Jersey, a patroness of Almacks, has bestowed on you a voucher for Wednesday next."
Iris placed down her quill, unable to quite believe what she was hearing. To gain entrance into Almacks was difficult, even if you were housed with a duchess, so exclusive were the assembly rooms. "That is good news. I was never admitted my first Season."'
The duchess frowned, coming into the room and ringing for tea. "They can be quite prohibitive of who they give admittance to, but as a granddaughter of an earl, you should have been invited."
Iris had n
ot cared that she had not been invited. The patronesses of Almacks had always scared her a little. The women ruled London and could make or ruin a debutante’s Season.
"I did not think I would be invited. Given the fact that I'm not overtly young and with my small limp, I would not have thought the patronesses would've liked that I was not perfect. When a title or wealth cannot gain one's entrance into Almacks, I stood little chance."
The duchess sat, her mouth pursed. "That is true. They can be narrow-minded, but we needn't worry about that now. You have an invitation, and we shall attend. Only respectable, reputable gentlemen will be in attendance. All of this shall help you in gaining the attention of a gentleman fit for your hand."
She nodded, but the idea of marrying gave her pause. Not that she did not want a husband, for she did, but a husband who loved her was above everything else that she required in a spouse. With no dowry, at least she would not have to worry about fortune hunters. Nor did she wish to marry a man who felt pity for her. Thought to give assistance and care every second of every day. That would never do.
She wanted a union that was equal in respect and love. She pursed her lips. Where did one find such a man and at her age?
The image of the Penworth floated through her mind, teasing her. So devastatingly handsome, kind, and willing to help when she required it. How lucky the lady would be, whoever caught his heart.
He would never look to her, and she wasn't fooled enough to allow herself to dream. A daughter to a vicar, no dowry and as far from perfection as one could be, did not make her equal to him.
"That is good news," Iris replied.
"Your silver embroidered gown will be delivered by next Wednesday, and you shall wear that. It is both stylish, elegant, and suitable for your age but not overpowering to the other debutantes who will be there."
Iris hoped she would not look like an old maid against the younger women vying for spouses. "My mama has given me leave to use her diamonds. Do you think they will suit the dress?"
The duchess clapped her hands, her smile bright. "They would do marvelously, my dear. You shall look beautiful."
A footman entered, carrying the tea tray, and Iris stood, joining the duchess on the settee. She poured the tea, handing a cup to Her Grace. "We have been to several balls already, but there have been no callers. Do you think my limp is keeping them away? I have tried to conceal it as much as I can when in public, but sometimes my leg becomes sore, and I cannot help how I walk." It was a concern that had been plaguing her for days. While others who lived on Hanover Square had multiple carriages roll to a stop before their doors, Duke Penworth's London home did not have any.
"We do not want any gentleman to call if they are not worthy or serious about their courtship of you. When we have a visitor, I'm sure he will be worth waiting for."
"Good morning, ladies," the duke said at that very moment, entering the room.
The duchess stared at her son with something akin to amusement. Iris did not mention the irony of His Grace turning up just after the duchess’s declaration. She drank in the sight of him, wondering when she had become such an enthusiast of His Grace's presence.
He wore tan-colored skin breeches and Hessian boots splattered with mud. Had he come from the park, had he been out about town and was now only returning home? Not that this was where he was staying, he had his own lodgings, but the townhouse was where his office was located that dealt with all estate matters.
Or so he had stated.
He came and sank onto a high-back chair, leaning forward and pouring himself a cup of tea. She noted his cravat was loose, barely tied as it should be. In fact, taking in his appearance, she noted he looked somewhat ruffled. Whatever had he been up to?
From what she remembered of His Grace and the gentlemen he once ran about London with, it was probably not the sort of information she should be privy to.
Even so, her mind would not stop its train of thought. Was he out at his club? Or some hell in the East End? Did he have a mistress?
Iris sipped her tea, welcoming the calming brew that helped ease her mind with that worrying thought.
She was, she reminded herself, not worrying for her own interests but those of other young ladies whom he could court and eventually marry.
"Wonderful news, Josh darling. Lady Jersey has sent us a voucher for Iris to attend Almacks."
The duke raised his brow. "Well, that is good news. I shall try to attend with you both."
The duchess waved his offer away. "There will be no need for you to accompany us to Almacks, my dear. The patronesses, as you well know, only allow the highest echelons of society to attend. I'm sure my chaperonage will be enough for Iris."
The duke met her eye, and the pit of Iris's stomach fluttered. She sipped her tea, unsure why she was reacting to him in such a way. She supposed it was after their waltz that her mind had run away with her over how perfectly suitable he was for a husband.
She already knew he was kind, and he was wealthy enough not to mind her lack of funds.
What a pity you are so damaged.
Iris frowned into her tea, determined to ignore her cruel mind's taunt.
"Would you like me to escort you, Miss Cooper? I do not mind attending if it would help you in your quest to find a husband."
She shook her head, disappointment swirling through her at his words. Of course, he would not be looking at her as a potential prospect as a wife, and she was a silly fool to hope otherwise. To him, she was his responsibility, a lady to have married off, so his duty was complete.
How irritating.
"Thank you, but it is not necessary. I think Her Grace and I will be more than capable of maneuvering about Almacks for one night."
He smiled, and she hoped it was not relief she saw flicker in his blue orbs. "I understand you're to attend the theater this evening. I shall see you there also. The family box will be at your disposal."
Iris lost her breath at the idea of sitting in the ducal box. How wonderful. It made the prospect of this evening even more exciting.
"Very good. I was hoping you would notify the theater. I do hope they have stocked the box with my favorite flowers. The smells that sometimes waft up from the pit below are beyond endurable," the duchess said.
Iris had not thought about the body odor at the theater, but then, not everyone was as privileged as the Penworth family, and she supposed it was only probable that others would not bathe as often.
"I have, Mama," the duke murmured, his voice bored. "Just as I always do. No need to remind me."
The duchess's lips thinned into a displeased line. "One must check to ensure a pleasant evening. Now, we must leave you, my dear, and start preparing for this evening."
The duke caught Iris's eye, a small smile on his lips. "I shall see you this evening, Miss Cooper."
Iris followed the duchess from the room. What was the meaning behind the odd little looks that the duke kept giving her? Or was it only in her imagination that she was seeing them at all?
She hoped that was not the case. To have the duke interested in her would be a coup, but she could not let herself think such fanciful things. To do so would only lead to disappointment, and she had enough of that emotion in her life.
Tonight she would enjoy the opera, breathe the sweet-smelling flowers abundant in the ducal box, and ignore the fact that one of London's most eligible dukes sat beside her.
She sighed, following the duchess up the stairs. Easier said than done.
Chapter 7
Josh sat at Whites in his private room. The Times open on his lap, the first few lines of the story before him read numerous times as he thought of Miss Iris Cooper ensconced at his townhouse, making his mother more than adequately happy and busy with the Season.
He, too, ought to be increasing his search for a wife, but each time he attended a ball, picnic, or musical night all the women he had crossed paths with had done little to spark his interest.
He mulled over that quandar
y for a moment. Was he too severe in his expectations? His requiring only the most educated, titled, and wealthy woman to be his wife may make her difficult to discover.
A knock sounded on his door, and he bid them enter. He stood when he found the familiar and welcome visage of his brother-in-law. "Moore," he said, standing. "Come in, my good fellow. It is good to see you again."
"And you," the duke said, sitting across from him. A footman entered with another glass of brandy, taking Moore's order and leaving again. "Isolde is busy with your mama and her new charge. I did not know the duchess was sponsoring anyone this year."
"Neither did I, until she shared the information." His mother was, if anything, a woman who knew her own mind and usually got what she wanted. "Miss Iris Cooper, but I'm sure Mama introduced you."
The duke settled himself in his chair, nodding. "We were, yes. She's very beautiful and sweet-natured. Isolde seemed to adore her instantly."
Josh raised his brows, surprised. "Isolde can sometimes be difficult to win over. I'm happy that Miss Cooper has prevailed. I assumed your being at Whites means you're here for the Season?"
"Isolde wished to attend, and I'm looking to purchase a new town carriage. I'm here to order one before we return to Wiltshire."
Moore's words reminded him that his curricle required replacing. He would do that before the end of the Season. "If you do not mind, I think I shall go with you when you order the new vehicle. My curricle has seen too many years and needs renewing."
"Of course." The footman returned, placing a beer before Moore before bowing and leaving them again. "Talking of carriages, and correct me if I'm wrong, but wasn't Miss Cooper injured in an accident several years ago? We attended the McCalter ball last evening, and her ladyship mentioned it."
"It is, unfortunately, true, and could be laid directly at my door."
Moore glanced up at his words, confusion clouding his gaze. "Whatever do you mean? How could such an accident be your fault?" he asked him.