Forrester nodded tightly.
“You might want to find a new game,” Merritt said. “Losing your best stallion last autumn and now your family’s estate… It does seem that you have neither skill at cards nor the temperament necessary to walk away with your shirt. Good evening, Forrester.” And with that, Merritt strolled away. He didn’t immediately approach Iris’s group, though, as they were currently conversing with two other young ladies.
One of them, a tall and graceful beauty with fair hair, stood nearly at Iris’s height. The girl eyed Iris and her friends disdainfully. Merritt knew who she was but didn’t bother recalling her name. She was the very embodiment of why he didn’t want Lucy fully entrenched in Society. Girls like her would destroy his sister’s bright light, and he didn’t want that to happen.
The girl turned her attention to Iris’s friend, Harriet, whom Merritt knew to be the daughter of the late Duke of Lockwood. Harriet was a cheerful sort, round and pink and smiling the way most children were.
He inched closer to better hear the discussion.
“Well, I do hope that your poor mother is not losing too many funds buying the extra fabric required to make your gowns.” She looked down at Harriet.
“Her mother has plenty of funds,” Iris said, seemingly growing taller as she stepped ever so slightly closer to the offending woman.
“Perhaps.” The girl closed her eyes and tilted her head. “But you know, Harriet, if you happen to land yourself a husband, he might not be so generous. You could help your future husband out and skip luncheon a few times a week. That ought to help.”
Harriet’s smile melted from her face, but she steeled herself with a breath and a tilt of the head. But Iris was not done. “Any man in this room would be honored to marry Harriet. She is intelligent and kind and beautiful and generous, which is more than anyone could say about you, Belinda.”
The girl flinched then released a forced chuckle. “I don’t believe I see any of these would-be suitors clamoring for her attention.”
If there had ever been a moment for Merritt to step forward, now was that time. He hoped Iris would understand, though he suspected she wouldn’t.
He approached the ladies. “Lady Harriet, I do believe this is our waltz.”
Harriet stared up at him, bewildered, and Iris positively shuddered with gratitude. “Yes, Harriet, that’s right. Lord Ashby claimed this waltz.”
Harriet nodded absently but allowed Merritt to lead her out onto the crowded dance floor.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Harriet said beneath a blush.
“Dance with a beautiful woman? I believe that is precisely why I attend these ridiculous functions,” he said.
“Thank you.”
“My pleasure.” He turned her around the dance floor. “So, how is it that you know Lady Iris?”
She smiled genuinely. “We are in a social organization together. The Ladies of Virtue.”
He had heard that about Iris. “Ah yes, the do-gooders who donate funds and time to London charities for children, if I’m not mistaken.”
She looked surprised. “Precisely. I was not aware our reputation had reached so far.” She was quiet a moment, then added, “Iris is a dear friend. The best.”
Yes, she had been a good friend. She’d stood up to that wretched woman and defended Harriet, yet she still had an impeccable reputation as best he’d been able to determine.
Lady Iris. It was possible their meeting had been beneficial after all, and not merely a distraction. She was precisely the type of lady who could show Lucy how to survive amidst the gossip and cruelness that women like Belinda made an art form.
Convincing her might not be simple, though, so he needed a way to get her attention and convince her she needed to help him. He thought on her complaints about the articles. They could strike a bargain—if he passed her brother off as a gentleman, she might agree to teach Lucy. It was worth an effort, but discussing such matters was not for ballrooms. He’d have to pay a call.
“I don’t suppose I could persuade you to give me Lady Iris’s address? I should like to call upon her.”
Harriet glanced up at him and smiled broadly. “Of course.”
Chapter Three
Iris blew away a curl that had fallen onto her forehead. She’d already had quite the morning. After yet another argument with Jasper about his behavior and those wretched articles, she’d balanced their ledgers and noted that, despite Jasper’s new penchant for gambling, their funds were still quite flush. She supposed she should be relieved about such news.
After Lord Ashby had come and asked her to dance the night before, Harriet was certain he was intent upon courting Iris. A ridiculous notion. Not to mention she wasn’t interested in him or any other suitors. Still, Harriet had thought that him approaching Iris would give her the perfect opportunity to start working on his sin of pride. But they hadn’t gotten their dance.
The arrogant man had done something so kind that it had completely flustered her. Dancing with Harriet after Belinda had been so rude and hurtful had been amazing. It didn’t change how she felt about him and his idiotic newspaper, but she had to admit he must not be a horrible person.
There came a scratch at the door, and Iris glanced up. “Enter,” she said.
The butler pulled open the wooden door. “A Lord Ashby to see you, my lady.”
Iris’s heart fell into her stomach. “Here? To see me?” Good heavens, was Harriet right?
“Indeed, that is what he said.” The butler walked forward and handed her the earl’s calling card.
She looked down at the ornate print. Merritt Steele, the Earl of Ashby.
“Should I send him away, my lady? Tell him you are not available?”
She came to her feet. “No!” She mustn’t sound so eager, but she’d never had a gentleman caller. This would give her the perfect opportunity to begin her work on his pride, though, precisely how she would do that remained to be seen. “Please send him in. Then prepare a tea tray and have that sent in.”
“Of course, my lady.” The butler nodded and left the room.
She put her hand up to her hair; her curls were unruly to say the least. She must look a fright, but since this was not a social call, it mattered not. Even if it were a social call, she most certainly would not be interested in the Earl of Ashby in such a way. He was far too arrogant for her tastes. Not to mention too handsome. Though he did have a penchant for being gallant. Oh, for heaven’s sake!
Acknowledging that did not prevent her breath from catching when he entered the room. Goodness, but he was dashing. Tall and broad, with dark wavy hair and startling blue eyes that peered shrewdly at her beneath arched brows.
“Lady Iris,” he said. “Thank you for seeing me.”
She curtseyed. “Lord Ashby.” Just then a maid brought in the tea tray and set it on the occasional table in the sitting area. “Tea?”
He nodded and followed her to the chairs. He selected a high-backed, buttoned leather chair while she sat in the yellow floral wingback that had been her mother’s favorite.
Iris handed him a cup of tea and left it to him to sweeten it or add cream. Her hands were shaking far too much to stir anything, lest she’d give away her addled nerves. What was wrong with her? She was the very picture of calm in most scenarios. Were he a thief, she would be able to handle him perfectly.
“I suppose you’re wondering what brings me to call upon you,” he said.
Breathe. Don’t appear too eager. “Dare I hope you’ve seen the error of your ways and have decided to cease printing those articles?”
He chuckled. The deep timbre vibrated up her spine.
“I’m afraid not.”
She absently stirred her tea. “How did you find me?”
“Your friend Lady Harriet provided me your address.”
Iris didn’t know whether she should thank Harriet or throttle her.
“I have something I wish to discuss with you. A proposition.”
/> She ignored the thundering of her heart. “Go on.”
“I intend to prove you wrong about the ‘Gentlemen’ articles. But first I must inquire as to your particular complaints with the pieces in question,” he said.
She released a measured breath and considered her words. “None of the behavior described in those articles, all of which I’ve now read, would be considered gentlemanly,” she said. “At least, not by any of the gentlemen I know.”
“I suspect this is nothing more than a misunderstanding. The intention of the articles is to highlight the different sides of men. Certainly, you must have noticed that men tend to only share one side of themselves with ladies—the polished, gentle side. The articles are intended to shine a light, as it were, on the grittier side of their behavior,” he said.
“I refuse to believe men have such vastly different behavior.” She shook her head, then set down her tea. “I am not so naive as to not realize that gentlemen partake of a modicum of smoking and drinking away from the company of women, but that most assuredly does not mean that they all carouse and act like nothing more than wastrels.”
“I think you would be surprised what men do when the womenfolk are not watching.” He took a sip of his tea, and she watched as his lips touched the teacup.
Good heavens, what had gotten into her? She suspected he was right about some of the men in London, but certainly not all of them. “There are plenty of well-behaved gentlemen in this town. Not all of them womanize, or gamble away their family’s fortunes.”
“Lady Iris, might I be bold with you?”
Her heart raced, but she nodded.
“Men are the same regardless of where they are from. The only difference is that the aristocracy does their best to hide their nefarious behaviors from the gentler sex.” He leaned back and crossed his long legs at the ankle. “These articles are merely there to bring to light what they go to such lengths to hide.”
“Satire. Yes, I gathered that when I read them. But obviously there are people out there who don’t understand that, and they are taking the advice to heart.”
His head tilted and a slow smile slid into place. “Much of the material in my paper is satirical. Or had you not noticed the cartoons?”
“I didn’t bother reading anything save those articles because they, and you, by extension, are single-handedly ruining my brother. He should learn to behave as a proper gentleman, not this reckless cad that he’s become.”
“You give me too much credit, my lady. I’m afraid that you have simply refused to see that all men want to behave in such ways. You are being naive.”
“No. Your articles have given Jasper permission to behave badly. True gentlemen know how to control their urges and live in moderation.” She’d seen as much with Harriet and Agnes’s brothers. They had impeccable reputations. “Tell me, Lord Ashby, did you come to my home merely to insult me?”
“Of course not. Perhaps I could discuss this with your brother. Explain things to him so he could learn to be more discreet.”
“Discreet? Discretion is not the problem. No, thank you. I would not trust you to turn anyone into a gentleman, least of all my brother.”
His brows rose in a challenge. “I’ll wager you that I can pass off anyone as a gentleman. Your brother, for example,” he said.
“Why would you do that?” she asked.
“I have something you can do for me in return.”
She swallowed. “And what would that be?”
“As it turns out, you and I have something in common. A younger sibling that could use some guidance. In my case, my sister, Lucinda.”
“Oh, I see.” There was no need for her to feel disappointment, yet she could not deny a twinge of that very thing.
“I’m not certain how much of my background you know, Lady Iris, but I was not raised in Society as you were. Neither was my sister. I am the son of a merchant, and I started as a young man at the Daily Scandal, worked my way up, and eventually bought the entire paper. Not even a year ago, a distant cousin died without any other heirs, and suddenly I became the Earl of Ashby. My sister”—he shook his head—“well, I’m afraid she does not have the requisite skills to survive a debut. But she very much wants one. I cannot, in good conscience, send her out among the wolves, as it were.”
A merchant’s son turned earl. She had heard tell of such a story, but had not made the connection. His sister likely did need a tutor of sorts, to help her navigate all the intricacies of Society.
“My proposition is this: I shall tutor your brother on the ways of a gentleman and you, in turn, tutor my sister on how to be a lady,” he said.
She frowned. “I do beg your pardon. I don’t intend this to be insulting in any way, but how are you in a position to instruct anyone how to be a gentleman?”
He smiled, and her heart stuttered; he was so very handsome. She was a complete goose. “Good question. I can tell you that, though I haven’t technically been a gentleman for long, I have been studying them for years. My paper has made—”
“A mockery of gentleman,” she suggested.
He nodded. “At times, yes. But I know what they consider the appropriate behavior, and I can transform anyone. If not your brother, then anyone off the street.”
“That’s quite boastful of you.” Perhaps she was not approaching this as Harriet had suggested for their seven deadly sins task, but his impromptu wager might provide her the opportunity to accomplish the same thing.
“I’m rather confident in my ability.”
Iris eyed her friends and took a deep breath. They had met for their usual Wednesday luncheon, but she knew she’d been unusually quiet. She knew she had to tell them about the wager with Lord Ashby, but she hadn’t quite figured out how to do it.
“What?” Harriet finally asked, her voice full of exasperation. “You’re driving me positively mad with the waiting. You’ve been quiet since you arrived, which we all know is not like you.”
“I’m taking to heart your suggestion that we tackle the deadly sins among our own.”
Harriet squealed with delight. “Lord Ashby?”
“Yes, he is a woefully prideful man.”
Agnes nodded in agreement then sipped her tea. She wasn’t necessarily always quiet; she was just more precise with her words. If she had something to add, she’d speak. Otherwise, she’d simply listen.
Iris held up a finger. “But that means that the two of you must also select a gentleman to reform. And we need to recruit an additional four ladies from our group.”
“Excellent point,” Harriet said. “As for Lord Ashby, what is your plan?”
“We had a discussion, Lord Ashby and I, regarding those despicable articles. He came to my house, which I suppose I have you to thank for.” She leveled a gaze at Harriet and then went on. “He’s not interested in ceasing their publication, so we made a bargain. A wager, actually.”
Agnes’s eyes rounded, but still she said nothing.
“You made a wager with the Earl of Ashby?” Harriet asked, then shook her head slowly.
“Yes, I did. It would seem he needs assistance with his sister. I’m not certain if you know or not, but they were not raised in the aristocracy. He inherited his title from a distant cousin. He is a merchant’s son, and well, his sister—Lucinda, is her name—she is positively begging to be introduced into Society. He wants me to give her lessons in how to be a lady.”
“And if you do this, he will stop publishing the articles?” Harriet asked.
“No, it is not quite so simple. His pride runs so deep, and for some inexplicable reason he is hell-bent on keeping them in print. He instead proposed that he could pass off anyone as a gentleman, and if he does so successfully, then he continues to print them.”
“So he writes them as well as prints them,” Agnes said.
“I beg your pardon?” Iris turned and glanced at her friend. But yes, that made perfect sense. It certainly explained why he was so very attached to them. They were his ow
n words. “I suspect you may be right, Agnes.” Then she waved her hand. “In any case, I intend to volunteer myself to be turned into a gentleman.”
Harriet spat her tea then collapsed into a coughing fit. Agnes hit Harriet’s back to help with the choking. Iris leaned forward and handed Harriet a napkin.
“Why would you not have him tutor Jasper?” Agnes asked.
“I should think that would be obvious,” Iris said. “It is Lord Ashby’s fault that Jasper is making a mess of his life. I can’t very well trust the man with hands-on tutelage.”
“But how is him teaching you any different?” Harriet managed to ask in a hoarse whisper.
“Because once he recognizes that such advice and such behavior isn’t fit for a lady, then he’ll realize why it shouldn’t be suitable for a gentleman.” Iris tapped her fingers on the table. “He shall recognize this failure in logic and see the great error of these articles.”
“Do you not see the great irony here?” Agnes said.
Iris shook her head.
“He wants you to teach his sister how to be a genteel lady, and you want to don breeches and prance about London pretending to be a man.” Agnes shook her head. “Iris, this is a terrible idea.”
Iris couldn’t ignore such irony, but she felt certain this was the only way to prove to him that his advice was foolish. “I do not believe it will come to that. He will quickly his defeat and retreat. I’ll win the wager, and the articles will be finished.”
“Your reputation,” Harriet said.
“Yes, well, I’ve considered that. I’m not intent on destroying myself, if that is your concern.”
“It might be a side effect, nonetheless,” Agnes said. “This is foolish.”
“No, it is perfect. I shall win. He is an amateur. I know Society, and once he realizes that, he’ll back down,” Iris said. “Besides, Jasper is worth the risk. I must get through to him. I am already upon the shelf, as it were. There is no real reason why my reputation should matter much anymore.” She could not lose Jasper. She’d already lost her parents. She’d been but a girl when they’d died, and she hadn’t been able to do anything to help them. Jasper was different. She could save him.
The Scoundrel and the Lady (Lords of Vice) Page 4