He tapped his foot on the sidewalk. Why did social interactions have to be so difficult?
Taking a deep breath, he headed up the steps. He knocked on the door before he could talk himself out of it and waited as the footman opened the door.
“Is Mr. Jasper in?” he asked the footman.
The footman nodded and motioned for him to enter. Good. Maybe he’d made the right decision in coming here. If Malcolm was here, it had to be a good sign. At the very least, it was promising.
Once Warren was seated in one of the chairs in the drawing room, he released his breath. The townhouse had belonged to Malcolm’s wife. He’d only been over a couple of times, but already, he could tell which things Malcolm had added to this room.
There was a globe of the world. Warren recalled how expensive that particular purchase had been, especially since it’d been made by John Fagles, who was the most renowned artist in London. Then there was a display of one of the sheets of music Mozart had used. It’d been such a rare collectible item that Warren had been envious for weeks over Malcolm’s acquisition of it.
Of all the people he knew, Malcolm had the best taste…and the best business sense.
Warren heard footsteps and turned toward the door, ready to greet his friend, but the greeting fell short when he realized it was just the butler.
The butler poured him tea and gestured to the scones. “Help yourself. Mr. Jasper will be down shortly.”
Warren thanked him and took the cup. After the butler left, he took a sip. Peppermint tea. It wasn’t his first choice, and he guessed it wasn’t Malcolm’s, either, but Warren knew from the times his stepmother had been with child that peppermint had a tendency to ease a lady’s stomach. Melissa had told him Regan was with child. He must not forget to congratulate Malcolm on his good fortune.
Malcolm had been hopeful his marriage would yield children who’d one day inherit his money. “And,” Malcolm had added when he’d told Warren and Robert of his engagement, “I will be sure to teach my children how to properly handle their finances. I won’t have any of them wasting it like so many gentlemen we hear about.”
Gentlemen like Byron. Suddenly feeling weary, Warren rubbed the back of his neck. If only his father had taken the same care and attention to instilling the value of money on his stepmother and the children he had with her. Had it not been for Warren, they’d all be destitute, but did they ever thank him for it? No. It was only, “You owe us more,” or “Your father would roll over in his grave if you don’t give us this.”
Again, footsteps pulled him out of his thoughts, but this time, it wasn’t the butler. It was Malcolm. Relieved for the interruption, Warren smiled and put the cup down. “I hear congratulations are in order,” he said, rising to his feet. “You’re to be a father at last.”
“Yes, Regan did a fine job in conceiving quickly,” Malcolm replied.
Though Malcolm smiled, he seemed uneasy, and for the life of him, Warren couldn’t figure out why. Did he dare ask?
“Would you prefer brandy instead of tea?” Malcolm asked, gesturing to the decanter.
“I’d be a fool to pass up an offer to have your brandy,” Warren said. “It’s the best in all of London.”
“That’s probably because it’s not from London.”
“It’s not?”
Malcolm went to the decanter and poured the brandy into two glasses. “No. It’s from Scotland. I do business with a gentleman there whose father-in-law makes it. It’s a family recipe, and according to his father-in-law, it’s his best kept secret. Others have tried to duplicate the recipe without success.”
Warren accepted the glass Malcolm offered him and made a toast. “To best kept secrets.”
Malcolm nodded, and the two drank their brandy. This was nice. It was much like how it used to be before things turned awkward. Warren wished he could pinpoint the moment when things went downhill.
He knew when things turned badly with Robert. It’d been that day at White’s when they were opening up votes for two new members. Robert complained about Warren ignoring the Duke of Hartwell’s daughter. That event was easy to remember, even if he still couldn’t recall what the daughter looked like. He tried, really he did, but his mind kept coming up blank. Maybe if he saw her again, he’d remember.
But it was no matter. He was to marry someone with the name Iris, and his attention would be better spent on her, especially in the matter of convincing her to try for an heir. Again, he lamented the fact that he needed a lady in order to have a child. Everything else he could do without assistance except for this very important matter.
“I am to be married,” Warren finally told Malcolm after a long moment of silence passed between them.
“Are you?” Malcolm asked.
“Yes. I decided to do what you did and seek out the help of the Duchess of Ashbourne and her friends. I figured since it worked well for you, then it might work for me.”
“A word to the wise: make sure you meet the lady they match you with before your wedding day.”
“Oh, I most definitely will. In fact, I sent her a missive asking to visit her.”
“You already know who she’ll be?”
He nodded. “I’m surprised, to be honest. I was only at the duchess’ townhouse yesterday. I thought it might take more time for her to find someone. I’ll tell you one thing about her: she’s efficient. It’s hard to find ladies who are capable in business, but I can see why she gained such an impressive reputation in London.”
Warren caught sight of Regan as she came into the room and put the empty glass on the tray so he could greet her. “It’s a pleasure to see you,” he said with a bow.
She curtsied and went over to Malcolm. “It’s a pleasure to see you, too.” Looking at Malcolm, she asked, “Are you ready to get Leonard?” Glancing at Warren, she explained, “My son spent the day with Frederick’s mother. Malcolm and I promised to bring him home in time for dinner.”
“Oh, then I should be going,” Warren said, catching the hint. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought Malcolm seemed relieved. Maybe they had timed it so that Warren’s visit would be cut short. Pushing aside the uneasy feeling in his gut, Warren forced a smile. “I only came by to offer my congratulations,” he told her. “I heard you’re with child.”
“Yes. We just found out,” she replied.
Since he didn’t know what else to say and neither one seemed as if they wanted to continue the conversation, he settled for offering a good-bye, finishing with, “I hope I’ll see you at White’s,” directed to Malcolm. Then he left, wondering if he’d somehow made things worse without knowing it.
Chapter Five
“You have to see him,” the Duke of Hartwell told his daughter four days later. “He’s given you ample time to prepare for his visit.”
Iris tried not to gag from where she was sitting at her vanity in her bedchamber, but it wasn’t to be helped. The way she saw it, when ladies didn’t want to marry, they either cried, ran away, or got angry. She was much too upset to cry, and she was much too sensible to run away. So all she could do was be angry.
“I’ll slap him,” she said. “I just know he’ll say or do something that’ll make me slap him.”
Her father shot her a pointed look. “Come now, Iris. You can’t know that.”
“This is Lord Steinbeck we’re talking about. He doesn’t have one decent bone in his entire body.”
“I have a feeling he’ll be on his best behavior this evening. He knows he’s marrying you. He has a reason to show you some interest.”
She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and motioned to her reflection. “Why? Look at me. I’m not pretty. I’m plain. I don’t stand out in the crowd. I’m forgettable. Do you even think he’ll remember me?”
“I’m sure he will.”
“No, he won’t.” She rose to her feet and marched over to him. “He’ll remember you. As soon as he sees you, he’ll remember I’m your daughter. But he won’t remember me.” She
pointed to herself. “Me.” She groaned. “This whole evening will be worse than the dinner parties because this time I’ll know I can’t escape him.”
Her father’s expression softened. “You mustn’t look at it like that. It’s very possible things will go better than you expect.”
“I’m willing to wager you on that. My investment has paid off well. Why don’t I bet you five shillings?”
He shook his head in disbelief. “You can’t bet on something like love.”
“I wouldn’t bet on something like love. I would, however, bet on a rude gentleman’s behavior.”
“I’m not making a ridiculous bet.”
“Why? Are you afraid I’ll win?”
“Iris, you know how much I admire your passion, but please, for this dinner, try to be pleasant.”
Pleasant? Her father expected her to be pleasant to Lord Steinbeck? Wasn’t it enough she was marrying him? Again, she gagged.
“If you keep doing that, you might not be able to keep your food down,” her father warned her.
“Food is the last thing on my mind,” she replied. “It shall take all my willpower not to fling something at him for the way he’s treated me. You better not have me sitting by him. I shall jab him with a fork if you do.”
Letting out a heavy sigh, he nodded. “You shall sit next to your mother.”
At least there was that small reprieve. Right now, she’d take any break she could get.
He went over to the door and opened it. “He’s due here any minute now, and it wouldn’t be good to keep him waiting.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to tell her father Lord Steinbeck could wait all night for all she cared, but then she decided against it. Maybe Lord Steinbeck would show himself for the insensitive self-centered gentleman he really was. Maybe then her father would go back to Helena and demand she arrange for someone else to marry her.
Without glancing at him, she strode out of the room and went down the stairs, making sure she lifted the hem so she wouldn’t trip on it. She didn’t know why she’d let her lady’s maid dress her up in such a nice gown. It was much too good for the likes of Lord Steinbeck. She should have worn a black dress for this evening to make a point. She heard Melissa had done that on her wedding day to protest her marriage. Iris supposed she could do it on her wedding day as well, but she didn’t have the courage.
When she made it to the drawing room, her mother offered a sympathetic smile. “How are you doing, Iris?”
“Awful.” Why pretend she was fine with this when she wasn’t? She plopped in a chair. Before her mother could suggest she sit on the settee instead, she said, “I won’t sit by Lord Steinbeck. I’ll be doing good to sit in the same room with him.” She decided not to add that the very thought of doing so made her sick to her stomach.
“I’m not any happier about this than you are,” her mother said. “But we’re ladies, and our fate is up to the whims of gentlemen.”
It was a shame gentlemen were needed at all. Right now they were causing her a lot of problems. And sadly, up to now, she’d thought the world of her father.
Her father came into the room, and, after a tense moment, he said, “I know this is going to be a difficult evening for both of you, but I ask that you be nice to him.”
“He won’t even notice I’m here,” Iris replied. “There’s no point in being nice.”
Her father let out a long sigh. “Iris—”
A knocking at the front door stopped him from saying the rest of his sentence, which was fine with Iris because she was sure whatever it was he wanted to say, she didn’t want to hear it. Her gaze met her mother’s, and her mother offered her a supportive smile. Iris couldn’t smile back. The moment of doom had arrived. Lord Steinbeck was here.
Her father left the room, and soon, she was listening to her father welcome Lord Steinbeck to his home.
“I didn’t realize Lady Iris was your daughter,” she overheard Lord Steinbeck say.
She shot her mother a pointed look. “I knew he didn’t remember me,” she whispered to her mother.
Her mother winced on her behalf.
“Yes, she’s attended two of your dinner parties,” her father told Lord Steinbeck.
Good. At least her father saw it fit to remind him of his indiscretion.
“She did?” Lord Steinbeck asked, sounding surprised. “I’ve hosted so many dinner parties that I hardly remember who I’ve had over.”
Well, wasn’t that wonderful? She was one of many ladies he’d invited to his dinner parties.
Her mother closed her eyes and shook her head, probably thinking this was as much of a disaster as Iris did.
“Come to the drawing room,” she heard her father say. “I’m sure you’ll remember her when you see her.”
If only she wouldn’t remember him. But Iris knew that was hoping for too much. Of course, she remembered him. Even now, her heartbeat picked up just by knowing he was coming into the room. Curse her weakness! It was horrible to still be physically attracted to someone like him.
When he came into the room, she refused to look over at him, but her father cleared his throat. “Iris, this is Warren.”
Warren. So that was the scoundrel’s name. Well, as far as she was concerned, she’d never refer to him that way. The sooner she let him know there would be adequate distance between them, the better.
With a loud sigh, she got up and turned to face him. My goodness, but he was better looking than she remembered. He had neatly trimmed golden hair, deep brown eyes, and a slender build. Those traits weren’t all that different from other gentlemen she’d seen. But he always had such a serious look about him, and as loathe as she was to admit it, she found it extremely sensual. She could only pray she didn’t give her attraction away. She’d rather die than have him know what affect he had on her.
So it was with an aloof tone, she said, “Lord Steinbeck, you may refer to me as Lady Iris.”
“When we marry, I’ll have to refer to you as Lady Steinbeck,” he replied, giving her the teasing smile that, even now, made her weak in the knees.
But she wasn’t going to give into such feelings. “I think Lady Iris will be sufficient.”
Warren blinked, as if surprised by her cool response. She really must have underestimated the extent of his conceit. Did he honestly expect her to welcome him after he just told her father he didn’t remember her?
Her father let out a forced laugh in an effort to ease the tension in the room. “My daughter has a marvelous sense of humor. You’ll like that about her.”
Warren glanced her way, and she made it a point to frown at him, showing him she wasn’t joking.
The butler came into the drawing room and announced dinner was ready, preventing further conversation. At least for the moment.
Since her father hurried to escort her mother out of the room, Iris had no choice but to let Warren escort her. That didn’t mean, however, she had to make it easy for him. When he reached out to touch her, she stepped away from him. There was no way she was going to allow him that kind of contact with her. It was hard enough for her to stand her ground when he was in the same room with her. She didn’t need him touching her.
When it came time to sit, she chose the seat next to her mother. She peeked at Warren to see if he felt slighted by her maneuver, but if he did, he didn’t show it. Drat. He either didn’t care or he was good at masking his emotions.
“Everything looks delicious,” Warren said as he sat across from her.
“Cook does a wonderful job,” her father replied.
Iris glanced at her mother, who didn’t seem any happier about this than she was. Well, at least she had one ally in this room.
They passed the food around in silence. Under ordinary circumstances, the silence would have bothered her. This time it didn’t bother her in the least. She did hope, however, it bothered Warren. It would serve him right after everything he’d done to her.
Once again, though, he didn’t seem bothere
d one bit. He took a bite of the food and said, “You’re right. This food is as good as it looks. My compliments to your cook.”
Which meant, so far, the cook had received more of his attention than she had at any of his dinner parties.
Her father shifted in his chair and glanced her way before asking, “What do you think of the new Sovereign?”
At first, Iris didn’t realize her father had asked her the question. Yes, he’d looked over at her, but they’d already discussed the new gold coin. He was probably only doing this to encourage a conversation between her and Warren. Helena had mentioned money being one of the things they had in common, and no doubt, he was trying to get them both to see it.
Iris, however, had another plan in mind. She set her fork down and looked directly at her father. “I think one coin is as good as another as long as you can use it.” When Warren opened his mouth to speak, she quickly added, “However, I will admit Benedetto Pistrucci did an excellent job in the design, and it is nice it’s not nearly as big as the old Sovereign.”
“The old Sovereign wasn’t very popular,” her father replied. “Though I do think it had undeniable beauty in its design as well.” He turned to Warren. “Iris has one of the old Sovereigns.”
“Really?” Warren asked, sounding impressed. “I haven’t seen one and—”
Iris took that as her cue to interrupt, much like he’d done with her in the past. “Granted, it is exquisite,” she told her father, “but I agree with those who say King Henry VII was using it to boast of his reign.”
“Unifying York and Lancaster was no small feat,” her father argued. “I’m sure some at the time thought the War of the Roses was never going to end.”
“It had to end sooner or later,” she said. “Nothing lasts forever. Even Napoleon saw the end to his rule, and some thought he’d never stop giving us grief.”
And thankfully, this dinner was going to end at some point, too. She could only ignore Warren for so long. Already, she was beginning to feel guilty, and that wasn’t going to prove her point to Warren. He deserved this. No one else was holding him accountable for the way he’d treated her, and if she let him get away with it now, then it would set a bad foundation for their marriage.
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