The Earl's Wallflower Bride

by Ruth Ann Nordin

  They all greeted each other, and Warren breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe the evening would go smoothly now that Anthony’s comment had been shoved aside. He silently thanked Miss Barlow for interrupting when she had. Who knew how much worse things could have been?

  “Sit and join us,” Lord Durrant encouraged. “I believe the dinner isn’t going to be ready for another ten minutes.”

  “He’s right. It’s not,” Anthony said.

  Since the settees were taken up, Warren made a move to sit in a chair next to Iris, but at the last minute, she veered away from it and sat on the other side of her father. Warren should have expected this, but he hadn’t. Never once did he think she’d purposely ignore him in front of his friends. It was one thing for her to do that when it was just him and her parents, but this was actually embarrassing.

  He didn’t know whether he should be upset or contrite. It certainly didn’t help his image to be spurned by his betrothed in front of these reputable people. And yet, hadn’t he done the same thing to her? Hadn’t he subjected her to the same level of embarrassment she was now subjecting him to? So really, wasn’t he only getting what he deserved?

  “Are you going to stand all evening, or do you plan to sit at some point?” Miss Barlow asked, a teasing tone in her voice.

  Warren offered a smile and sat down. “I was wondering if anyone noticed I hadn’t taken a seat,” he joked.

  Everyone but Iris laughed. Iris just looked at him as if she’d never heard anything so stupid in her entire life.

  “It’s nice to have Your Grace here this evening,” Anthony said. “Why, shortly before you arrived, we were debating whether it’s more practical to invest in high-risk business ventures that might yield a high profit or if it’d be best to stick with low-risk ventures that will yield minimal profit.”

  “I think it depends on your situation,” Iris’ father replied. “If you already have money and are young, I see nothing wrong with risky ventures as long as that risk doesn’t include any money you can’t afford to lose. The older you get, however, the more conservative you should be.”

  “I knew it!” Durrant cheered. “I was thinking the same thing.”

  “Now I appreciate all the praise Steinbeck’s given you,” Anthony said.

  Warren resisted the urge to plead with Anthony to stop. Anthony meant well. He was trying to be pleasant. He didn’t know what was going on with Iris.

  Fortunately, the butler came into the room to announce dinner was ready. Warren breathed a sigh of relief. Hopefully, the evening would go better from here.

  ***

  The dinner went worse than Iris thought possible. Not only did Miss Barlow and Miss Bachman glance at her from time to time and whisper to each other, often giggling afterwards, but Lord Worsley continued to point out how much Warren adored her father.

  “I must say,” Worsley said at one point, “you really understand business. I consider myself fortunate that you will be my friend’s father-in-law.”

  Iris was used to hearing people say such things, so she’d learned how to tune most of it out. But this evening, with Warren, Worsley, and Durrant all doing it, it made her sick. Indeed, she could barely eat anything on her plate.

  She was merely a means to an end. This marriage had nothing to do with her. The marriage was really about uniting these gentlemen into endless dinner parties where they could discuss politics and money. These were topics she’d usually enjoy, but this evening, she couldn’t bring herself to care about any of it.

  Her father must have picked up on her mood, for he gave her a look that told her things would get better with Warren, even if she didn’t believe it.

  Well, he was right about one thing. She didn’t believe it.

  “Have any of you seen an old Sovereign?” Warren spoke up.

  “No, I can’t say I have,” Lord Durrant said.

  “Lady Iris has one in her possession,” he told him.

  She frowned. What was Warren doing?

  “It’s true,” her father said. “She purchased it herself with money she earned in an investment.”

  She caught the snickers from Miss Barlow and Miss Bachman, though the others missed it. She fidgeted in her chair, not sure what her father expected from her. And more importantly, what could she say that wouldn’t earn her more disdain from Miss Barlow and her friend?

  “What investment was that?” Warren asked her.

  Iris forced her gaze off of Miss Barlow and saw that Warren was looking at her. Iris was so stunned he’d talked directly to her right in front of everyone that she dropped her fork, which, in turn, fell to the floor.

  She quickly bent down to retrieve it just in time for the butler to come over to do it for her. Of course. She should have remembered the butler was there in case anyone needed assistance, and this included dropping utensils. She made a move to sit back up, but the butler moved at the same time and the two bumped heads.

  “I’m sorry,” Iris told him.

  “Don’t be, Lady Iris,” he assured her while he stood up. “It’s my fault. I’ll bring you another fork.”

  It hadn’t been his fault. It’d been an accident, but before she could correct him, he was already out of the room.

  “I told you she was awkward,” she overheard Miss Barlow whisper to her friend.

  Iris’ face warmed. She glanced around the table, wondering if anyone else had overheard them, but the gentlemen had gone on to talk about other things so maybe they hadn’t. In that case, she’d been spared further embarrassment.

  The butler soon returned with a new fork, but Iris gave up the pretense of eating. What was the point? She’d only do something else to make the two ladies laugh at her, like spill food on herself. So she gently placed the fork next to the plate and waited patiently for the meal to end.

  When it finally did, she thought she might get a chance to ask her father if he would take her back home, but Miss Barlow and Miss Bachman came over to her before she could go to her father.

  “We’ll go to the drawing room while the gentlemen go to the den,” Miss Barlow told her as if Iris hadn’t been to a dinner party before.

  “I need to talk to my father,” Iris told her.

  Iris turned to go to her father, but Miss Barlow took her by the arm and pulled her down the hallway. “You can talk to him later. You came here with him. I’m sure that means you’ll be leaving with him, too.”

  “Well, yes,” Iris admitted.

  “Then talk to him then. For now, we need to let the gentlemen talk.”

  Iris tried to protest, but Miss Bachman helped Miss Barlow propel her forward. Before Iris knew it, she was in the drawing room and Miss Barlow was shutting the door.

  “That’s better,” Miss Barlow said. “I love my brother. He’s a sweet gentleman, but sometimes he bores me so. Honestly, Loretta, I don’t know how you can bear with him.”

  Loretta shrugged as she let go of Iris’ arm. “As you pointed out, he’s sweet. A little stuffy at times, but sweet, nonetheless.”

  “I suppose his money doesn’t hurt, either,” Miss Barlow teased.

  “Celia, that’s not fair.” Loretta giggled and sat in one of the chairs. “Though, I am partially attracted to him because of his money. But don’t all marriages occur in London for the sake of getting something? If I am to marry a titled gentleman with money, your brother is one of the better ones I can get.”

  Celia nudged Iris in the back, prompting her to take a seat. “Why do you think I introduced you to him?” she asked Loretta with a wink. She looked back at Iris. “Go on and sit. You might as well make yourself comfortable until your father comes to get you.”

  Reluctant, Iris sat across from Loretta, figuring she’d rather be across from these ladies than next to them.

  “Why did your father come tonight?” Loretta asked as Celia sat in the chair beside her.

  “Yes, I’ve been wondering the same thing all through dinner,” Celia agreed. “We didn’t think we were going to see
him this evening.”

  “Was he afraid Lord Steinbeck would slip his hand up your dress in the carriage?” Loretta asked. “Perhaps he suspected Lord Steinbeck was going to take advantage of you.”

  Celia burst out into laughter. “I’m sure Lord Steinbeck would never behave in such a way. Well, not with her anyway.”

  Iris’ face grew warm. “Even if Lord Steinbeck tried it, I wouldn’t let him. I’m not that kind of lady.”

  “Of course not,” Celia assured her. “I doubt you’ll be that kind of lady after marriage, too. Which will suit Lord Steinbeck just fine. My brother said he only wanted a wife so he could have an heir. In fact, my brother said he was bemoaning the fact that he couldn’t get an heir without the help of a wife.”

  “Are you saying Lord Steinbeck has no interest in the bed?” Loretta asked in surprise.

  “The only interest he has in the bed is sleeping in it.” She glanced at Iris. “But at least you’re getting married. I didn’t see how it was going to happen since you’re so plain to look at and never have anything interesting to say. However, now that I think about it, this match makes perfect sense. Lord Steinbeck is equally dull. You two will be well matched.”

  Iris knew this evening was going to be difficult to get through, but she’d sorely underestimated just how difficult it’d be. She could say something, she supposed, but knowing them, they’d only use it against her. They were taking delight in treating her this way. If she let them know it bothered her, it’d only make things worse.

  Forcing out a laugh, Iris said, “Yes, we are well matched. I am relieved I shall only have to endure being around him long enough to get a son. As for my father, he came along so I wouldn’t risk falling asleep during dinner. I can’t tell you how tedious you all are to me.”

  Celia straightened up in her chair and frowned at her. “I don’t recall partaking in the conversation during dinner.”

  “Yes,” Loretta added. “The gentlemen were the only ones who were doing the talking.”

  “But you two were whispering and giggling like senseless chits all through the meal,” Iris pointed out, making sure she imitated their tone of superiority. “I had wished my father could have spared me from the fate of having to be stuck with you two in this room. But alas, you insisted I come here.”

  Celia narrowed her eyes at her. “You think your place was with the gentlemen?”

  “At least their discussion was worth listening to,” Iris said.

  Loretta raised an eyebrow. “We were talking about you. Don’t you think you’re interesting?”

  “She isn’t interesting,” Celia told her friend. “We have to put up with her because my brother enjoys Lord Steinbeck’s company.” She rolled her eyes. “And Lord Steinbeck insisted on bringing her.”

  “I don’t want to be here any more than you want me here,” Iris informed them and crossed her arms. “But being a lady, my life isn’t my own, and I must do as my father wants.”

  “And what would you be doing this evening if you weren’t here?” Celia asked. “Sit in your bedchamber and stare out the window while life passes you by?”

  “It’d be preferable to this,” Iris muttered.

  How Iris hated her encounters with these two ladies. Her father had no idea what it was like for her. He thought that just because they were her age and they were ladies, she’d have an enjoyable time. “You need to make friends,” her father often said. “Open yourself up to new people.” If only he could be in her position to see what she had to go through every time he said that.

  “No wonder your father sought an arranged marriage for you,” Celia said. “It’s the only way you could get a husband. It’s a shame Lord Steinbeck has no interest in you. I heard he only invited you to his dinner parties because of your father. Maybe if your father had been there, he wouldn’t have ignored you in front of everyone.”

  “Yes,” Loretta agreed. “I see he made it a point to talk to you this evening since your father was there.”

  “That’s why she insisted her father come along,” Celia told her friend. “It was bad enough when Lord Steinbeck ignored her before their betrothal. Can you imagine how much more embarrassing it’d be now?”

  Iris had had enough. She bolted to her feet and stormed to the door.

  “Running off because you can’t handle the truth?” Celia called out after her.

  “No, I’m running off because if I don’t, I’m likely to whack you on the head,” Iris snapped.

  “Of course,” Loretta replied, snickering in a way that let Iris know she found Iris amusing.

  No doubt the two would tell everyone their version of events this evening. Iris put her hand on the doorknob then turned back to them, debating whether or not she should do something to wipe the smug looks off their faces.

  But what could she do? Nothing she could say would bother them. All they’d do was find some clever retort to upset her even more. And quite honestly, going up to them and smacking them wasn’t her style.

  The knocking on the door made her jump.

  “Don’t be spooked,” Celia said. “We don’t have ghosts in this place.”

  Ignoring the two ladies, who proceeded to giggle, Iris opened the door, not sure if she was relieved or disappointed to see Warren standing in front of her.

  “Your father was wondering if you would like to stay longer or if you’re ready to leave,” he said.

  Iris didn’t bother looking to see if Celia and Loretta overheard him. He was speaking low enough so only she should be able to hear him, but who knew if his voice carried further into the room than she thought possible.

  She breezed past him and headed down the hall where the gentlemen had gone. Somewhere down here was the den. She figured she’d know the room when she heard their voices.

  Warren followed after her. “Iris?”

  Not paying him any mind, she listened for voices behind one of the closed doors. Nothing. She headed for the next closed door.

  Warren darted in front of her, successfully stopping her. “Iris, can we talk?”

  “No.” She had nothing—absolutely nothing—to say to him. Not now. Not ever.

  She tried to step to the side, but he blocked her from going around him. “It won’t take long,” he said. “I want to apologize for the way I’ve treated you.”

  “Apology not accepted.”

  Before he could speak, she darted around him again, this time making sure she was faster than he was. And the ploy worked. Within the next few seconds, she made it to the door where she heard the other gentlemen talking and laughing.

  Apparently, she was the only one here having a miserable time. Without waiting for Warren, she knocked on the door.

  “I don’t mind telling your father you’re ready to leave,” Warren told her, his breath tickling her ear as he went around her so he could open the door.

  She cursed her body for tingling with excitement at his nearness. It wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t fair her body refused to cooperate with her mind.

  Warren entered the room and went over to her father. She edged around the doorway so Lords Worsley and Durrant couldn’t see her. Her father, however, glanced her way as Warren quietly talked to him.

  Good. She was almost out of here. She looked back down the hall and caught sight of Celia and Loretta, who were shaking their heads in amusement. Deciding not to give them any more power over her, she turned her back to them and watched as her father rose to his feet.

  As loathe as she was to admit it, her father had a natural charm with people. No wonder Warren was so eager to marry her. Marriage meant securing her father’s good graces. She, however, had no such gift. She blended into the background, much like a wallflower. That’s all she’d ever been, and it was all she’d ever be.

  Pushing down the thought, she focused on getting out of this awful townhouse. The sooner she returned home, the better.

  After her father said good-bye to the gentlemen, who were obviously sorry to see him go, he wal
ked over to her. She turned and left the townhouse with him, not bothering to look at the two chits as she passed them. She waited for them to make some snide remark or snicker as they’d been doing most of the evening, but they only wished her a good evening in a tone that would make the others think they had actually enjoyed having her there.

  She hated it when they did this kind of thing. They never showed their true colors when others were around. And it made it that much more difficult to explain to her father why she hated being stuck with them.

  By the time she sat in the carriage, she didn’t even care that Warren was sitting next to her. The evening had drained out any fight left in her. All she wanted to do was go home, throw the covers over her head, and go to sleep.

  Her father waited until the carriage moved forward before he said, “I take it you didn’t have a good evening.”

  “I told you it’d be the same it always is when it comes to Miss Barlow and Miss Bachman,” she blandly commented, staring out the window.

  “They seemed pleasant,” her father said.

  Was he serious? She turned her gaze to him. “Didn’t you notice the way they were snickering at me during the meal?”

  “They were snickering at you?” Warren asked, sounding surprised.

  She groaned. “I don’t imagine these things,” she told her father, ignoring Warren. What did he care? Any concern he pretended to have was for her father’s benefit. “I’m intelligent enough to see what’s going on around me. I don’t understand why that’s so hard to believe.”

  Her father’s expression softened. “Iris, there’s no doubt you’re intelligent. In fact, you’re more intelligent than most gentlemen I know.”

  “Then why don’t you believe me? They spent most of the dinner whispering between each other and snickering at me. Then, when I was stuck in the drawing room with them, they were very unkind.”

  “What did they say?” Warren asked.

  She finally turned her attention to him. “What do you care?” she snapped. “You’re no different from them.”