* * *
August had been to many social gatherings throughout his lifetime, but none that were anything like this. He had attended balls at Almack’s, parties at some of the most opulent houses in London, and gatherings at grand estates throughout the countryside.
They had been attended by dukes and duchesses, nobility of every tier, and once even the Prince Regent himself had been at the same event.
None of it had prepared him for a country dance in a new barn.
As he stepped inside, he was overwhelmed by the fresh smell of the newly hewn timber and brick, and the sweet smell of the hay sitting in the corner awaiting distribution following tonight’s festivities.
August didn’t think he had ever actually been in a true barn before. Stables, of course, but a barn for animals? He didn’t think so.
There was a low hum resounding around the barn as people began to gather within, greeting one another with smiles, embraces, and handshakes. August stood by the door with the few other men he had arrived with. They were outsiders in this event which was for the locals. He shouldn’t have come. None of them should have. Then, the din was overwhelmed by the startup of instruments that until now had been sitting in the corner of the barn. A trio of men now held them and began playing a lively tune. People of all ages took to the floor, swinging one another around in a dance that was as uncoordinated as it was spirited. August found himself tapping his foot in time to the music, his feet itching to join in on the dance floor.
He was soon distracted, however, by a vision in purple who walked through the door. Certainly, he wasn’t the only one whose attention was captured by the woman. He’d thought he had seen Iris Tavners in the distance when he arrived. But now, seeing her so close, as beautiful as she ever was, she actually took his breath away.
Her chestnut curls were pulled back in a simple yet elegant style that framed her face, and he was taken aback by his urgent need to have his arms about her waist. He was perplexed. Where was this coming from? How many times had he seen her in the past when he previously boarded at The Wild Rose Inn? True, was he being honest with himself, he had been unable to resist the attraction that he felt for her, despite the fact he had the woman he’d once thought loved him waiting for him at home.
Just then, he noted something else — Iris was not alone. Her hand rested on the arm of another man. A man with perfectly coiffed blond hair, who would likely be considered as good looking as she. August didn’t think he had ever seen the man before, and he couldn’t remember Iris being attached to anyone. Sure, he knew she was a woman who was popular with the young men in the area, and he had always been aware that she was something of a flirt. She certainly had been with him and he assumed she was with most young men she encountered.
August noted the pride in the man’s gaze as he looked around the room, clearly appreciating the fact that the two of them were being noticed by most. He led her onto the dance floor, and August wondered if it was his imagination, or if Iris seemed reluctant to join her partner. Either way, August soon had to tear his gaze away, or else he was sure that others would notice the attention he was paying to the two of them.
Which was why, an hour later, he was surprised when Iris approached him. August had taken a couple of turns on the dance floor himself but was now enjoying a drink with some of the other men from the inn. Most had been fighting in the war, though no one revealed much about themselves. Still, they were companions with a similar past and shared a common understanding among them.
“Lord Westwood,” Iris said, approaching him, he stepped away from the other men. “Are you enjoying yourself this evening?”
“I am,” he said. “Though clearly not as much as you are.”
She looked at him with some confusion, likely due to the sarcasm that had unwittingly entered his tone.
“I am having a fine enough time,” she said.
“I was unaware that you were attached,” August said, trying to adopt an air of nonchalance — one that he should be holding regardless. In fact, he had no idea why he was even questioning her about this. It was certainly none of his business and would not affect him or his life.
“Oh, I am not attached,” she said, causing him to raise an eyebrow.
“Truly?” he asked. “Conventions must be considerably different here in Southwold. Where I am from if a lady arrived with a gentleman and then danced more than twice with him one would consider her spoken for.”
“I can assure you that is not the case,” she said, but as though to disprove her words she was joined by the man to whom he had been referring.
“Iris, darling,” he said, “please introduce me to this man.”
A dark look flitted across her face for a moment before she reestablished her winning smile.
“Lord Westwood, may I please introduce Ernest Abernathy? Mr. Abernathy, this is Lord August Williams, one of the guests at our inn.”
“It is a pleasure,” August murmured, but he certainly didn’t mean the words when he saw the way the man glared at him with a silent warning to stay away.
Well, this was interesting. Iris was obviously lying about her relationship. Should he even be surprised? After all that had occurred with Amelia, he should know better. Iris was obviously just another woman keeping her options open, despite the fact that she was already promised to one man.
“Shall we rejoin the dance floor?” her Mr. Abernathy asked, nearly ignoring August altogether.
“Actually,” she said, “Lord Westwood just asked if I would accompany him for a set.” She looked at August now, her eyes pleading. “I told him I would be happy to, isn’t that right, Lord Westwood?”
He should tell this poor fellow here the truth of the matter, but he was too curious for his own good. He wanted to know what the woman was up to. What that said about his own life and his lack of stimulation, he wasn’t entirely sure, but how much harm could one dance do?
5
“Thank you,” Iris breathed as the two of them joined the other couples on the dance floor, where the music and therefore the movement of the people had slowed to a gentle sway.
“To what are you referring?”
“For agreeing to this dance despite the fact you never actually asked me.”
“You didn’t want another dance with your darling Mr. Abernathy?” Lord Westwood asked, and she cringed at his words as he took one of her hands in his and placed the other upon her waist. She tried not to react to his touch, though it was difficult to ignore the tremors that ran down her spine — far from the chill she had felt when Earnest placed his hands upon her.
“He’s not my darling,” she said. “Far from it, in fact. It’s a long story, but all I must do is put up with him for a short time.”
“Until when?” he asked, his face displaying his confusion.
Iris opened her mouth to respond, but just then she saw Millie’s father pass behind Lord Westwood. “I will explain another time,” she promised.
August nodded, but Iris didn’t miss the dark look that crossed his face and she wondered at it. Why did he care?
She was about to ask him what had caused such a reaction when she noticed something — rather, someone — else across the room.
“Oh, dear,” she murmured, already attempting to determine just how she could resolve the situation when Lord Westwood cut into her thoughts.
“What is it?”
“My sister,” she said with a sigh. “Violet. There she is, standing in the corner as always. I do wish she would try a little harder. Once we are finished our dance I shall find a nice gentleman to join her. From there, hopefully she will realize just how much fun dancing can be and will join in the festivities.”
A half-smile had grown on Lord Westwood’s face.
“And what if she does not want to dance?” he asked.
“Of course she wants to dance,” Iris said, rolling her eyes at him. “Who wouldn’t? She simply will not be encouraging anyone to ask her if she continues to stand th
ere as she is.”
Lord Westwood shrugged. “Some people would rather remain in the shadows. Although I suppose a woman like you might not completely understand that.”
Iris bristled. “Forgive me, but what exactly does that mean?”
Lord Westwood chuckled at her indignation, which only further fueled it.
“Only that everyone is different, Miss Iris. You enjoy interaction with other people, while your sister obviously does not.”
“Which is why she requires a bit of help now and then,” Iris said pointedly, and Lord Westwood just sighed, giving up on his attempt to convince her otherwise, and rightly so. He didn’t know her sister as she did.
“Anyway,” Iris said airily in an attempt to keep him from realizing how his apparent disdain for her actions affected her, “tell me, Lord Westwood, after your last stay, did you return to London and wed the love of your life?”
She was tossing his own words back at him. She had tried to push away the memory of their last encounter, but she couldn’t help the way it continued to repeat itself over and over in her mind.
She had run into him in the corner outside of the guest sitting room. The bedding she had been carrying had fallen to the floor and they both bent to pick it up at the same time. Their heads had bumped into one another ever so slightly, and when she looked up, his lips were but a breath away from hers. When their eyes met, she had thought what she saw in them was what she was feeling deep inside herself — a longing desire. Iris had leaned in, but when she did he pulled back abruptly, leaving her bereft and embarrassed.
He had apologized, blaming himself for the misunderstanding, and then went on to explain that he would be returning to London and about the woman he would soon marry — the love of his life. They would have already been wed, he told her, had her father not been away in Scotland until after Lord Westwood left to work for the Crown.
Now, in response to Iris’ question, he went completely still, stopping all movements of the dance. His eyes flashed dark, his expression one she could only describe as haunted.
“She was not, apparently, the love of my life,” he said, his voice devoid of all emotion. “At the very least, I was not hers.”
“Oh,” Iris said, unsure of how to respond to his words. She was shocked and longed to know more of what had happened, but she had no idea how to ask without causing him to completely shut down. “I-I’m sorry to hear it.”
“Yes, well, so was I,” he said, only now beginning to move once more after they had been bumped into by other couples on the floor. “But there is nothing to be done now.”
Should she ask what had occurred? If the woman was well? Iris bit her lip but just then the music came to a stop and bloody Ernest was there once more at her elbow, waiting for the next dance.
“I will leave you to your gentleman,” Lord Westwood said, and as he began to walk away, Iris brushed aside Ernest’s waiting arms.
“I need some refreshment,” she grumbled, no longer caring, for the moment at least, how she might appear to him.
He opened his mouth to argue with her but must have seen how disgruntled she was and promptly shut it. Iris mused that perhaps he had finally smartened some, but then he followed along behind her.
“Did Lord Westerland say something to offend you?” he asked.
“Lord Westwood,” Iris muttered. “And no, he didn’t.”
“Did he—”
“Ernest, could you please just shov—”
“Iris!”
Iris hadn’t realized she had walked right into Millie, who was walking toward the dance floor behind Burt. “So lovely to see you,” Millie continued, a smile on her face as she looked between Iris and Ernest.
“And you, Millie,” Iris said, her face flooding with heat at what Millie had likely overheard. Once again, Iris was allowing her own interests and emotions to overcome all else. “You look well this evening.”
“As do you.”
They shared a look of understanding, and Iris swallowed the words she had been about to spew forth to her companion.
“I shall leave you. Come, Ernest,” she sighed. “Let’s find a drink.”
And put all thought of Lord Westwood and his former fiancée behind her. For there was one thing Iris refused to be — and that was anyone’s second choice.
* * *
August wiped his brow as he exited the dance floor. The night was coming to a close, and the villagers began to trickle out of the building. He had danced a few sets with some of the pretty local women, but he couldn’t help that one dance of the night that had stood out in his mind. One with a young woman who was far too willful, far too obstinate, and far too inquisitive. One thing was for certain — it was difficult to know what to expect when it came to Iris Tavners.
He didn’t know why he had revealed so much to her when she had asked about Amelia. He would have preferred to leave his life in London where it was — in London. If there was one benefit to returning to Southwold, it was that here, no one knew of the circumstances regarding his broken engagement nor his humiliation.
At the very least, the dance had ended before she had the opportunity to question him any further. Her beau had arrived, ready to sweep her back onto the dance floor. Why she had been particularly rude to Abernarthy, he had no idea. It was almost as though she were attempting to be rid of him. But if there was one thing he had learned upon his last visit, the girl was not short of suitors. So why would she simply not tell him to shove off and leave her be? It was perplexing, though, he told himself, not at all his problem to concern himself over.
What had truly caused him the most worry, however, was not her inability to understand her sister, nor the man she tossed aside when she had the opportunity to dance with an earl, nor even the fact she had questioned him far more than he desired regarding his love life — or lack thereof. No, what was truly bothering him, what he did not want to accept, was what she had stirred within him. For when her warm yet delicate fingers had been encased in his, when he had placed his hand upon her waist just where it began to flare out into a voluptuous hip, desire had flickered to life deep within him and had fanned out throughout his extremities.
Her crystal-blue eyes had seemingly pierced right through him when she looked at him, and when she stepped closer, a scent that seemed to be a mixture of lavender and lemon had wafted up from her hair to his nose, and he had to restrain himself from leaning down for more.
No, he thought, following his fellow soldiers as they rode down the hill from the barn and back to the village, time spent with Iris Tavners was nothing but dangerous. She was not a woman to trust — though how many of them were? And worse still, it was his own fickle emotions that most worried him. He had proven to be a terrible judge of character in the past, and no pretty face was going to cause him such heartache again. Of that, he was sure.
6
Iris stared at the task in front of her and began to slowly back out the door, only to bump into Violet behind her, who was continuing down the corridor to the next bedchamber.
“No you don’t,” Violet said, clicking her tongue. “The sooner you begin, the sooner it will be done.”
Iris closed her eyes for a moment, hoping that the disheveled bedchamber would disappear by the time she opened them once more. Unfortunately no miracle occurred and the disheveled bedroom remained.
Another boarder had left and a new one would soon be arriving — meaning that by this afternoon the room had to be in a state to welcome someone new.
“Perhaps this is a task best left to one of the new maids,” she said, chewing her lip.
“Then you should get to the kitchens and take over peeling potatoes,” Violet said over her shoulder as she continued on, and Iris sighed and stepped into the room with her bucket of water and a rag.
Iris was becoming rather tired of this work. She was not meant to act as a servant within an inn. Her sister Daisy had been much more suited to this. She had never complained and, in fact, seemed to r
elish the opportunity to take care of others. Then she had married a duke and now she had legions of servants doing everything for her. It was hardly fair.
But that was life, was it not? Iris steeled her shoulders and entered the room, bristling at the mess. This guest hadn’t been particularly clean, unfortunately. She crossed to the other wall, opening a window to allow the sea breeze to waft in and begin to air out the room. She stood there for a moment, enjoying the view of the waves gently lapping the shore. It was beautiful here, that she certainly couldn’t deny. She sighed before turning and set to work, determined not to allow the chore to dim her spirits. She began to hum as she went about her work until the melody eventually took over and the words began to flow, the song as natural to her as breathing itself.
* * *
August was returning to his room after the morning walk he had decided would become a habit during his stay at Southwold. Well, the habit so far had been consistent for two days, but his plan was for it to continue. He had to admit that the ocean air was refreshing and to be out of the bustle of London was soothing for the soul.
It was interesting, for August had always enjoyed being surrounded by people, whether it be at his gentlemen’s club or at a social gathering of one sort or the other. Whether he was conversing with other men or flirting with women, he had never found it overly difficult to attract people to him or to encourage conversation.
Here in Southwold, he found himself alone more often and yet when he was within the village or around others of the town, there was a certain familiarity, despite the fact that he was a stranger. No one put on airs or cared whether he had recently lunched with a duke or had a tryst with lady so-and-so. When the man serving him a drink asked him if he was having an enjoyable evening, he knew the man actually cared about whether or not he had. It was as refreshing as the ocean air itself.
An Earl for Iris Page 3