“But the loss of Abernathy’s affections did nothing to dissuade her father. And so with the tournament, all were distracted enough to allow Millie to run off with her fisherman.”
“Precisely,” Iris said with a smile.
“Interesting,” he mused and then didn’t miss the look she sent his way.
“What does that mean?” she asked, and he smiled at her defensive tone.
“I simply mean that what you did for your friend is actually rather admirable — especially considering that you can hardly tolerate the man.”
She paused for a moment, looking down at her feet. The afternoon was growing late and their shadows stretched out long in front of them.
“I haven’t always been the best of friends to those closest to me — most especially to my sisters,” she said, keeping her gaze forward and not meeting his eye. “It took Daisy and Marigold marrying and leaving the inn to make me realize how much I missed them, how much they did for me and how I, in turn… well, I have always looked after myself first, I suppose you could say. It is time I did something for someone else.”
“Which is why we are here now,” he murmured as he looked at the blacksmith’s shop that now loomed in front of them.
“Yes,” she nodded. “I have been waiting for Millie to arrive home. I know this will no longer be her home, but she loves her father so much she’ll return here — if he didn’t catch up with her already.”
“To explain her actions.”
“Yes.”
“Actions you encouraged.”
She rounded, finally looking him in the eye, her own gaze challenging him.
“You don’t approve.”
“I never said that.”
“You didn’t have to,” she said, her hands in fists by her side. “It doesn’t matter what you think. Millie wanted to follow her heart, and she needed help to do so. It was what she wanted and I simply supported her.”
“Life will be difficult, married to a fisherman, will it not?”
“Of course it will!” she said, raising her hands as though to exaggerate her point. “I told her that time and again over the last year, but still, her love for him never wavered and she will accept whatever he can and will offer her. But…” she trailed off, her expression growing wistful, “when she explained it to me, I understood. She would rather spend her life with little food on the table, but the man she loves, over plentiful cupboards with a man who would drive her mad. And trust me, that would be the least that Ernest Abernathy would do. “
“And what happens to Abernathy now?”
“Now,” she said, taking a deep breath, “I will tell him how I really feel — not in so many words, but in as nice a way as I can.”
They stopped in front of the blacksmith’s shop, and Iris peered in the windows of the living quarters but must have found it empty for she stepped back.
“Not home yet,” she murmured. “I’ll keep watch.”
August contemplated her, wondering how to say what he needed to without insulting her.
“Do you think that it is… proper to interfere in others’ lives?”
“Lord Westwood,” she said, whipping her head around to look at him. “I did what I thought was right, and I will not apologize.”
August raised his hands in front of him in defense. He wanted to laugh at how passionate she had become over her own actions, but somehow he knew that would be a poor decision in the moment.
“I actually think much of what you did is admirable,” he said, “as long as no one is hurt by it all.”
“No one will be,” she confirmed. “Millie and Burt will have their happily ever after, her father will come to realize that she will be much happier than if she had married Ernest, and Ernest, well, Ernest will be happy as long as he has himself, for that is the only person he truly cares for.”
“Very well, then,” he said. “You know all of these people far better than I.”
“I do,” she said, and then as they began to turn to back to the inn, she gasped as she looked into the distance. “They’ve returned!” she exclaimed, and then picked up her skirts and began to run down the cobblestones toward an approaching horse.
“Millie!” she called, and August followed along slowly, not wanting to interrupt the moment between two friends yet unable to tear himself away from this whole situation. He truly had become far too bored upon his stay here.
Millie and her Burt dismounted, and Millie wrapped her arms around Iris in an embrace.
“Thank you,” he heard her exclaim as he neared them. “I could never have done this without you.”
“Did your father find you?”
“He did,” Millie said, “but in the end… he understood. He was there for the wedding, and I am grateful. So grateful to now have such love in my life.”
He kept his distance as they spoke, and soon enough the newlyweds were continuing past him, with Iris looking on after them. It was only as he neared that he noticed the tears in her eyes.
“I was wrong,” she said, and he looked at her, confused.
“About helping them?”
“No, in the past. I was wrong to put myself first so often. It feels much better to have done something for someone else, that much is for certain.”
“I suppose you are right,” he said with a slow nod. “I likely have much to learn from you.”
“You risked yourself for your country,” she said pointedly, her cheeks highlighted by the setting sun as it glowed down upon her. “One could hardly suggest that you have not put yourself first.”
“It may appear that way,” he said, realizing as he did so that he had not even admitted so much to himself. “But I really took my position for my own purposes — to give myself a sense of importance that I hadn’t previously felt, to have the opportunity to live a life of high stakes. I love the rush, the risk. And I’ve only realized that now that it is gone.”
“Yet you are here.”
“I am here,” he said.
“Very well,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest and turning to look at him. “I won our wager. And now I have my question for you.”
10
Iris didn’t want to admit how handsome August looked standing in the dim remaining light of the day. She was somewhat confused as to whether or not he disapproved of her. She didn’t want his opinion to matter, and yet somehow it did — far more than even her father’s, who had been irate, of course. But it all paled in comparison to the glow on Millie’s face when she returned to Southwold, newly married.
Iris had been contemplating which question she would put to Lord Westwood. She knew he expected her to ask why he was back at the inn, and while of course she was curious, there was another question she now felt the need to ask, despite the fact she knew he would far prefer she didn’t.
“Very well,” he said, his expression turning wary, and he leaned back against the brick wall of the general store, where they now stood beside. It was the last building before the village ended and the marshes and fields beyond began. “I am assuming you’d like to know why I am here?”
“I would be pleased for you to tell me that, but that is not my question.”
He stayed silent, waiting for her to speak.
“What happened,” she asked softly, “between you and the woman you said you were returning to? The one with whom you had thought to spend the rest of your life?”
He narrowed his eyes as his typically jovial mouth turned downward in a scowl.
“I have no wish to speak of it,” he said, turning from her to begin back down the path, but she caught his arm with one hand.
“We made a wager,” she said, her eyes holding his in a challenge. “I expect you to honor it.”
“And I expect you to keep your curiosity just that — curiosity,” he retorted. “What does it even matter?”
“It just… does,” she said gently, and it was the right tactic, for his anger lessened ever so slightly, and he gave a crisp nod.
<
br /> “Fine,” he said, dropping his hands and leaning in toward her as though to intimidate her, but Iris was no coward. “You would really like to know? I returned to London expecting to find her awaiting me with open arms. I hadn’t even stopped at my own townhouse before I went to her father’s, so eager was I to see her. I was informed she was not there — but could be found at the home of Lord Bollingbrook. Which was interesting, for Lord Bollingbrook was my closest friend. I told myself they must be commiserating, that they each surely had missed me to so great an extent that they were finding comfort with one another.”
A sick feeling began to grow in Iris’ stomach as she realized to where this story was leading.
“You don’t have to continue,” she said, her voice just over a whisper, but it was far too late now.
“Oh no, you wanted to know,” he insisted, and she swallowed hard. “They found comfort all right. When I knocked on the door and asked for her, the butler frowned at me and asked if I was referring to Lady Bollingbrook.”
He chuckled sardonically now, and Iris bit her lip. She never should have asked this. She had allowed her curiosity to overcome all else, as she always did. So much for putting others’ best interests first.
“I was shown into the drawing room. There, I had to witness the two of them fawning over one another and telling me how they had spent so much time together and eventually ‘just couldn’t help themselves.’ It was sickening.”
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, and he shrugged.
“It’s over now. Done. I now know how fickle the affections of a woman can be, and I will not make such a mistake again.”
“Not all women are the same,” she insisted, it suddenly becoming imperative that he understand and not believe such a thing.
“How do you think your Ernest will feel once you tell him the truth?”
“I do not think he will overly mind,” she said honestly, “for he cares for no one but himself.”
“Isn’t that what you said about yourself? And yet you would feel betrayed, would you not?”
His words sunk in and a sense of shame swept over Iris. He was right. She hadn’t overly considered Ernest’s feelings because he was… well, Ernest.
“You are right,” she said. “I will tell him how I feel as soon as possible… and as gently as I possibly can, I promise.”
She paused for a moment.
“Do you still love her? Your Amelia?”
“Does it matter?”
Yes, suddenly it mattered very much.
“No. I was just wondering.”
“No, I no longer love her,” he said bitterly. “The worst of it is that I don’t think I ever really did. It was the betrayal that hurt the most. Both hers and the man who had been my friend for twenty years. I’m angry, Iris. Just angry.”
“Anger doesn’t suit you,” she said, “perhaps forgiveness would be best.”
“Perhaps in time,” he said, turning to look at her once more. “I should go. Good luck with Abernathy.”
She nodded and watched him stride away with a knot of worry in the pit of her stomach. He was a proud man, one who would never want to admit any failings.
But her worry would have to wait until later. For at the moment, there was a conversation that needed to be finished as soon as possible. With a man she had no desire to have it with.
Fortunately, the apothecary was empty save for Ernest himself when she arrived.
“Iris!” he said with his sickly smooth smile. “What a surprise. You have managed to leave your duties at the inn?”
“Yes,” she said. “With the tournament today, everything had been prepared ahead of time for the evening meal. I must return soon to serve, but otherwise, most of the men are still drinking in the dining area.”
“How nice for them,” he said, “to not have to return to work like the rest of us.”
“I suppose they spent enough time risking their lives that they deserve a bit of a break,” she said with a shrug, and he snorted, reminding her of why she could never be with a man like him.
“We are alone here, you do realize that,” he said now, leaning over the counter with a smile on his face. “Is that why you came here to seek me out — so that perhaps we might come to know one another better… in another sense?”
“No,” she said immediately, shivering as she did. She couldn’t imagine such a thing with a man like Ernest. “I am, however, glad that we have a moment to ourselves. I must talk to you about something of some importance.”
“Good,” he said, moving the bottles to one side of the counter in front of him and rounding it to the same side she was on. “I also think it is time we discuss how we might further our relationship.”
“That’s just it,” Iris said, wringing her hands together. “I actually… I have no wish to do so.”
“Pardon me?”
“I am sorry, Ernest,” she said, her words coming out quickly now. “I do hope you will understand, but after spending some time together, I believe that we actually do not suit one another very well. Perhaps we should move on, find others we would be better with.”
His forehead creased, his eyes narrowed, his mouth forming a thin line as he stepped closer to her.
“Tell me, Iris,” he said, his voice low and gruff, “Does this have anything to do with the Earl who recently came to town? Because, let me tell you, the man will never have time or interest in you for anything more than a brief dalliance. He would ruin you and then leave. Or… does this have anything to do with your friend Millie?”
Iris bit her lip.
“It has nothing to do with any of that, Ernest,” she lied. “It is just that you and I… well, you would become tired of me after a time, I’m sure of it, and I feel that perhaps we just would be happier were we not together, that is all.”
“Oh you think that, do you?” he said, and every time he took a step toward her, she took one backward. “Perhaps I can convince you otherwise.”
“I really don’t think—”
But then her back came up against the counter behind her and she had nowhere to move. He took the opportunity to practically pounce upon her, his mouth coming down hard on hers as she fought to escape. She tried to duck, but one of his hands held her in place. She reared her head back long enough to emit a scream for help, but he quickly silenced her with the other hand over her mouth. Iris fought like a wildcat, but he was much stronger than she was, and soon he was fumbling with her skirts. She took all of the strength within her and jerked her knee up as hard as she could between his legs. He emitted a howl but didn’t let go, and she nearly lost all hope — until the door of the apothecary banged open and August stormed in, anger filling his face as he took in the scene in front of him.
“Get off her,” he snarled, and Ernest chuckled.
“Oh, but she wants it,” he said, and with his attention otherwise occupied, Iris lifted her hand back and connected her fist solidly with his nose.
He cried out and released her as his hands came to his face, catching the blood, and Iris stepped back in shock over all that just happened — and the pain that was radiating from her fist up through her arm.
August took a step toward the man as though he was going to further hurt him, but Iris held up a hand, shaking her head.
“Let’s just go,” she said, and despite his hesitation, August nodded and placed an arm around her waist to help her to the door. They were about to leave when he turned back for one final word.
“If you ever try anything like this again,” he threatened Ernest, “I do not care where I am or what else may be occurring in my life, but I will come back and end yours. Do you hear me?”
Ernest was now holding the bottom of his shirt to his nose, but he managed a quick nod, though his eyes remained hard and focused on the two of them.
“Good,” August said, and then before Iris knew what was happening, he had her out the door and away from the apothecary, a place she knew she would never again enter.
>
11
August kept a firm grip around Iris as he walked her away from the apothecary and down the street back toward the inn. She was shaking something fierce, but as he pulled her tightly toward him, he realized that he was trembling nearly as violently.
He couldn’t explain what had drawn him toward Iris and the apothecary. After they had parted, he had intended to return to the inn, to forget Iris and the drama that seemed to surround her. But then an itch had bothered him, one that told him that he wasn’t done with her, that he still had a role to play and that she might need him.
When he had opened the door to the apothecary and taken in the sight before him, he had nearly gone blind with a rage unlike any he had known before.
It was clear that the embrace was not one welcomed by both sides. He only wished that he could have planted his fist in the man’s face before Iris beat him to it, although if anyone had the right to do so, it was she.
She stopped suddenly now, placing her hands on his arms.
“I don’t want to go back to the inn,” she said, and he read the desperation in her eyes. “Not yet, not right now. Please?”
“Where would you like to go?”
“Anywhere without people,” she said. “The beach, perhaps?”
“Which way?” he asked simply, willing to do whatever she wished at the moment as long as it would help her to feel better.
She pointed, and he took her arm once more, leading her down the path toward the sandy shore.
“Does your hand hurt?” he asked, looking down at it, and she nodded tersely.
“Come,” he said, and led her to the edge of the sand, placing her hand in the cool sea water. “Does that feel better?” he asked, and she nodded once more.
August yearned to do nothing more than to take her in his arms and tell her everything would be fine, but he wasn’t entirely sure how she would feel if he did such a thing, and he also didn’t know that it would be the truth to say so. For he could be gone on the morrow, and she would be left here, living just down the road from Ernest Abernathy. Iris had proven she could protect herself to an extent, but if he hadn’t arrived when he did… he didn’t want to think of what could have happened.
An Earl for Iris Page 6