The Earl's Wallflower Bride (10 page)

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 walked 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.”

“Iris, you don’t mean that,” her father
said.

“Don’t tell me what I mean or don’t mean,”
she replied, shooting him a pointed look. “I might not have any
control over who I marry, but I will always control what I
mean.”

To that, both gentlemen grew silent and
didn’t say anything else the rest of the way to her townhouse,
something she was grateful for.

Chapter Nine