Only a Lady Will Do by Tamara Gill
Chapter 15
The duchess stood watching her son swoop his betrothed about the Devonshire ballroom. Iris appeared happy. Her bright eyes and adoring smile gave Sarah hope that their marriage would be as happy as her other children’s. Josh deserved to find love, for he had so much to give. He merely needed to find the right woman to bestow it upon.
Her only child to remain unwed, and the family heir needed to marry, secure the line with a child and continue the proud Worthingham, Penworth name for another generation.
"Good evening, Your Grace," Lady Sophie said, dipping into a curtsy before standing beside her.
Sarah inclined her head in welcome. "Good evening, Lady Sophie. I did not know you were in attendance. Is your father here with you? I have not seen him about of late."
"Oh, he's over there," she said, gesturing to the farther side of the room. "I came to congratulate you on the duke's engagement to Miss Cooper. How happy you must be."
"I am very happy, yes," she said, relieved that her feelings on the forthcoming nuptials were genuine. In fact, she could hardly contain her excitement that her favorite friend would soon be related to her by marriage. Their children married. One could not hope for more.
"I should like to make a match this year. If Miss Cooper can find love, I'm certain I can too, do you not think?"
"Of course," the duchess replied, uncertain as to what Lady Sophie could mean by such words and not particularly wishing to know. Did she believe Iris to be beneath her? Surprised that she had found her match so quickly?
"Being the age we both are, and Miss Cooper older than myself by several years, I should think she is of similar age to the duke. I do pray that she will be a good, abiding wife, give you many grandchildren."
The duchess narrowed her eyes, pinning Lady Sophie with a hardened stare. "I do not see why she should not. Seven and twenty is not old, Lady Sophie."
Lady Sophie's amused laugh rang false, and Sarah understood what this little tête-à-tête was about. The duchess had to stop herself from grinding her teeth.
"I merely mention such a thing because if you remember, Lady Astley several years back married when she was seven and twenty and was unable to give the earl any children. Very sad," Lady Sophie said with a pout and considering glance at the duke and Miss Cooper, who twirled past them.
"I do not think that will be the case with my son or future daughter-in-law, Lady Sophie," she stated, her tone hard but not cruel. "I shall let the duke and Miss Cooper know that you wish them well and happiness."
Lady Sophie raised her glass of champagne, toasting the air. "Of course, I would appreciate that, Your Grace," she said.
The duchess left her then, unsure she liked what Lady Sophie said or the reasons behind it. Not that she believed in any of the words spoken, but she was not fooled enough not to know that Lady Sophie had wanted to marry her son and was probably a little slighted that she had not landed him.
But would she spread such rumors about Iris? Ensure the ton gossiped about Iris's age? Although a little older than most debutantes, Iris was certainly not over the hill and ready to be put to pasture.
One thing she was thankful for was that it was not Lady Sophie who had been caught kissing the duke. Marriage to such a woman would have left her son regretting his choice, but the duchess could not see that happening with Iris.
No, they were already friends and soon would be lovers. That solid base was enough to weld a solid foundation for a happy future.
An unbreakable bond of love.
Iris had lost count of how many people she had greeted and thanked during the ball. Her betrothal to the duke had increased her popularity tenfold. Women who had not spoken to her all Season were now flocking to her side.
She supposed she was no longer competition and was now suitable enough to be associated with. That she would soon be a duchess did not hurt her chances of friendship either.
All but one woman came up to them. Lady Sophie. The one lady who had reached out the hand of friendship to her not a week past was now distant.
Why she would react in such a cold way to the news of her betrothal, she could only come to one conclusion. That lady had wanted the duke for herself. Was put out that a woman such as Iris had been the one he proposed to.
If only Lady Sophie knew the truth of it all. Not that their union was a love match, far from it. He'd merely made the mistake of kissing her and had been caught. Had he not been so forward, they would never have married.
The knowledge left her cold, and she thrust the depressing realization aside, set on enjoying her waltz with her husband-to-be. In just one month she would be the Duchess of Penworth. No one would look upon her with pity after the fact.
At least she had the duke to thank for that. Her scar on her temple ignored, and her injured leg and resulting limp no longer signifying a remark or sympathizing glance. Not as a duchess. The name would protect her from snide remarks or such looks, one thing she hated most when in society.
"You appear quite lost in thought, Iris. Care to share what you are thinking of?" the duke asked, an amused light in his eyes.
Iris saw no reason not to be truthful. "I was thinking about how your name will protect me from those who would wish to remind me of my faults. My scars, both physical and visual, for one thing. I will no longer have to endure any comments or sad, pouty faces when they happen to notice it."
The duke visibly paled, and Iris pulled him promptly to the side of the room. "Your Grace? Are you unwell?" she asked him, hoping he was not coming down with some malady or some such ailment.
He gestured for a footman and snatched a glass of champagne, downing it. What on earth had come over him that he appeared so out of sorts?
"It is nothing. Come," he said, pulling her through the throng of guests and out of the ballroom. He led her down a deserted passage somewhere in the bowels of Devonshire House.
They passed room after darkened room, the muffled sound of the ball a distant hum. The noise of a door shutting farther along the hall made her gasp, and the duke pulled her into a closet, shutting the door not long before the tap of shoes sounded nearby.
She could make out his features by a small window high in the room, and she could see that he was smiling, waiting for whoever was outside to leave.
"Even betrothed, I should not be alone in here with you." His whispered words made her stomach flutter, her heart thumped hard in her chest. He smelled delicious, as fresh as lemon verbena. She wanted his touch on her skin, wanted him to close the small space between them and show her again what it was like to be in his arms.
Kissed with abandonment but without interruption.
The last few days, she had thought of what would have happened had the dowager not found them.
She shivered and then gasped as he clasped her hip, walking her back until she came up hard against the wall.
"Our last kiss was interrupted," he said, tipping her chin up with his finger. "This one will not be."
Her breath came in short pants. Iris ran her fingers atop his superfine coat, clasping the lapels of his jacket and pulling him toward her. There was no point in playing coy. She wasn't the type of woman to pretend she did not want what he offered. She had dreamed of being his wife, and soon she would be. There was no harm in taking what he offered and enjoying every decadent, delicious moment of his touch.
His mouth. On hers. His warmth enveloping and consuming her all at once.
He dipped his head, and she ached for the kiss to commence.
Oh yes, being his duchess would be no challenge, no heartache at all.
