Only a Lady Will Do by Tamara Gill
Chapter 4
Iris stood beside the Duchess of Penworth at the base of the front steps, waiting for the duke to arrive as agreed. The night air was fragrant with the many flowers that grew at the front of the London home, the wisteria strongest of them all.
Iris looked up at the sky, barely making out the stars. At home in Cornwall, the stars were in their millions, gifting those who cared to look up at their beauty. Not here in London, however. You could hardly see past the roofs.
"Ah, here he comes, my dear," the duchess said beside her, pulling her shawl closer about her shoulders.
Iris adjusted her stance, trying to alleviate her weight on her bad leg. Could there be a storm later this evening? It would certainly explain her aching leg that had not stopped hurting all day.
The duchess, having seen her struggles, had decided to gift her a walking cane. It was a delightful wooden one with a golden lion on its handle. The most ornate and pretty walking cane Iris had ever seen in her life, and she was quietly terrified she would misplace it.
The carriage rolled to a stop before them, and a footman ran to open the door. He held out his hand to help Her Grace climb up into the equipage and then Iris also.
Iris welcomed his help and settled herself beside the duchess. Only then did she take in the duke seated across from them, smiling in welcome.
“Good evening, Mother. Miss Cooper,” the duke said, his deep gravelly voice making her inwardly sigh.
There was little denying the fact the duke was of exemplary looks, and this afternoon she had wracked her brain trying to remember if she had met him during her first Season.
They had not circulated in the same friendship sphere, certainly not up until she became engaged to the baron, but she did not think she had met him before that. Although she was familiar with his family, his mother in particular whom she had met several times, the duke had never been one of them.
She was happy to make his acquaintance now, and she hoped he did help her choose a husband who was both kind and suitable—loving if she could manage it with her concerns.
Tonight the duke was dressed in a black superfine coat and silver waistcoat with intricate silver thread weaved upon it. His cravat was tied into a ballroom knot, his buckskin breeches fitting his muscular legs like a second skin.
Iris swallowed and took to studying the Mayfair streets passing them by instead. The last thing she wanted him to think was that she was ogling him, sizing him up for herself.
She would never presume to reach so high. When she had been offered marriage by Baron Redgrove, with no dowry and a mother whose family had shunned her for her choice, she believed he was above her in station. Her mama soon put paid to such dismissing sniffs the ton bestowed upon Iris and her family.
Even so, Iris was no fool, and the woman who became the next Duchess of Penworth would be a diamond of the first water. Not paste, as Iris so often felt about herself. The duke would marry a woman of his rank, of wealth and connections. No matter how flattering it may feel to be loved by such a man, he would never look at her.
"A pleasant evening, is it not?" The duke's gaze settled on Iris, and a shiver of awareness ran through her when his attention dipped to her gown. "You look very beautiful this evening, Miss Cooper. I hope you have room for me on your dance card?" he asked her, a genial smile on his lips.
"If you like, Your Grace," Iris answered, enjoying the fact he would ask her but not letting herself believe in fairy tales. Men like the duke did not marry daughters of vicars. "I must thank you again for assisting me this Season. I know it is not ideal for you."
"Nonsense." His voice lightened, and he waved her concerns aside. "It is no trouble. I am here in London too, and if I can guide and support you in your quest to marry, then that is what I endeavor to do."
"Thank you, darling," the duchess said, throwing her son a warm smile. "You are very good to help us in this way."
The carriage ride to the Clifford Ball did not take long, and they were soon before the doors to the townhouse. The house was not as large or grand as the duke’s, but it was familiar. Iris had been here several years before to a ball, not long before the accident occurred.
People milled outside. Others shuffled up the stairs to go indoors. The carriage rolled to a stop, and the duke, without waiting for a footman, jumped down, turning to assist them.
Iris waited for the duchess to disembark first before she reached for the duke's hand. She clasped it, stepping down using her good leg, and was thankful when she had both feet on the ground and had not tripped and made a fool of herself before everyone.
Several guests watched them, some of the younger ladies' eyes narrowing in contemplation on who she was and, no doubt, what she was doing with the Penworth and his mother.
She wanted to shout out to them all that she was doing nothing at all, merely letting him help her, so she did not make a fool of herself. That she was no competition and the duke would be all theirs soon enough and not hers. Not ever.
They paid their respects to the host, the duchess leading them to a set of seats beside a fire that burned halfway along one wall. At least when she was not dancing, she could sit and remain warm.
"We shall remain here, my dear, and wait for the gentlemen to come to you."
The duke stood to her side, and she felt his presence like her very own heartbeat. She wished he would move away, go and dance and not hover. His very nearness made thinking difficult, and she needed her wits about her if she were to find a genuine gentleman not troubled by her injuries.
"I shall fetch you both ratafia," the duke said, striding off into the throng and soon impossible to see with all the people present this evening.
"My son is right, Iris dear. I do not think you understand how very handsome you are."
Iris could no sooner believe that than she would think she was fully capable. The duchess was merely kind to her friend's daughter. "While my dress is beautiful and my hair has never been set so perfectly, I know that I am not all that I could be, but I thank you for the compliment."
"You, my dear, need to take a compliment and believe it when it is dealt. I am many things, but I do not speak untruths. You shine brighter than everyone else here. Believe that if nothing else."
Iris supposed that was true, but then, at times to believe the kind words of others was very hard to do. She could be so very hard on herself. "I do not recognize anyone here," she said, wanting to change the subject. "The girls I debuted with are long-married and settled, I suppose."
"The Season is young, and they may return to town over the next several weeks. I do hope you soon have some acquaintances. I should hate for you to grow bored and have to sit with me every ball."
"I shall never grow bored." The thought of doing so was impossible to fathom. The duchess had been wonderful so far, the duke too, caring and sweet. She could not ever be fatigued by the London Season.
"Do not feel that you must sit with me always. You may take a turn about the room, seek out conversation if you feel up to it."
"I thank you. I promise you I shall, but for tonight do you think it will be well if I sit here with you? If you do not mind, of course." With her leg paining her today, no doubt still annoyed after the many miles she traveled from Cornwall, to move about on top of dancing may be too much to bear.
The duchess reached across, patting her hand. "I do not mind in the least. You may take your time and seek out friendship when you are ready. However, I feel I should warn you that the late Baron Redgrove’s cousin and heir is in London. Do you know him at all?"
Iris shook her head. "I do not, no." She had never met the man. All she knew was that Dudley's family had been saddened that the title had been lost, along with their son. Dudley's mother had never queried her parents on her wellbeing after the accident, and Iris had always felt Dudley's mother blamed her in a way for the tragedy that took her only son.
Not that it had been her fault. Dudley had been careless, or so witnesses had stated to her family after the fact. People had seen him racing around Hyde Park with her beside him, clutching on for dear life from all reports. Not that she remembered any of it and not that anything she did then or said now would change history.
"I do not think the new baron would know who I am, even if we were introduced."
"That is probably true," the duchess said, just as her son the duke returned.
Iris thanked His Grace for her drink and seated herself, relieved to be off her feet. Since she traveled from Cornwall, her leg had been giving her an awful time of it, and she hoped it settled down soon. She may be lame, but she did not particularly like everyone seeing her suffer from such effects.
The duke stood beside her, giving her the impression of a Roman statue guarding the vestal virgins. She sipped the sweet beverage, smiling to herself, but then as several gentlemen nodded in hello as they strolled past, none ventured to speak to her.
This was not a good start to her Season. Were they put off by the duke standing nearby, or the fact they knew of her wounds and did not want a wife that suffered from her injuries and was scarred from them?
She reached up, running her finger along the scar on her temple, hoping the small amount of white imperial powder that her maid had used this evening had concealed the scar somewhat.
The idea of being alone for the rest of her life was not something she wanted to contemplate. She had always wanted a husband and family to make a home as loving and fun as the one she grew up with.
The first strains of a waltz sounded, and the duke bowed before her, holding out his arm. "My dance, I believe, Miss Cooper," he said, his voice huskier than she'd heard it before. She swallowed the butterflies that his tone caused in her stomach and reached for his arm, grateful for his kindness. People had sought her company during her first Season. To now be a potential wallflower was not something she knew how to deal with.
"Thank you, Your Grace." The duke led her out onto the floor, and she could feel the eyes of the room upon her. She prayed some of them at least were male, and their interest was piqued.
Josh could feel the eyes of the ton boring into his back as he led Miss Cooper out onto the floor. She was taller than he first thought, the top of her head reaching up to his nose—a long meg with the most striking eyes he'd ever seen in his life.
They took in everything, were a deep, endless blue one could get lost looking into. He could vaguely remember her from her first Season, having heard of her when Redgrove had proposed. The day of the accident, he had seen her for the first time, bloodied and bruised.
He pushed the memory aside, wanting to remember her as she now was. Healthy and healed, as beautiful as any lady here and dancing with him.
He would make amends for the wrong he had done. Not that he would ever allow Miss Cooper to know of his hand in her injuries and loss of her betrothed, but he would make her world right. Make her future the one that she wanted, and he would move heaven and earth to gain her every wish.
She set her hand atop his shoulder, and he clasped her other. For the tall meg she was, her hands were small, delicate, and fit into his. He saw her take a calming breath, her grasp on his shoulder firmer than he was used to, but he supposed that was to help her dance with the injury she carried.
An injury he had a hand in causing.
"Tell me at once if you need to stop, Miss Cooper. I do not wish to dance if you are in pain."
Her eyes widened, but she let out a relieved breath. "You are very kind. I cannot thank you enough for your help."
"It is no trouble at all." The music started, and he swept her into the dance, surprised when she moved much better than one would think, considering she was lame at times.
Josh studied her with her so close in his arms. She should have little trouble in finding a match. The scar on her temple did little to take from her arresting features. Her striking eyes. Perfectly proportioned nose. She caught him ogling her and smiled, two delightful dimples forming on her cheeks.
He swallowed. Hard.
Dear God, Miss Cooper was a beautiful woman, and he was responsible for her. Well, his mother also, but he needed to find her a suitable husband. A caring and patient man. Save her from the rogues who would like to do nothing more than dally with such a beauty.
He cast his eyes about the room and noted several gentlemen watching them, contemplation in their eyes. He narrowed his eyes on Lord Templedon. The rake believed he could seduce any woman into his bed, and he was probably right, but not this one. Not the one who held on to him. Needed him.
"The duchess said that you too were looking for a wife this Season, Your Grace. I hope I'm not too forward in saying that I wish you well with your endeavors. May we both get all that we desire."
It was terribly forward of her, but then, she was from Cornwall, and from what his mama had said of her favorite friend's daughter, had not been out and about in society much since leaving London all those years ago. One must make allowances.
He nodded. "I do hope that is the case, Miss Cooper."
She bit her lip, her eyes bright. "May I be so bold also to state you may call me Iris? Miss Cooper seems so droll. I know when we're in company that cannot be the case, but since you're going to be escorting me so very much, I think we shall both tire of Miss Cooper before I find a husband and are taken out of your care."
Josh tore his gaze from her lips, pinning his attention to the other dancers sweeping around them. "If you are certain, Miss Cooper, I'm more than happy to comply with your wishes and call you Iris."
He did not offer her the same ease of communication. After all, he was a duke, and he had a reputation and pedigree he needed to keep and adhere to. While he did not mind helping the handsome Iris, she was not suitable to be his bride, and his search needed continuing. If his potential bride found out he was on first-name terms with a woman living with his mama, he could lose his chance of happy matrimony before it even began.
"Thank you," she said, just as another couple crashed into them, causing Iris to stumble. He caught her before she tumbled to the ground. Her chest smacked hard up against his, and he stilled.
Not only was she tall, but she was all curves and lusciousness. Her hands clutched his nape, reminiscent of a pose he often took with the ladies he invited into his bed.
Josh set her back on her feet, reeling from the rioting reaction that sizzled to life inside him.
What on earth was wrong with him? He turned to the offending couple, glaring. "Take care, Stanhope."
He turned back to Iris and found her staring at him, something akin to a flush kissing her cheeks. He took pity on her, recognizing what she was feeling.
Desire. Shock. Awareness.
Everything he, too, now felt.
"A drink perhaps, Miss Cooper?" he asked, leading her from the floor.
She nodded, and he could not get them off the dance floor quick enough. The sooner he placed her back in his mother's care, the better.
One dance an evening, a little conversation, and that was all he would do.
For his own self-perseverance, if nothing else. Now she could be courted by those who did want her hand, and he had done his duty.
Just as he promised he would.
