The Earl's Wallflower Bride (6 page)

“No, he won’t.” She rose to her feet and
marched over to him. “He’ll remember you. As soon as he sees you,
he’ll remember I’m your daughter. But he won’t remember me.” She
pointed to herself. “Me.” She groaned. “This whole evening will be
worse than the dinner parties because this time I’ll know I can’t
escape him.”

Her father’s expression softened. “You
mustn’t look at it like that. It’s very possible things will go
better than you expect.”

“I’m willing to wager you on that. My
investment has paid off well. Why don’t I bet you five
shillings?”

He shook his head in disbelief. “You can’t
bet on something like love.”

“I wouldn’t bet on something like love. I
would, however, bet on a rude gentleman’s behavior.”

“I’m not making a ridiculous bet.”

“Why? Are you afraid I’ll win?”

“Iris, you know how much I admire your
passion, but please, for this dinner, try to be pleasant.”

Pleasant? Her father expected her to be
pleasant to Lord Steinbeck? Wasn’t it enough she was marrying him?
Again, she gagged.

“If you keep doing that, you might not be
able to keep your food down,” her father warned her.

“Food is the last thing on my mind,” she
replied. “It shall take all my willpower not to fling something at
him for the way he’s treated me. You better not have me sitting by
him. I shall jab him with a fork if you do.”

Letting out a heavy sigh, he nodded. “You
shall sit next to your mother.”

At least there was that small reprieve. Right
now, she’d take any break she could get.

He went over to the door and opened it. “He’s
due here any minute now, and it wouldn’t be good to keep him
waiting.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell her
father Lord Steinbeck could wait all night for all she cared, but
then she decided against it. Maybe Lord Steinbeck would show
himself for the insensitive self-centered gentleman he really was.
Maybe then her father would go back to Helena and demand she
arrange for someone else to marry her.

Without glancing at him, she strode out of
the room and went down the stairs, making sure she lifted the hem
so she wouldn’t trip on it. She didn’t know why she’d let her
lady’s maid dress her up in such a nice gown. It was much too good
for the likes of Lord Steinbeck. She should have worn a black dress
for this evening to make a point. She heard Melissa had done that
on her wedding day to protest her marriage. Iris supposed she could
do it on her wedding day as well, but she didn’t have the
courage.

When she made it to the drawing room, her
mother offered a sympathetic smile. “How are you doing, Iris?”

“Awful.” Why pretend she was fine with this
when she wasn’t? She plopped in a chair. Before her mother could
suggest she sit on the settee instead, she said, “I won’t sit by
Lord Steinbeck. I’ll be doing good to sit in the same room with
him.” She decided not to add that the very thought of doing so made
her sick to her stomach.

“I’m not any happier about this than you
are,” her mother said. “But we’re ladies, and our fate is up to the
whims of gentlemen.”

It was a shame gentlemen were needed at all.
Right now they were causing her a lot of problems. And sadly, up to
now, she’d thought the world of her father.

Her father came into the room, and, after a
tense moment, he said, “I know this is going to be a difficult
evening for both of you, but I ask that you be nice to him.”

“He won’t even notice I’m here,” Iris
replied. “There’s no point in being nice.”

Her father let out a long sigh. “Iris—”

A knocking at the front door stopped him from
saying the rest of his sentence, which was fine with Iris because
she was sure whatever it was he wanted to say, she didn’t want to
hear it. Her gaze met her mother’s, and her mother offered her a
supportive smile. Iris couldn’t smile back. The moment of doom had
arrived. Lord Steinbeck was here.

Her father left the room, and soon, she was
listening to her father welcome Lord Steinbeck to his home.

“I didn’t realize Lady Iris was your
daughter,” she overheard Lord Steinbeck say.

She shot her mother a pointed look. “I knew
he didn’t remember me,” she whispered to her mother.

Her mother winced on her behalf.

“Yes, she’s attended two of your dinner
parties,” her father told Lord Steinbeck.

Good. At least her father saw it fit to
remind him of his indiscretion.

“She did?” Lord Steinbeck asked, sounding
surprised. “I’ve hosted so many dinner parties that I hardly
remember who I’ve had over.”

Well, wasn’t that wonderful? She was one of
many ladies he’d invited to his dinner parties.

Her mother closed her eyes and shook her
head, probably thinking this was as much of a disaster as Iris
did.

“Come to the drawing room,” she heard her
father say. “I’m sure you’ll remember her when you see her.”

If only she wouldn’t remember him. But Iris
knew that was hoping for too much. Of course, she remembered him.
Even now, her heartbeat picked up just by knowing he was coming
into the room. Curse her weakness! It was horrible to still be
physically attracted to someone like him.

When he came into the room, she refused to
look over at him, but her father cleared his throat. “Iris, this is
Warren.”

Warren. So that was the scoundrel’s name.
Well, as far as she was concerned, she’d never refer to him that
way. The sooner she let him know there would be adequate distance
between them, the better.

With a loud sigh, she got up and turned to
face him. My goodness, but he was better looking than she
remembered. He had neatly trimmed golden hair, deep brown eyes, and
a slender build. Those traits weren’t all that different from other
gentlemen she’d seen. But he always had such a serious look about
him, and as loathe as she was to admit it, she found it extremely
sensual. She could only pray she didn’t give her attraction away.
She’d rather die than have him know what affect he had on her.

So it was with an aloof tone, she said, “Lord
Steinbeck, you may refer to me as Lady Iris.”

“When we marry, I’ll have to refer to you as
Lady Steinbeck,” he replied, giving her the teasing smile that,
even now, made her weak in the knees.

But she wasn’t going to give into such
feelings. “I think Lady Iris will be sufficient.”

Warren blinked, as if surprised by her cool
response. She really must have underestimated the extent of his
conceit. Did he honestly expect her to welcome him after he just
told her father he didn’t remember her?

Her father let out a forced laugh in an
effort to ease the tension in the room. “My daughter has a
marvelous sense of humor. You’ll like that about her.”

Warren glanced her way, and she made it a
point to frown at him, showing him she wasn’t joking.

The butler came into the drawing room and
announced dinner was ready, preventing further conversation. At
least for the moment.

Since her father hurried to escort her mother
out of the room, Iris had no choice but to let Warren escort her.
That didn’t mean, however, she had to make it easy for him. When he
reached out to touch her, she stepped away from him. There was no
way she was going to allow him that kind of contact with her. It
was hard enough for her to stand her ground when he was in the same
room with her. She didn’t need him touching her.

When it came time to sit, she chose the seat
next to her mother. She peeked at Warren to see if he felt slighted
by her maneuver, but if he did, he didn’t show it. Drat. He either
didn’t care or he was good at masking his emotions.

“Everything looks delicious,” Warren said as
he sat across from her.

“Cook does a wonderful job,” her father
replied.

Iris glanced at her mother, who didn’t seem
any happier about this than she was. Well, at least she had one
ally in this room.

They passed the food around in silence. Under
ordinary circumstances, the silence would have bothered her. This
time it didn’t bother her in the least. She did hope, however, it
bothered Warren. It would serve him right after everything he’d
done to her.

Once again, though, he didn’t seem bothered
one bit. He took a bite of the food and said, “You’re right. This
food is as good as it looks. My compliments to your cook.”

Which meant, so far, the cook had received
more of his attention than she had at any of his dinner
parties.

Her father shifted in his chair and glanced
her way before asking, “What do you think of the new
Sovereign?”

At first, Iris didn’t realize her father had
asked her the question. Yes, he’d looked over at her, but they’d
already discussed the new gold coin. He was probably only doing
this to encourage a conversation between her and Warren. Helena had
mentioned money being one of the things they had in common, and no
doubt, he was trying to get them both to see it.

Iris, however, had another plan in mind. She
set her fork down and looked directly at her father. “I think one
coin is as good as another as long as you can use it.” When Warren
opened his mouth to speak, she quickly added, “However, I will
admit Benedetto Pistrucci did an excellent job in the design, and
it is nice it’s not nearly as big as the old Sovereign.”

“The old Sovereign wasn’t very popular,” her
father replied. “Though I do think it had undeniable beauty in its
design as well.” He turned to Warren. “Iris has one of the old
Sovereigns.”

“Really?” Warren asked, sounding impressed.
“I haven’t seen one and—”

Iris took that as her cue to interrupt, much
like he’d done with her in the past. “Granted, it is exquisite,”
she told her father, “but I agree with those who say King Henry VII
was using it to boast of his reign.”

“Unifying York and Lancaster was no small
feat,” her father argued. “I’m sure some at the time thought the
War of the Roses was never going to end.”

“It had to end sooner or later,” she said.
“Nothing lasts forever. Even Napoleon saw the end to his rule, and
some thought he’d never stop giving us grief.”

And thankfully, this dinner was going to end
at some point, too. She could only ignore Warren for so long.
Already, she was beginning to feel guilty, and that wasn’t going to
prove her point to Warren. He deserved this. No one else was
holding him accountable for the way he’d treated her, and if she
let him get away with it now, then it would set a bad foundation
for their marriage.

“It’s interesting you should mention
Napoleon,” Warren began. “Just the other day I was talking to—”

“Did you get enough fish, Mother?” Iris
asked, not even bothering to look at him.

“Iris,” her father said, an underlying
warning in his pleasant tone.

Her mother glanced at everyone sitting at the
table then cleared her throat. “Actually, I’d like a little
more.”

Iris obliged her then decided she’d launch
into a discussion about shopping with her mother earlier that day.
She knew it’d bore her father and probably even Warren, but talk of
money and finances bored her mother. Of all the people she felt was
even remotely on her side, it was her mother, and she decided if
there was one person who wouldn’t be put to sleep during this very
long and agonizing meal, it was going to be her.

Iris’ father and Warren contributed nothing
else through the dinner, and that suited her just fine. Afterwards,
her mother suggested Iris’ father and Warren go to the den while
she and Iris would go to the drawing room.

Iris was more than willing to take any
reprieve she could get. Doing everything possible to ignore Warren
was exhausting her. Relieved, she hurried out of the room with her
mother, only venturing one look back in time to see her father’s
bewildered expression. Warren, on the other hand, was as unreadable
as ever.

Chapter Six

W
arren followed the Duke of Hartwell into the den.

The duke shut the door and went to the
decanter. “I must apologize for my daughter’s behavior. She doesn’t
usually dominate the conversation like that.” He poured brandy into
their glasses. “By chance, do you remember her now that we had
dinner with her?”

“Yes,” Warren admitted, sorry he hadn’t
remembered her before this evening.

Had he any idea she
was
that
Lady
Iris—the one Robert had accused him of ignoring on two different
occasions—he would have apologized when he wrote her the missive
asking to meet her. No doubt she’d been proving a point during the
dinner, and he really couldn’t blame her. If he was her, he would
have done the same thing.

Honestly, he didn’t know why he’d had the
hardest time remembering her. Maybe she just didn’t stand out like
other people did. Granted, it wasn’t through any fault of her own,
but it was what it was. Maybe if she’d told him she had an old
Sovereign at his dinner party, he would have remembered her. An old
Sovereign was something that would have caught his interest.