Page 32 of Better Than a Duke
“I find ‘biscuits’ to be a word of some confusion; attempting arhyme might leave me with a contusion. And you, my dear loon, still owe me a sentence about your time at Raines House yesterday afternoon.”
“Fine. I painted a bird, and you’re a turd.”
“Master Edmund!”
Iris put her hand over her mouth and hurried down the hallway to the stairs. Yes, it had been inexcusably rude, but Edmund and Mr. Fredericks had found a unique relationship that had allowed them to tolerate each other and their very different personalities over the past three years, and she wasn’t going to interfere with it.
Tollins stood at the foot of the stairs. “Lady Margaret is exceedingly annoyed at your sloth,” he reported, and marched to the drawing room door.
Hiding her frown, Iris fell in behind him. Both Baverstocks were high-strung, and their staff tended to follow suit, but she needed them at the moment, far more than Aunt Margaret needed her. Neither though did she intend to apologize for spending a delightful day, even if it had gone on for longer than she’d anticipated.
Tollins opened the drawing room door and stepped aside. With a nod Iris moved past him, then had to take another quick step forward to avoid having her backside shut into the door behind her.Take a breath,she reminded herself. “Good evening, Uncle Harold, Aunt Margaret,” she said, inclining her head as her gaze found a tall man with an upright shock of gray hair seated by the fire. His cheeks were sunken in, making him look almost skeletal, his eyes dark holes bored into his skull. “I didn’t realize you were entertaining.”
The man stood as her aunt, Gerald pushing her, whipped her wheeled chair around. “There you are, dear! I keep telling her that her charities can wait for more convenient hours. Your Grace, Iris Silbern. Iris, John Howard, the Duke of Trent.”
Iris dipped a hurried curtsy.Charities?She was practically in need of charity herself. “Your Grace. A pleasure to meet you.”
“You’re younger than I thought,” he rumbled. “What is it, nine-and-twenty? And you don’t tower over everyone.”
Aunt Margaret tittered. “Isn’t that grand, Iris? His Grace thinks you young and of a good height.”
“I… Thank you, Your Grace.” The footman rolled her aunt’s chair around behind Iris, and she had to take another step forward to avoid being run down. “I can take credit for neither my age nor my height, I’m afraid.”
“And modest. Good. I’m a widower myself,” the duke commented. “Lost my last wife three years ago. I find myself wanting a companion, someone to make certain my penny-squeezing sons don’t try something nefarious while I’m in my dotage. I’m considering you, Mrs. Silbern.”
She stared at him.What the devil?“I have no intention of becoming a companion to a gentleman, Your Grace.”
“Ha. I don’t expect you to polish the silver, Mrs. Silbern. I’m speaking of marriage.”
Oh, that was even worse, somehow. “Nor do I intend to remarry, Your Grace. I don’t know what you and my aunt and uncle have been—”
“They said you’re stubborn. I don’t care. I haven’t made up my mind yet, but you might suffice. And your son, Edward, was it? I’d see him educated and with some seed money to do as he pleases. Join the army or become a pastor. Purchase property and hire folk to tend it for him. That’s what the sons of gentlemen do.”
“Edmund,” she corrected faintly. Evidently she’d struck her head at some point, and was presently in a nonsensical stupor.
“Don’t care about that, either. I’ve a half dozen females on my list yet, so don’t get your hopes up. It looks to be quite the contest. Still, you’ve experience with caring for your elders, sinceyou’re seeing to your aunt now, and you’re pretty. Very pretty.” He gazed at her for another moment, his eyes lowering to her bosom and remaining there long enough to make her uncomfortable, before he snapped his black gaze to her uncle. “You said you had roasted beef for dinner. I’m fond of red meat. I won’t have it overcooked.”
“Ah,” Uncle Harold said, grinning expansively. “Tollins, have the wine and aperitifs brought in. And tell Mrs. Diffle to hurry the dinner along and not to overcook the beef.”
“At once, my lord.”
“Push me to the window, Iris,” Aunt Margaret said. “Gerald, go help with dinner.”
The footman bowed as he relinquished his hold on the back of the wheeled chair. “Yes, my lady.”
Perhaps she’d fallen asleep in her dressing chair, Iris mused, shutting her eyes. No doubt when she awoke she would be gazing at her reflection, late for dinner with Edmund and the Baverstocks.
“Iris!”
Iris opened her eyes again. The duke remained, along with Uncle Harold beaming and Aunt Margaret glaring at her from the wheeled chair.Damnation. “What?”
“Push me to the window. Come, girl, I won’t have the duke thinking you’re simple. Not after we’ve been telling him how capable you are.”
Still blinking, Iris moved behind the chair and pushed. “I told you I don’t mean to remarry,” she said, not certain her voice was low enough to escape the duke’s hearing, and not caring overmuch if he did hear her.
“I’m aware. I also know you don’t have anywhere else to live but with us, and that you’ve moved all your worldly possessions into my spare sitting room.”
“I asked for them to be put in the attic, Aunt Margaret.”
