Page 67 of Better Than a Duke
“I’m happy we could be of assistance.” Lady Margaret leaned forward to flick down an edging of the lace on Iris’s left sleeve.“You need to order some new gowns, dear,” she said. “You are at least five years out of fashion. Quite possibly more. While Trent is rather old-fashioned himself, you must keep in mind that one of his sons or their wiveswillpoint out that you’re all out of twig.”
“It’s much easier dressing as a male,” Beckett interjected. “The only things that change, really, are the length and cut of the coats and the knots in the cravats.”
Margaret laughed. “At least neither sex has to don powdered wigs any longer. My goodness, my head used to itch like the devil. And at the end of a long evening, my neck would begin wobbling from the weight of the blasted things.”
“I heard Queen Charlotte once wore a wig containing a birdcage with a half dozen singing wrens flitting about inside it.”
“Oh, I saw it!” Margaret patted Beckett on the knee as if he was a pet dog. “The birds made a horrible mess in there; evidently she had to have it burned after only wearing it once.”
“I hope she set the birds free before she had it thrown into the fire,” Iris commented, then realized she was gazing at Beckett yet again. Taking a quick breath, she turned to face the window.
“I’d like to think so. Queen Charlotte is a lovely, kind lady. If I’d had a girl child, I would have named her Charlotte.”
That caught Iris’s attention. “Did you wish children, then, Aunt Margaret?”
“Oh, heavens no. Not seriously. We considered it from time to time, I suppose, but as it never happened, we decided it simply wasn’t meant to be. I am not terribly fond of… babies, as it is. They are far too loud. And they smell.”
“I actually thought Rebecca smelled rather lovely,” Beckett commented, sitting back. “Most of the time, at least.” He chuckled.
“Well, of course she did. You poor man, having to raise her all on your own.”
Iris stifled a frown at her aunt. No one in her family had given her any sympathy for raising a child on her own. She had received a few notes of sorrow for her loss, swiftly followed by exclamations that no one had any funds to spare or places for her to stay. They’d been quite detailed in denying her things she hadn’t even asked for.
“It was… overwhelming at first,” he said, his expression closing down a little. “Thankfully Mrs. Brubbins answered the advertisement I placed asking for assistance. Without her, I have no doubt Rebecca and I would be eating raw meat, lighting fires in the drawing room, and dressed either in rags or in nothing at all.”
“Oh, surely not, my lord. You don’t give yourself enough credit.”
“No, I think I give myself just the right amount of credit.”
Clearly Aunt Margaret didn’t know how to respond to that, because she gave a weak titter and suddenly had to look for something in her reticule. Iris looked back at Beckett to find him gazing at her, and she lifted an eyebrow. He gave a faint shrug, a brief smile touching his face.
She felt as if she’d been let into a joke that no one else understood. How could they? The idea of having a partnership, no matter how poorly it functioned, and then having one of the pair simply not there any longer—it couldn’t be fathomed until it was experienced. And she didn’t wish it on anyone.
At least she’d had time before Thomas’s death to become accustomed to making decisions on her own, being responsible for things, having to keep to the budget despite at least half of it going into feeding the bottomless wagering bucket. Beckett, on the other hand, had been handed a newborn baby and an hour later, a dead wife. How many fathers even held their children except for portraits or for brief moments at family gatherings? And he’dkept his sense of humor—or at least found it again—when she hadn’t even realized how far down hers had been buried until he’d reminded her that she did like to laugh.
The coach stopped, and a liveried footman pulled open the door and lowered the steps. “See to my chair if you would, dear,” Margaret said, not moving from her seat.
“I can manage that.” Before Iris could stand up, Beckett had left the coach and was giving instructions on how to unlash the chair and lower it to the ground without smashing it to pieces.
“Watch yourself around him,” Margaret said in a low voice.
“Lord Hentrose? He’s been nothing but kind to Edmund,” Iris returned, choosing her words carefully. “He and Rebecca have made our time in London a great deal of fun.”
“Well, perhaps Harold and I should have taken you to Vauxhall, then.”
“I didn’t mean that as an insult to you, Margaret. You and Harold have given us a place to stay. I am deeply grateful to you.” Less so now than before they’d thrown her at Trent and declined to lend her any funds, but she was willing to show some gratitude.
“Yes, well. It is pleasant to be appreciated. But you have a duke in pursuit, my dear. A duke who does not like to look foolish, and who knows there is a difference between his nearly betrothed being sought-after at a dance and being seen repeatedly in the company of an unmarried man. Even one the newspaper says will be betrothed any moment now.”
“I’m not pursuing Beckett Raines.”
“Are you ready, ladies?” Beckett asked, leaning back into the coach and extending his hand. “You first, Mrs. Silbern.”
Iris set her hand into his, goose bumps lifting on her arms again as they touched. Oh, this was ridiculous. She knew better. When she stepped down he kept hold of her a moment longer than he needed to, then he leaned in a bit as she brushed past him.“I want another conversation like the one we had last night,” he murmured, continuing forward to help Aunt Margaret.
Oh, yes. She’d barely thought of anything else since. It couldn’t last, but for the moment that intimacy and the pleasure that came with it had been welcome and warm and very arousing. He was quite arousing. But he wasn’t meant for her. She did need to watch herself around Beckett Raines—or she might well fall for him without even meaning to do so.
As they rolled through the front door, the butler stepped in front of Beckett. “May I help you?”
