Page 61 of Iris
He laughs as he navigates the streets, heading to the back alley that leads to our cellars. “You’re being soft. I mean use herheat, use her attraction, get her on board, and turn her into an asset.”
CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN
Iris
Mom flutters around, tidying things and fussing over Rue who’s near her. But she’s studying us all, trying to make the best of what she sees as a bad situation.
Heath glares at Quinn, who stopped by. I’ve warned her not to say a thing about the bar, because Heath’s got a way of getting things out of her.
“Heather,” she says, “you’ve never looks so beautiful.”
“Bite me.”
“Not interested in rabies.” Then Quinn looks at Mom. “What does it say, Mrs. Gardener?”
The letter sits, opened, the thick slate-gray cotton paper with the silver writing on the front. Our address, to the head of the household, is ominous.
And the way Mom’s being, I don’t even need to see or hear the contents to know what it says.
She hasn’t said a word in the hour since it arrived, just fluttered and sighed and fussed.
I called Quinn for back up.
At least Mari and I never made it to the Black Briar when we went shopping. That would have caused more problems as everywhere we went I swear we were watched. Instead, we went somewhere nice off the square, which meant Reece had to wait with the other servants outside with our stuff. It made me shamed to do that, but as he muttered, we had to do it.
So we did and I don’t think Heath heard about the altercation. If he did, he knows we went somewhere nice after and not to the Lower Side.
Or maybe he’s just got bigger things to mull on.
Maybe I do, too.
I try and swallow over the growing lump in my throat.
Mom pulls out a chair and sits, and Rue scampers over to the tall glass pitcher and pours Mom a glass of the ginger lemonade.
“What do you think it says?” I hiss. “That I’m the best. Read the room, Quinn!”
She shrugs and mouths, “I’m trying.”
Mom hands back the ginger lemonade. “Oh no, Rue. Something stronger. Some wine, please.”
If things didn’t have a dire sting, I’d laugh. Mom isn’t much of a drinker. Then I sober, the laughter leaking away. Have I driven her to drink?
Strain pulls at Mom’s mouth and when Rue returns with a glass from the drawing room, Mom takes a ladylike sip, sets it down and says, “Well, you’re still in the running, Iris.”
My heart sinks. “For Luxe?”
Heath’s gaze cuts to me, a warning.
“No, dear. The Season. Pen called me and said you didn’t make a good impression on the Monarch.” Then Mom smooths a hand over the tablecloth and pushes the envelope toward my brother who’s standing in the middle of the dining room.
Dahlia dutifully takes it to him.
I exchange a look with Mari, and Quinn slips her hand in mine and squeezes.
