Page 14 of Stolen By the Cruel Duke
“I’m not sure what choice we have. You can play dumb… make it seem like you don’t know what to look for, that you’re overwhelmed by the vagueness of what he’s asked you to do. Play on your father’s biases against the fairer sex, his belief that you all are feeble-minded, even the intelligent ones.”
One of Iris’s fair eyebrows shot up. “So you know what my father thinks about women?”
“Everyone knows,” Phineas said contemptuously. He scowled, as he often did when he was thinking of Lord Carfield. “His lack of respect toward the fairer sex is well known.”
There was a moment of silence as Iris absorbed this, staring down at her dressing table. After a long moment, she looked back at him, a cool glint in her eyes.
“And what about you?” she asked softly. “What is your opinion onthe fairer sex?”
Phineas chose his words carefully. As much as he wanted to try and keep his distance from Iris, he also wanted her to feel safe and secure in her new home.
“My mother was a very gifted painter. I believe you were admiring one of her paintings when you first came to Eavestone House?”
Iris’s mouth opened slightly. “Your mother painted the portrait in the parlor?” she breathed.
Phineas nodded solemnly.
“It is an astonishing portrait. And to think… she painted her own likeness with such detail!”
“I remember her working on the painting,” Phineas said, and he was surprised by the emotion that colored his voice. He never usually spoke about his parents, and he wasn’t exactly sure why he was telling Iris about them now. “I’d come into her library every afternoon and watch her painting her own reflection in the mirror. She was patient, methodical, and obsessed with getting every detail right. My father was the opposite. He was an active man, impatient, and he hated sitting for portraits. But he would do it for my mother. The way he used to look at her…”
“Yes,” Iris murmured. “I saw that look in the portrait.”
There was a small lump in Phineas’s throat, and he swallowed past it before speaking again. “He always respected her patience and careful attention, especially since he was so different. He told me that she was the wise one in their marriage, the one who could always see the way forward when things felt hopeless. It taught me that women are not only worthy of respect but can be far superior to men in many ways.”
For a moment, Phineas thought that Iris was going to stand up and come to him. She was perched on the edge of her seat, staring at him, a look of deep emotion on her face. He wondered if he’d made a mistake in telling her so much about himself.
“It sounds as if they really loved one another,” she noted at last. Then, more tentatively, she asked, “How did they die?”
Whatever sentimentality had overtaken Phineas immediately evaporated, and he came back to himself. Straightening, he schooled his expression into one of polite disinterest.
She must have noticed the coldness in his expression, because she said quickly, “I’m sorry to ask, it’s just that?—”
“I should let you get some rest,” he interrupted, not looking at her. Bowing low, he backed away toward the door connecting their bedrooms. “We will speak more about our plans tomorrow. I hope you sleep well in your new home, Duchess.”
And without another word, Phineas left his wife’s bedchamber as quickly as he possibly could, trying to ignore the hurt, confused look on her face.
It was strange to be back in her childhood home. Just a few days earlier, Iris had lived here, but now, it felt like a lifetime ago. In just a few short days, she had become the Duchess of Eavestone and taken over as mistress of Eavestone House. She had become a whole new person, with her own responsibilities and duties, no longer defined by her father.
Which is why it felt so strange to be back in her father’s townhouse, where she’d often felt she would never escape him. It was not a pleasant feeling. The moment she stepped across the threshold, she could feel the old, familiar panic beginning to stir in the pit of her stomach, and she promised herself that this would be the last time she ever stepped foot in this house.
In the future, Violet and Rose can come to me.
For now, however, she was here to see her father. And as Mr. Jones led her into the library, she braced herself to meet with her father’s usual brutal coldness.
Lord Carfield, however, looked surprised, and even a little excited, to see her.
“Iris!” he called, standing up and crossing to her. He kissed her hand before motioning that she should take a seat across from him. He sat back at his desk and gazed at her with anticipation. “I’m glad to see you so soon. I admit, I didn’t think you would beable to get information out of the Duke so soon, but I’m happy to be wrong. I’m sure you have your ways of getting him to… trust you.”
Iris didn’t like the mocking look on her father’s face, but she tried not to let her anger show. Taking a deep breath, she said, “I’m not here with information, Father, although I’m pleased to see you happy to see me.”
At once, her father’s face flushed, and he scowled. “Not here with information? Then why have you come? Your sisters aren’t here—they’re out promenading in Hyde Park.”
“I came to see you, Father,” Iris replied. “And to ask for your help.”
Lord Carfield folded his hands on the desk, his eyebrows knitted in suspicion.
“It seems,” Iris continued, “that I am having trouble finding out the information you want because I do not know what it is I’m supposed to be looking for.”
