Page 38 of The Scoundrel and the Lady

Merritt.

…

He’d frozen when it had first happened. A stupid and foolish thing, but he hadn’t expected that sort of reaction from a gentleman. One of the old matrons, yes, he’d expected them to be vile and rude to Lucy. But he hadn’t thought the men would be. She was a beautiful girl and had a fat dowry. She would make a good match for any of the men in this room.

But that bastard had been cruel. Merritt hadn’t even fully heard the words, but he’d seen the man’s expression and then Lucy’s. And then Merritt had watched Iris speak to the man and whatever she had said to him had firmly put him in his place. He’d balked then turned on his heel and stormed off. And then all those women, bless them, had knelt with his baby sister and helped her do servant work, here in the midst of the ballroom.

When he finally reached them, two other servants had arrived with a broom and mop in tow. Merritt helped each of the ladies to their feet, and he nodded to all of them.

He leaned close to Iris’s ear. “I don’t even know how to thank you.”

“I hadn’t realized you’d heard.”

“I didn’t exactly hear, but I saw. I can gather what he said and your response.” He glanced at his sister and saw the tears glistening in her eyes. “I want to dance with you, want desperately to be close to you right now, but I need to take her home.”

“Go. I understand,” Iris said.

She was beautiful and kind and bold and brave and a million other amazing things all tied into one woman unlike any he’d ever met. He bowed, then took Lucy by the arm and led her out.

In the carriage, he expected Lucy to cry, but she didn’t. She’d swiped at her cheeks once and then squared her shoulders, much as he’d seen Iris do in the ballroom.

“She’s remarkable, isn’t she, Merritt?” Lucy asked.

“Lady Iris? Yes, she is.” What happened tonight may have highlighted how remarkable a woman Iris was, but it had revealed something else as well: how vile many members of Society truly were. After all, four women had knelt to help his sister, but an entire ballroom full had stared in shock and whispered about her behind their fans. Yes, there were far more Lord Vespers in Society.

“You should marry her.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I am serious. You do need a wife.”

He’d be a liar if he said he hadn’t had that very thought himself, but he’d shoved it aside. Iris was a true lady. He was a newspaperman. Yes, he now bore the title of earl, but in truth, that wasn’t him. He was a merchant’s son, and marrying her would fully entrench him into the aristocracy in a way that he’d been able to avoid thus far.

“She would be the perfect partner for you.”

Something that felt remarkably like guilt gnawed at him. But he hadn’t done anything wrong. The story he was writing would be anonymous. He’d seen Iris move through Society with grace; no one would ever suspect she had skills that no proper lady ought to. He knew there had to be other women out there, else who would have trained her. The story itself was so sensational, he doubted anyone would believe it was true. He shoved that guilt aside.

“Yes, it is rather astounding that she isn’t married already,” he said.

“You know why, though, don’t you?”

“No, I don’t believe I do.”

“Oh, it’s quite tragic. She never had a proper introduction into Society. Never had a coming out ball as young ladies generally do.”

“How so?” Merritt asked, unable to hide his curiosity. “She is the daughter of an earl.”

“Indeed, but only three months before her debut, her father died, and the entire family went into mourning.” Lucy shook her head.

“That is rather tragic,” Merritt said.

“That is not all,” Lucy said. “After a year, she was set to debut again, a bit older, but still young and beautiful, and then her mother died.”

How had he not heard any of this part of Iris’s past? He’d only inquired into her reputation, he hadn’t looked beyond the last couple of years. He’d merely wanted to ensure that Lucy would be in capable hands.

“So back into mourning?” he asked.

“Yes, but also a move directly here to London to live with their aunt and uncle. I believe Iris’s brother was only nine or ten at the time, and though he normally would have been sent off to school, Iris kept him home with her for three additional years. At that point, Iris decided she didn’t want a proper debut and asked that her aunt do a small introduction. But Iris never got to be a debutante the way most ladies of good breeding do.”

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