He sounded honestly puzzled, as if young women who struggled with French might have no instincts when it came to preserving their privacy before a potential suitor.
“You could ask them,” Iris said. “You ask them if they want to marry you. I’m sure nobody has.” Iris certainly hadn’t.
“Fine thing, when a woman is supposed to be thrilled to marry a man because three hundred years ago, his ancestor chose the winning side of some battle or endowed a cause dear to an impecunious monarch.”
Clonmere, a handsome, single, wealthy, young duke, felt invisible, precisely because he was handsome, single, wealthy, and a duke. Oh, the irony.
“I’d marry you,” Iris said. “Not because of your lucky ancestor.”
The horses stopped beneath a canopy of green. “Why would you marry me? I lack refinement, I like making wine, my siblings run roughshod over me, I have the singing voice of a drunken donkey, and I will spoil my children rotten so they can run roughshod over me as well. Any duchess with an ounce of sense will find me utterly unimpressive.”
The duke fiddled with his reins, then straightened the angle of his hat. “Thomas says Lady Lily’s soprano is extraordinary.”
“Could it be that Thomas means a lot to her? Every time I lead her from the dance floor, he seems to be her next partner.”
“And Mr. Dersham and Mr. Amherst have apparently taken an interest in Holly and Hyacinth, respectively. This is your fault, Your Grace.”
He sat straighter in the saddle. “My fault?”
“Because you show such marked interest in my sisters, they have become sought after by all. They are treated differently in the shops, when they go for an ice, when they merely tarry in the churchyard on a fine spring morning. You have caused them to be seen and appreciated for the jewels they are.”
“You say Amherst and Dersham are taken with the twins?”
“You are so busy paying court to your prospective duchesses that you aren’t minding the gossip, Your Grace. The twins have gone driving as a foursome with Misters Dersham and Amherst on three occasions.”
Leaving Iris in the sewing room with Puck, and a bad case of suitor-envy. Dersham and Amherst had, as Clonmere predicted, become best of friends, and they were well situated bachelors. Were Clonmere not in the picture, either man would have made an admirable suitor.
Though Clonmere
“I suppose if I marry Lady Lily, then the twins will be pleased to have other options. I believe Thomas has taken a fancy to Lily, though, so marrying her could be problematic. I don’t see a way forward that doesn’t leave somebody disgruntled and unhappy. Have you any advice for me, Lady Iris?”
That he was concerned for the feelings of others, especially for the feelings of Iris’s sisters, spoke well of him, and yet, Iris was annoyed.
Furious, in fact.
“My sisters are not cravat pins, to be chosen among based on your whim or fancy. They are dear young women with feelings and dreams. They didn’t ask for this ridiculous situation, and yet, they will be the ones affected.”
Blue eyes went frosty. “I didn’t ask for it either, Lady Iris.”
“But you agreed to it. You’re a duke. Papa would have had no recourse if you’d asserted your authority. He’s trading on your agreeable nature and your respect for your mama, and you have offered not one word of protest. I had best be going.”
He drew his gelding to the edge of the path. “A moment please.”
Clonmere passed over a silk handkerchief with his coat of arms embroidered onto the corner. “I beg your pardon, my lady, for having spoken cavalierly about a serious matter affecting those you care for. Your good opinion of me matters exceedingly.”
She snatched the handkerchief from him, though she wasn’t crying. Not at all. “Bother your gallantries, sir.”
“Will you spare me a waltz tonight?”
Iris was on the verge of honking into his silk handkerchief in the hope of spooking his horse. She peered at the duke.
“You seek a dance with me?”
