She drew back and fluffed his cravat. “I fear we would, Your Grace, but if I were to marry you, my father would be wroth with all four of his daughters. He’d say I stole you from the other three, he’d claim they didn’t exert themselves hard enough to win your notice. I am the one daughter you cannot marry.”
Merely straightening his linen, Iris addled his wits. “And if your sisters found suitable spouses?”
“That they cannot do that until you’ve chosen your duchess.”
“My prospective papa-in-law wants a stern talking to.”
Lady Iris wandered back to the fountain as the quartet began a fortissimo restatement of the waltz melody.
“To be honest,” Iris, said, “I suspect Falmouth is in want of coin. My brother has gambling debts, my father has little sense where to profitably invest the rents. I’ll be retiring to the country this summer lest Falmouth make designs on my competence.”
Lady Iris turned, arms crossed. “You will arrange nothing for me, Clonmere. I am provided for, thanks to my late mother’s settlements, while my sisters must marry well.”
“How can you kiss me like that, and then announce you’ll decamp to damned Lesser Sheep Byre, wishing me well as I court a lady of whom I am not enamored? Your sisters are lovely women, Iris, but they aren’t you.”
She was quiet for so long, the waltz had come to an end before she spoke. “You are a duke, you understand responsibility and the importance of family. If Papa thinks I have interfered with your choice of bride to further my own interests, he will exact a toll. He will refuse me the company of my sisters. He will forbid my brothers to contact me, and they very much need a lady’s civilizing influence. He will interfere with my funds, which would be all too easy for him to do as long as I remain unwed. I must tread very, very lightly, Your Grace, or others will pay should my course be guided by selfishness.”
Truly she was more a duchess than Clonmere was a duke. “And the urgency to decide the matter within the month of April?”
“Falmouth cannot afford the expenses of a full Season for all of us. His circumstances approach embarrassed.”
Well, good. An earl without means was an earl who could be managed. “You dreamed of a cherishing, ardent kiss, Lady Iris. I hope I’ve made that dream come true.”
“You have.” No blush, no smile, no quarter of any kind.
“I have a dream too. I dream of a woman whose trust is precious, a woman of surpassing sense and generosity of spirit, one who has soldiered on without companionship for too long. I dream of that lady entrusting her heart to me. I want—I yearn—for such a lady to take her place at my side, not because I’m a duke, not because I am a competent kisser, not because I can damned waltz by the hour, but because I have earned her tender, lasting regard.”
Lady Iris cupped his cheek against her palm. “You deserve such a lady. I dearly hope you find her.”
She left him by the fountain, half-aroused, half-bewildered, all in love. She would doubtless sit among the dowagers or wall flowers at supper, then dance with the shy bachelors and friendly widowers. She’d keep an eye on her sisters, she’d leave as soon as Cousin Hattie showed signs of tiring.
“But who looks after Iris?” Clonmere asked the darkened garden.
“I was hoping you would.” Cousin Hattie stepped out from behind a lilac bush that had yet to bloom. “The job is getting to be rather too much for me.”
She came up to about Clonmere’s ribs, but in a fair fight, his money would be on her. “Were you spying on us?”
“How droll. You are attempting to look intimidating.”
“Is it working?”
She went up on her toes and batted at Clonmere’s hair. “I heard that last speech, Your Grace, the one about winning the lady’s tender regard. I nearly swooned, and I haven’t swooned since Noah set sail. What Iris says about Falmouth is the sorry truth.” She left off smacking at his hair and stepped back. “You are a handsome devil. You’ll age nicely too.”
“Would you care to count my teeth?”
“Not if I’d like to remain in possession of all ten fingers. I wasn’t spying. I was standing guard.”
“Thank you. I have the matter in hand, or nearly so.”
“Mr. Everhart will do for Lily, Amherst for Holly, Dersham for Hyacinth. Cleverly done, but what will you do about Falmouth? He can keep Iris’s brothers from ever seeing her again, he can refuse to dower her sisters, he can—”
“I’ll dower the lot of them.”
“And how will you prevent Falmouth from denying Iris access to her brothers? They show every sign of turning into wild young nincompoops, and Iris is their only hope of salvation.”
