Clonmere sank onto the edge of the fountain. “I thought I had matters sorted out. I hadn’t known Falmouth would be so dastardly. Iris would blame herself if her brothers went astray, though they are probably hellbent on that very objective, regardless of her influence.”
“They aren’t bad boys—yet.”
More people were spilling onto the terrace, some of them carrying plates, all of them laughing and chattering. The newspaper would declare the gathering a sad crush, while for Clonmere, victory was turning to defeat.
“Falmouth wants me to choose my bride as if I were drawing lots. As if any one of his three youngest would make me a suitable wife.”
Cousin Hattie bent to sniff the potted daffodils. “They would.”
“No, they would not. They would all three look very fetching in the Clonmere tiaras, they would be gracious and loyal duchesses, but the only one suited to becoming
She snapped off a yellow trumpet. “You could elope. Scotland is lovely in spring.”
“Falmouth would cut her. Iris has spent too much time dodging his poison arrows to hand him victory at this stage.”
“So what will you do?”
The answer popped into Clonmere’s head just as ladies Lily, Holly, and Hyacinth emerged onto the terrace with their respective swains.
“Falmouth wants me to choose my duchess by lot, that’s exactly what I’ll do.”
The rest of the week was a fog of conflicting emotions for Iris. She was alternately pleased with herself for having kissed Clonmere—really, truly kissed him, and he’d kissed her right back—and despairing, because he’d asked for her trust, but presented no solution to the conundrum Falmouth posed.
Time was running out, the earl’s disposition had deteriorated from grumpy to vile, and Hattie had begun to pack for a remove to Surrey.
“Iris, you must come too!” Lily stood at the door to Iris’s sitting room, waving a hand toward the corridor. “This instant, you must come. Papa said.”
“Come where?”
“To the parlor. A footman in Clonmere’s livery has brought a box.”
Iris rose, though hope and despair weighted her equally. “A box of chocolates?”
“Not chocolates, it’s too big for that, and another footman came with him, which means the box wasn’t full of mere sweets.”
Iris nearly tripped over Puck, curled on the hearth rug. “An engagement ring, then?”
“Much bigger than that. Will you please bestir yourself to
Lily said little all the way down to the family parlor, where Holly, Hyacinth, and Cousin Hattie were already waiting.
“There are four boxes,” Holly said. “One for—”
“Each of us,” Hyacinth added. “They are all wrapped in printed paper—bouquets of flowers, from our four names—and there are labels on each box.”
“Four,” Cousin Hattie said, very firmly.
The Earl of Falmouth stepped out of his study across the corridor. “You should hear this,” he said to Iris. “One of my daughters is about to marry a lunatic. Too bad it won’t be you.”
“John, that is enough,” Hattie snapped.
The three younger sisters all goggled at their cousin. Iris hugged her. “I would happily wed His Grace, but as far as I know, he hasn’t offered for any of us.”
“The lot of you sit down,” the earl said, waving them into the family parlor. “Clonmere is a duke, so allowances must be made, though this is a very queer start indeed.”
Iris remained standing while her sisters chose seats, arranged their skirts, and looked worried.
“Clonmere sent me a note,” Falmouth said, brandishing a piece of embossed stationery. “He has decided that every one of my daughters is fit to become his duchess, and thus he sought his mother’s counsel. One of those four boxes contains the Clonmere tiara. Each box bears one of your names, the labels affixed by the current duchess. Clonmere will stop by after breakfast tomorrow, and you will open your boxes. Whoever has the box with the tiara in it will become the next duchess.”
He set the paper on the mantel. “Damnedest thing I ever heard.”
“No more peculiar than forcing a duke to choose a wife on the basis of correspondence written decades ago,” Hattie said.
Falmouth scowled at the boxes wrapped in a repeating bouquet of pink, purple, green, and white flowers. “Not now, Hattie. One of my daughters shall marry a duke. I don’t care if the other three packages contain necklaces of shark teeth, so long as my son-in-law is a duke.”
Holly and Hyacinth exchanged a look that included Lily. Something was afoot with the three of them, something that excluded Iris.
“He truly doesn’t care which of us he marries?” Lily asked.
He cared. Iris was certain he cared.
“Why should he?” Falmouth said. “You’re equally well born, none of you is ugly. You can all make babies.”
“I have an aria to learn,” Lily said. “Mr. Everhart wrote it specifically for me.”
“I’m working on my French,” Hyacinth said.
“So am I,” Holly added.
