“I apologize, sister.” Iris set the folded glove in her lap. “I left in good order.”
Camelia exhaled. “Then tell me why. What did he do?”
Blaise.Camelia did not say his name, but it pressed into the space between them like a thumb to a bruise. Iris struggled to get rid of every memory of him, but he was wrapped around her like a tightly bound corset, and she had to get away from him.
Iris looked up and met her sister’s eyes. “He did everything he promised.”
Camelia stilled, her face was open with pure bewilderment.
Then, slowly, she said, “Begin at the beginning?”
“I did attend the garden party. I was sad not to see you there. Is everything all right?” Iris felt guilty, troubling her sister whilst she was heavily pregnant.
Camelia tutted. “I was just unwell, but I am recovering now. Please go on?”
Iris curled her bare fingers into the fabric of her skirt, feeling the linen bunch under her nails. “Do you recall you used to tease me that I would die without a blemish on my reputation, and what a tragic waste it would be?”
“Yes.” Camelia’s brows knit together. “What did you do?”
“I allowed a man to… pleasure me,” Iris whispered. “I invited him, in fact.”
Camelia’s hand flew to her mouth. “Iris?—”
“As you know… it was His Grace. We have been... Acquaintances is not the right word, but I have not yet found a more suitable one that does not signify.”
“Oh, Iris, is this why you left?” Camelia asked softly, and her gentleness almost undid her.
Tears gathered in Iris’s eyes, and she struggled to hold them back.
“No, that is not the reason why I left. I would enjoy more of it, Camelia. I left because I became a tale worth whispering about.” Her lips felt dry. “I overheard some ladies who never knew I existed until I providedentertainment. They were very concerned about my moral health living with a duke, unmarried.”
“Inexcusable gossip,” Camelia said at once. “Iris, they do not even know the truth of your situation. But I am so sorry.”
“I am not.” The admission startled even Iris. “Or at least, I found that I could not manage to care.”
Camelia blinked. “You overheard women slandering you, and you did not care?”
“I listened.” Iris let her head tip back against the cushions, eyes fixed on the ceiling’s delicate plaster medallions. “They spoke of me as if I were reckless, shameless, and desperate. When I left, I overheard someone speculating as to how manyotherlovers I had hidden in my closets. Imagine me hiding people among the linen. It was all rather imaginative. And as I stood there, invisible a few feet away, I realized something very simple: nothing about me had changed or was as exciting as they imagined, save that I had stepped into the light where they could see me.”
“You surely do not believe that,” Camelia whispered kindly.
It was only then that Iris noticed the tremor in her own hands. She folded them tightly in her lap.
“I am tired,” she said. “Seven years I have spent being very, very good. Paying my husband’s debts, cleaning his mess, wearing his name like penance. And still, to theton, I am either a figure of scandal and pity or of no interest at all. Yesterday, for the first time, I understood that obscurity has its uses.”
Camelia’s posture softened. “What uses?”
“One is that I might do as I please without bringing down the edifice of respectable London.” Iris gave a harsh little laugh. “I am not a fragile debutante who needs to maintain a crystal-clear reputation. I am a widow, and thetonhas made it quite clear over the past years that I am not important. The less important you are, the freer you are.”
“Iris…” Camelia shifted closer, so their shoulders touched. “If you are so free, why are you near to tears?”
Because I was not enough.
Iris swallowed the thought, but it left a bad taste.
She pressed her fingertips to her eyelids. When she spoke, her voice came low and raw. “Because I am a fool.”
“I do not accept that.”
