“Lady Hentley,” Iris corrected the gentleman.
“Ah… are you the late Viscount Hentley’s wife?” He cocked his head and eyed her curiously.
Iris shivered as the memory of her husband’s lifeless body filled her mind. She had an odd feeling that every gentleman at this ball imagined her quite differently. Although this particular gentleman’s eyes praised her body, she knew he was about to change his mind about the dance. Men always perceived her under a superstitious light after Viscount Hentley’s untimely death became the talk of theton.
“I am her,” Iris admitted.
The gentleman gave her one last look, disappointment flashing across his face. He made an excuse to leave; Iris simply smiled, understandably, and watched him walk away.
It had been seven years since her husband passed, and still, a small part of her hoped for a man to walk toward her with intent in his eyes. Just as the thought crossed her mind, another gentleman approached with a hesitant smile. Iris held her breath until his gaze slid past her, settling on a younger lady. In that moment, she was grateful that Raph and Camelia reappeared through the crowd with two glasses of wine.
“Forgive us… We got caught up.” Camelia looked flushed, but Iris brushed it off as one of her pregnancy symptoms.
“I cannot forgive you as I used up my forgiveness when you convinced me to attend this disastrous ball,” Iris shot back.
Her sister gaped at her. “Who ruffled your feathers so early into the night?”
Iris eyed the couple suspiciously, but Raph avoided looking at her. His hair was a complete mess, and Camelia’s dress looked as if it had been hastily put together.
“If you wanted to dance the entire night, please do not let me stop you,” Iris said innocently.
Camelia laughed. “Oh, we were not dancing.”
“Then why do you look so flushed and out of breath? Are you unwell?” She cocked her head towards Camelia’s belly.
“All is well, Iris; do not fret.”
Raph cleared his throat as Camelia smiled shyly at her husband and handed Iris the glass of wine.
“We just found the duke’s library and…”
“It was afascinatingplace. There was a lot of mesmerizing…books,” Raph finished the sentence as he stared into Camelia’s eyes mischievously.
Iris obviously did not believe a word they said, and something about the way they smiled at each other made her crave what they had.
Perhaps I shall find this library since I will not be dancing tonight.
“Have you seen the duke?” Camelia demanded.
“No, he has not made an entrance yet,” Iris confessed quite disappointedly.
Iris looked down into her wine as a murmur swept through the crowd, rising like a sudden wind.
“The unfortunate widow,” a woman whispered nearby.
Her insult was quickly followed by a gaggle of laughter, and the words stung Iris. Camelia glared at the group of women.
“Do you want me to say something?” Raph asked Iris, his brow furrowed, and all traces of humor vanished.
“No,” she said quickly.
The last thing she wanted was more attention to her. Raph grabbed her empty wine glass; she had not noticed she had drunk it all, and he walked away to get another.
Camelia tutted. “Do not listen to them, Iris.”
Iris watched as rage flared in Camelia’s eyes. Society had seemingly shunned her ever since she was titled the viscountess. It had been a lonely journey, but Iris felt a little grateful that she was excluded and received no invitations. It was better than being in the company of people who made her feel ashamed. It was a dreadful experience hearing the whispers at gatherings about the circumstances of her husband’s death, followed by the curious looks of each gentleman.
“But it is true, Camelia.” Iris looked into her sister’s eyes that were so similar to hers. “I am unfortunate. I spent my days paying off my husband’s debts with my dowry. The same dowry that could have saved Papa from his debts with Lord Montague.”
