“That is not true.”
She did not argue. Her fingers curled against his as Blaise pulled her closer to him.
“You speak of it lightly,” he said. “But being unseen is no small thing.”
“No.” A wry curve touched her mouth. “It is rather convenient, at times. People say more when they imagine something is unimportant. You may collect a great deal of information that way.”
He understood the impulse with brutal immediacy, though he rarely allowed himself to name it. “You do know that it was never your burden to bear.”
“Someone must.” Her smile flickered, brittle. “My father is… kind. That is his virtue. It has never been his talent to distinguish between an investment and a sinkhole. He trusted the wrong people, and when everything began to slide downward, it seemed obvious to me that I should find a way to stop it. I was the eldest. It was my duty.”
“And so, you married Hentley?”
“Yes. He promised security. We were to be safe. Instead, I found ledgers full of numbers I did not understand. By then, my sister was…”She froze and suddenly missed Camelia, who did not attend the party. Iris reminded herself that she would have to visit her or write to her. Camelia never misses a party or ball, and Iris worried that it had something to do with the baby.
“Was?” Blaise pulled her back to reality.
“I apologize; I lost my train of thought. Camelia was busy saving us all in a far more dramatic fashion.”
“And you blame yourself for not preventing your father’s mistakes. For not carrying a weight that was never meant for your shoulders?”
Iris’s gaze snapped back to his. “Who else is there to blame?”
“Your father,” he said bluntly.
Her fingers tightened around his. “He is a good man.”
“I do not doubt it. I am very fond of him myself. But a good heart does not make a wise steward. Your father made poor decisions that placed you and your sisters in danger. That is his burden and not yours.”
“But I lived in his house,” she said. “I saw the bills arrive. I heard the way his voice shook when he spoke of the future. I should have?—”
“What?” Blaise’s tone sharpened, and it made her shiver against him as they danced elegantly together. “You were a girl, Iris. You were not responsible for the weakness of the man who ought to have shielded you from them.”
Her name on his tongue made her breath catch, and she was sure that he felt every tremor and shiver.
They moved through a turn, the world narrowing to the pattern of their steps and the warm press of her palm.
“You carry your own burdens very nobly, Your Grace,” Iris said softly. “It is charming that you are so eager to divest me of mine. But I think perhaps you should practice what you preach.”
“What burden do you imagine I carry?” he asked, though he knew which one she meant.
“Your brother’s death,” she said, not unkindly.
“That is becauseI amresponsible for his death,” he said.
“But you did not kill him,” Iris said matter-of-factly.
Iris looked up at his scar. She held her breath and slowly lifted her hand from his shoulder, fingers trembling slightly as they moved toward his cheek. His body went still.
Then Iris caught herself, and her hand halted just shy of the ruined skin; her fingers curled into her palm, and she lowered it back to the safe territory of his shoulder.
“You should not carry a burden that is not yours, Iris,” Blaise whispered gently into her ear.
Iris whispered back, “And you should not carry the burden of your brother’s death.”
CHAPTER 24
The waltz came to its final, shimmering turn, and Blaise let Iris spin out to the last graceful step, her skirts whispering over the grass as her words stayed with him. The music stopped on a bright chord, and applause rose.
