8. Chapter 8

Chapter eight

May, 1920

Claire’s eyes went big and round as she glanced between Buckland Hall and her uncle’s face.

“Uncle Row…this is someone’s house ?” she asked, disbelief in her voice.

“Sure is,” Rowland answered. “An earl’s house.”

“But it’s so big . Like a castle!”

He chuckled. She was right. Buckland Hall stood proud and tall in the grass as they approached, dwarfing the people queued up by the front doors, and casting a long shadow over the gravel driveway. Its old walls shone bright in the late spring sun, so much so it was almost golden, until clouds passed over to darken it again.

He had to admit, he was shocked when he saw the advertisement in the paper. The Earl of Manfax was opening up his ancestral home, Buckland Hall, to the public for guided tours. At one pound per group, the price was hard to beat. But Rowland would have paid more for a chance at seeing Iris. It had been almost a month since her visit to Liverpool, and while his troubles with Bishop Goddard were not going anywhere, neither were his thoughts of her. Finally, the opportunity presented itself to see her again.

“Do you think they have a big library?” Claire went on. “Bedrooms with great big four-poster beds? Oh, do they have a ballroom?”

“I’m sure they’ve got all that and more,” Rowland said, taking his niece’s hand.

He told her that he’d visited here before for work, but was honest in that he hadn’t seen much of the house at the time. Only the entryway, the earl’s study, and some of the upstairs. All the details he intentionally left out. He never told Claire about the business. The real business, anyway.

The butler stood at the front door, allowing a few people in at a time before roping off the entrance. The line moved slowly with each group. Rowland was surprised by the turnout. He had no idea that so many people were interested in seeing the home of some rich lord, but the excitement in the air was undeniable. His own niece was buzzing with it.

When they reached the front of the line, Mr. Oliver’s face paled. He opened his mouth and closed it again with a snap.

“Mr. Sinclair,” he said tightly. “You’re back.”

“Had to come and see the tour,” Rowland replied with a smirk. “Brought my niece.”

Claire waved as Mr. Oliver tucked his chin to look at her.

“I see,” Mr. Oliver said. “We’ll just—”

“All right, Mr. Oliver, I’m ready for the next group.”

Lady Iris herself appeared, walking with cool elegance up to the entrance. She wore a simple blue day dress, the skirt of which swished around her calves. That should not have made Rowland’s heart flutter, but somehow, it managed. Her golden hair, styled in perfect finger waves, framed her lovely face, which was rosy and sweet with her smile. It disappeared at the sight of Rowland.

“Mr. Sinclair?”

“Good afternoon, Lady Iris,” he said, tipping his hat.

“What on earth—” she stopped herself short and shook her head. “I mean, you’ve come for the tour?”

“I have,” he said. “This is my niece.”

“I’m Claire,” Claire said, stepping forward.

Iris’s smile returned, and she extended her hand. “Lovely to meet you, Claire. I’m Lady Iris Pembleton. The earl’s sister.”

Claire shook it. “You’re pretty.”

“As are you, dear.”

Warmth spread inside Rowland’s chest, seeing them interact.

“So…is your full name Claire Sinclair?” Iris asked, a tease in her voice.

“No, it’s Claire Brisley,” Claire answered.

“My sister’s daughter,” Rowland explained. “She named her Claire as a nod to her maiden name. My brother has all boys.”

“Ah, I see,” Iris said. “Well, let them inside, Mr. Oliver, and we can begin.”

“Are you sure, my lady?” Mr. Oliver questioned.

“Quite. We don’t want to keep everyone waiting.”

Mr. Oliver, with one last disdainful glance at Rowland, lifted the rope to allow him and Claire through. Along with two or three more families, each paying the fee to the butler. He closed it again, and as he did, Hugh arrived and gave a start upon locking eyes with Rowland.

“Mr. Sinclair!” he said, running a nervous hand through his hair. “I, er, didn’t expect to see you at this particular event.”

“Why not?” Rowland replied. “I’m looking forward to seeing how today’s efforts pay off, my lord.”

“Certainly. Yes, of course.” Hugh cast a sidelong look at Iris. “If you want me to take this group, I can.”

Her brow furrowed. “Why would I want you to—oh.” She paused. “No, it’s quite all right, I can manage.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Hugh, now don’t let’s delay these fine people any further.”

Hugh’s downturned mouth betrayed his skepticism, but he didn’t argue further, instead moving toward the door to take the next group himself. Rowland raised a brow at Iris.

“Don’t ask, he’s suddenly all about being a better brother to me,” Iris said with a wave of her hand. “He means well, but…after everything, it all feels too little too late.”

“I hope it means you’re getting that leverage we talked about,” Rowland said.

“As a matter of fact, I am. The tours were my idea.”

“They were, eh?”

“Yes.”

She stood a little taller, a little straighter, and her mouth turned up a little further. For the first time, she looked…cute. And he could see why she was proud of herself. The amount of people inside and still waiting was proof of her success.

“Well done, you,” he said.

“Thank you, Mr. Sinclair.” She took a step back to address the whole party. “Everyone, please, follow me this way. Our first stop is here in the front hall. This fireplace is one of the oldest features of the house, with its original stone. Above it is an original portrait of Gregory Michael Pembleton, the fourth Earl of Manfax. The portrait was not actually finished until after his death in 1689…”

Rowland didn’t hear much else. He was enthralled by Iris’s demeanor—so eloquent, so commanding—and yet, she was approachable. Her eyes lit up with every question she answered, and at one point, Claire made her laugh, throwing her head back with a wide grin parting her mouth. Rowland had never seen anything lovelier than Iris’s joy. Yes, she was gorgeous when she was angry, but this was something else entirely. Though he was beginning to see that Iris was gorgeous under any circumstances, no matter what emotion was on her face.

Upstairs, Iris opened the door to her personal study. With its large window to let in the sunlight, and fresh flowers tucked into corners and on the furniture, it was much softer and more feminine than Hugh’s. The furniture was upholstery instead of leather, with light floral designs that gave the room an airy feeling. Most noticeable, was a mannequin in the corner of the room, donning a silk nightdress and pale blue wool coat.

“This,” Iris said, walking over to it. “Is part of our family’s more recent history. It’s what I was wearing the night Titanic sank. I was one of the lucky ones and got to a lifeboat rather early. It was dreadfully cold, and with people I cared about still on board, I wasn’t at ease for hours and hours. I haven’t worn either of these garments since.”

Her eyes went over the outfit, and her lips twitched down with a wistful stare. Rowland longed to reach out and put a hand on her shoulder. Something to ease the ache he saw in her expression.

“Is it true you went back to the wreck site, my lady?” someone asked. “To search for survivors?”

Rowland’s eyes fastened onto Iris’s face. She glanced down, almost as if she were embarrassed.

“Yes, one of the junior officers was clever enough to locate some other lifeboats nearby. We combined the passengers to get one empty boat that we could take back to where the ship went down,” she said. “They were only going to take stewards with them at first, but I insisted on helping so I could look for my lady’s maid and her fiancé. By some miracle, I found them, and they both survived.”

He was nothing short of impressed. Those details were not in the newspaper articles about her surviving the sinking, but they absolutely should have been. Everyone should know this about her. That she cared enough to go back and search for the people she loved.

“Is it also true your husband was one of the people you rescued?” another person questioned.

Rowland scowled at the man.

Iris cleared her throat and shifted her weight between her feet. “ Ex -husband, but yes, he was. He went down with the ship, and I found him floating in the water all those hours later.”

Rowland was further impressed. After what she told him about her ex, he thought the man deserved to freeze to death in the North Atlantic. Iris would have had a much easier way out of her marriage if she hadn’t pulled him out. But she did.

“Were you scared?” Claire wondered, staring up at Iris. “When the ship was sinking?”

Iris blinked and looked up, pensive. “Yes, actually. I think it was the one thing every passenger and crew member had in common that night.”

“Sounds like you were brave, though,” Claire said.

“As were many others.”

He couldn’t help but notice the sadness in her smile. The group moved into the hallway, Iris waiting until everyone cleared the room, but Rowland hung back.

“Decent of you to save your ex-husband,” he said.

“Not entirely. I told him I’d only pull him out of the water if he agreed to give me the divorce.”

Rowland blinked. “Why, Lady Iris. You knew about leverage all along.”

“I suppose I did,” she said with a smirk. “Speaking of which, did you receive the parcel I sent you?”

“I did.”

He chuckled at the memory. She must have found his business address, for it had arrived at Sinclair Syndicate office, where he conducted all his legal business. He opened the package and found the dress she was wearing the day they met. She had attached a note, offering him the choice to pay for the repair of it himself or take the cost out of her brother’s debt.

“What did you decide?” she asked.

“Neither.”

She hoisted an eyebrow. “Neither?”

“I sent the dress over to my sister for repairs. No cost to you or to me.”

“How neat and tidy of you.”

“I admired the effort, though. You’ve got a mind on you, Lady Iris.” He found her gaze and held it. “And courage too.”

She opened her mouth and closed it again. “Your flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. Sinclair.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but Claire poked her head in the door.

“Uncle Row! No holding up the tour guide!”

“Right you are, Claire, I apologize,” he said. He gestured in front of him. “After you, my lady.”

Iris didn’t move. “If you think I’m leaving you alone in any part of this house, you’re sorely mistaken. After you, sir .”

“Probably for the best. Especially somewhere I can so easily imagine you in your nightclothes.”

She drew her mouth tight, color rising in her cheeks, but at least the sadness was gone. If he could take that away, he considered it a job well done. Chuckling, he took Claire’s hand and walked out of the room, but it was several moments before he heard Iris’s heels clicking behind him. She brushed his shoulder as she made her way to the front of the crowd again, leaving his whole arm tingling.

“Right,” she said. “If you’ll all follow me back downstairs and we’ll go to the gallery. We’ve got some wonderful pieces here, many by Yorkshire artists, which I’m sure you’ll be delighted to see.”

He swore he could still see her blushing.