15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

I ris stood before her mirror, adjusting the ribbons on her riding habit with trembling fingers. The previous day's events—her mother's discovery of the letters, their heated argument, and the subsequent ban on her music lessons with Lord Thornbrook—weighed heavily upon her mind. She had scarcely slept, constantly thinking defiant thoughts and despairing.

A soft knock at the door preceded Lucy's entrance. The maid's face was etched with concern as she approached her mistress.

"Are you ready, My Lady?" Lucy asked, her voice low. "Your mother is quite insistent that you join the riding party promptly."

Iris suppressed a sigh. "Yes, Lucy, I'm ready. Though I confess, I'd much rather remain abed today."

Lucy's eyes darted to the closed door before she leaned in, whispering, "I've managed to slip your letter to Lord Thornbrook, My Lady. I handed it to his lordship's hands directly. I know I shouldn't have, but I couldn't bear to see you so sad."

A flicker of hope ignited in Iris's chest. "Oh, Lucy, you're a treasure. Thank you."

As they went downstairs, Iris steeled herself for the ordeal ahead. Her mother had arranged this outing with all the subtlety of a charging bull, and her intentions regarding Lord Edgar Ainsworth were painfully obvious. The fact that Lord Ainsworth had also invited Lord Thornbrook—no doubt to maintain appearances—only added to the tension Iris felt coiling in her stomach.

Lady Rosier was issuing last-minute instructions to the servants in the entrance hall. Upon seeing Iris, she broke off, her eyes narrowing as she took in her daughter's appearance.

"Iris, dear, do straighten your hat. We want you looking your best for Lord Edgar, don't we?"

Iris bit back a retort, forcing a smile instead. "Yes, Mama."

Lady Rosier lowered her voice, her tone sharp. "And I trust I need not remind you to comport yourself with proper decorum today. Lord Thornbrook may be joining us, but you are not to engage him in conversation beyond what politeness demands. Do I make myself clear?"

"Perfectly," Iris replied, her own voice clipped.

The tension in the air was thick enough to be cut with a knife as the riding party assembled on the front lawn of Rosewood Manor. Lord Edgar arrived first, resplendent in a bottle-green riding coat that perfectly set off his golden hair. He dismounted with effortless grace, bowing over Lady Rosier's hand before turning his charming smile on Iris.

"Lady Iris," he said, his blue eyes twinkling. "You look positively radiant this morning. I hope you'll allow me to ride beside you today."

Before Iris could formulate a response, the sound of approaching hoofbeats drew their attention. Lord Thornbrook appeared, cutting a striking figure atop his black stallion. His grey eyes swept the gathering, lingering for a moment on Iris before he inclined his head in a polite greeting.

"Lord and Lady Rosier, Edgar, Lady Iris," he said, his deep voice sending a tingle that ran down Iris's back. "I trust I haven't kept you waiting?"

Lady Rosier's smile was brittle as she replied, "Not at all, Lord Thornbrook. We're delighted you could join us."

As the party mounted their horses and set off, Iris found herself caught between Lord Edgar on one side and Lord Thornbrook on the other. The irony of her position—trapped between the man her mother wished her to marry and the one who had captured her heart—was not lost on her.

They rode in silence for a time, the only sounds being the steady clip-clop of hooves and the occasional snort from a horse. Iris kept her eyes fixed ahead, acutely aware of Lord Thornbrook's presence beside her. She longed to turn to him to see if he had received her letter and gauge his reaction to her mother's discovery of their correspondence, but Lady Rosier's watchful gaze prevented any such overture.

It was Lord Thornbrook who eventually broke the silence. "I trust you've been keeping up with your musical studies, Lady Iris?" he asked, his tone carefully neutral.

Iris felt her mother stiffen in her saddle, but she replied evenly, "As best I can, My Lord. Though I find I miss the guidance of a skilled instructor."

A ghost of a smile played at the corners of Lord Thornbrook's mouth. "Perhaps we might discuss some theory as we ride? I've been pondering a particularly challenging passage in Bach's Goldberg Variations."

Clearly feeling left out of the conversation, Lord Edgar interjected, "I say, is that not the piece with all those trills and flourishes? Quite dashed difficult, I should think!"

Iris couldn't quite suppress her wince at Lord Edgar's clumsy attempt to join the discussion. Lord Thornbrook, however, merely raised an eyebrow.

"Indeed, Edgar. The piece is known for its complexity and emotional depth. One might say it requires a certain... sensitivity of spirit to truly appreciate its nuances."

Lord Thornbrook's words had a double meaning, and Iris was not unaware of it. She felt a blush rise to her cheeks as she met his gaze, seeing a wealth of unspoken sentiment in his stormy eyes.

Sensing the dangerous turn the conversation had taken, Lady Rosier quickly steered it to safer waters. "Lord Edgar, I understand you've recently acquired a new hunter. Do tell us about him."

As Lord Edgar launched into an enthusiastic, if somewhat long-winded, description of his latest equine acquisition, Iris allowed her mind to wander. She recalled the last time she and Lord Thornbrook had discussed Bach—how his eyes had lit up with passion as he explained the intricate structure of the Goldberg Variations, how his fingers had brushed against hers as they pored over the sheet music together.

"You seem lost in thought, Lady Iris," Lord Thornbrook's low voice broke through her reverie. "Might one inquire as to the nature of your musings?"

Iris was startled, realizing she had fallen slightly behind the others. Lord Thornbrook had slowed his mount to match her pace, leaving them in a bubble of relative privacy.

"I was thinking of music, My Lord," she replied softly. "Of the way it can express that which words cannot. "

His eyes softened as he regarded her. "Indeed. Music has a way of reaching into the very soul, does it not? Of awakening feelings long dormant?"

Iris's heart quickened at his words. "Yes," she breathed. "It can be... quite overwhelming at times."

They simply gazed at each other for a moment, and something strange stirred deeply within Iris's breast. Then, as if remembering himself, Lord Thornbrook straightened in his saddle.

"We should rejoin the others," he said, his voice regaining its usual coolness. "I believe they're stopping ahead for the picnic."

The group had indeed come to a halt in a picturesque clearing. Servants bustled about, laying out blankets and unpacking hampers filled with delectable treats. As they dismounted, Iris couldn't help but notice the way Lord Thornbrook's powerful hands gripped the reins, flexing his muscles as he swung down from his horse. She quickly averted her gaze, conscious of her mother's watchful eye.

Lord Edgar was at her side in an instant, offering his arm with a gallant flourish. "Allow me to escort you, Lady Iris," he said, beaming. "I've been looking forward to continuing our conversation from the other day. I don't believe I had the chance to tell you about my new painting acquisition—a charming little landscape by that fellow Turner. Have you seen his work?"

Iris allowed herself to be led to the picnic blanket, all too aware of Lord Thornbrook's gaze following their progress. As Lord Edgar prattled on about his art collection, Iris found her attention continually drawn to the dark figure standing apart from the group, his eyes distant as he gazed out over the countryside.

Lady Rosier, noting her daughter's distraction, cheerfully inserted herself into the conversation. "Lord Edgar, you must tell Iris about your plans to redecorate your London townhouse. I'm sure she'd be fascinated by your ideas for the music room."

Iris turned to her mother, unable to keep the edge from her voice. "I'm certain Lord Edgar's taste in decor is impeccable, Mama. Though I daresay his expertise lies more in the visual arts than the musical."

A flicker of hurt passed across Lord Edgar's handsome face, quickly masked by a self-deprecating laugh. "You're quite right, Lady Iris. I'm afraid my musical talents extend no further than a passable rendition of 'God Save the King' on the pianoforte. Perhaps I should engage a tutor to improve my skills. What say you, Horatio? Might you be persuaded to take on another pupil?"

Lord Thornbrook's lip curled in a sardonic smile. "I fear, cousin, that some talents cannot be taught. They must be innate, a fire burning in one's very soul."

The double meaning in his words was not lost on Lady Iris. She felt her cheeks flush as Lord Thornbrook's gaze met hers before he quickly turned it away. Her breath caught.

As the picnic progressed, the tension between the parties grew increasingly palpable. Iris found herself caught in a verbal dance, trying to maintain a polite conversation with Lord Edgar while acutely aware of every movement and utterance from Lord Thornbrook. Her mother's attempts to steer the discussion towards safe topics grew increasingly desperate, her forced laughter grating on Iris's nerves.

Just as Iris thought she could no longer bear the strain, a distant rumble of thunder broke the uneasy calm. Dark clouds had gathered on the horizon, promising an imminent downpour.

"Good heavens," Lady Rosier exclaimed, rising hastily. "We must pack up at once. Lord Edgar, would you be so kind as to assist the servants?"

As the group scrambled to gather their belongings, the first fat drops of rain began to fall. Within moments, the gentle patter had become a deluge, soaking through Iris's riding habit and plastering her hair to her face.

"This way!" Lord Thornbrook called over the roar of the rain. "There's a pavilion just beyond those trees!"

The group dashed for shelter, their feet slipping on the rain-slicked grass. As they reached the small structure, Iris felt a strong hand at her elbow, steadying her. She looked up to find Lord Thornbrook beside her, his dark hair glistening with raindrops, his eyes intense as they met hers.

"Allow me," he murmured, reaching to unfasten her sodden cloak.

His fingers brushed against her neck as he worked at the clasp, sending a shiver through her that had nothing to do with the chill of the rain. For a moment, time seemed to stand still. Iris was acutely aware of his proximity, the warmth radiating from his body, and the subtle scent of sandalwood that clung to him.

"Thank you, My Lord," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the pounding of the rain—and her own heart.

Lady Rosier's sharp voice broke the spell. "Iris! Come away from the edge this instant. You'll catch your death."

Reluctantly, Iris stepped back, breaking contact with Lord Thornbrook. As she moved to join her mother, she caught sight of Lord Edgar's face. The easy charm had vanished, replaced by a look of suspicion—and dismay.

The ride back to Rosewood Manor was a subdued affair. The rain had slackened to a gentle drizzle, but the chill in the air seemed to have seeped into the very bones of the party. Iris rode in silence, her mind constantly replaying the day's events.

She thought back to every glance and word she exchanged with Lord Thornbrook, searching for hidden meanings, for signs that he had received her letter and understood her heart.

As they approached the manor, Lady Rosier drew her horse alongside Iris's. "We shall speak of this later," she hissed, her voice low and tight with suppressed anger.

Iris merely nodded, too exhausted—emotionally and physically—to argue. As they dismounted in the courtyard, she caught one last glimpse of Lord Thornbrook. He was watching her, his stormy eyes unreadable, but she fancied she saw a flicker of something—longing? Regret?—before he turned away.

That evening, as Iris drifted off to sleep, her last conscious thought was of Lord Thornbrook's hand on her cloak, his fingers brushing against her skin.