Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

" M y mother is here?" Iris stared at Mr. Malloy. She was sure she was in shock. Her whole body had frozen, and she felt as if someone had just dumped cold water over her head. "Where?"

Mr. Malloy looked at her warily. "I've put her in your parlor, Your Grace."

Iris swayed on her feet. She thought she might faint. Her mother was here , in Eavestone House. After all these years, she was about to see her again.

What would she be like? Would she recognize her? And what if her mother didn't like her?

"Iris? Are you well?" she heard Phineas ask. His voice sounded far away. She couldn't even bring herself to look at him.

"Take me to her," she managed to utter. "Take me to my mother."

Mr. Malloy bowed and motioned for her to follow him.

As Iris passed Phineas, he reached out and touched her arm. "Let me come with you."

"I'll be all right," she said at once.

His expression remained soft. "I don't want you to have to face this alone."

She hesitated for a moment, then relented. As much as part of her feared letting Phineas see so much deeper into her soul, she feared facing her mother alone even more.

The butler led them up the stairs to the small parlor. He pushed open the door, and Iris stepped into the room.

Her mother was sitting on the sofa. The moment Iris and Phineas came into the room, she stood up.

Lady Carfield, to Iris's astonishment, smiled. "Iris!" she gasped. "My daughter, you look so beautiful!"

She hurried across the room to Iris. As she approached, Iris took her in.

Her mother looked much older than the last time she had seen her. Her once blonde hair was now streaked with gray, wrinkles lined her face, and there was a weariness to her that Iris couldn't help but note. But still, even after more than ten years apart, there was so much that was familiar—the warm, laughing eyes; the easy smile; and the way she smelled, like flowers in a spring garden.

Lady Carfield made to pull her into a hug, but Iris flinched and pulled back. There was an awkward moment where her mother stood with her arms outstretched. Then she dropped them to her sides. To Iris's embarrassment, her mother's eyes filled with tears.

"I have missed you so much," Lady Carfield murmured. "After all this time, here you are. My little girl, my firstborn, all grown up… it's unbelievable." Tears began to stream down her cheeks, but she didn't bother wiping them away. "I know it has been too long, and that you probably cannot forgive me for?—"

"You abandoned me." Iris surprised herself with the venom in her words. "You abandoned me, you abandoned Violet, and you abandoned Rose. How could you do that? You left us at the mercy of Father's whims, when you should have protected us from him. How can you ever justify that?"

Lady Carfield's mouth opened slightly, and the tears continued to fall from her eyes. Iris felt nothing but disgust at the sight.

"I would never try to justify it," her mother began quietly. "I can only explain why I behaved the way I did, even if I can never forgive myself for what I did."

"Oh, it's been hard to forgive yourself, has it?" Iris spat. She was so angry that she was shaking. "And what about me and my sisters? Have you even spared one thought to consider how hard it has been for us to forgive you?"

"Yes, darling, I know, and I want?—"

"Do not call me darling !" Iris screeched. "I'm not your darling. I'm not even your daughter. Perhaps you are my birth mother, but you have not acted like a real mother to me in more than ten years."

Lady Carfield hung her head. There was a long moment of silence, then she looked back up. "I know, Iris. And I want to explain. All of it. You don't have to forgive me?—"

"Good, because I never will."

"—but I do hope that you can listen to my explanation and, perhaps someday, understand why I did what I did."

"Is that what you came here for?" Iris demanded. "To explain why you left me? Or did you hear I married a duke and decided that now was a good time to reingratiate yourself? Did the money that was set aside for you when you married run out, and you thought you should try and get a loan from your daughter, the Duchess?"

Lady Carfield was shaking her head, a horrified look on her face. "No, Iris, that isn't the reason at all. I would never?—"

"Or is it my husband's protection you want? Did you think he would protect you from Father's wrath after all these years?"

Behind her, Iris felt her husband shift. Very softly, he laid a hand on her shoulder. He was probably trying to comfort her—or to tell her she had gone too far—but she didn't care. She didn't want to be comforted right now. She wanted to rage .

"I don't want to hear your feeble excuses for why you left," she snarled. "And I don't want to hear your explanation for how you could spend the next ten years never reaching out, never writing, never trying to see me, never even checking up on your daughters."

"But—"

"I will not demand that you leave tonight, as it is already late and it would be inhospitable to make you pack your things and go. However, first thing in the morning, I want you out of here. Do you understand?"

Lady Carfield had stopped crying, but her eyes were full of tears as she stared at her daughter. "I understand," she murmured.

"Good."

And without another word, Iris turned on her heels and stormed out of the parlor. She half expected Phineas to follow her, and she was relieved when he didn't.

For the first time since she'd met her husband, she'd found something he couldn't protect her from—her own rage.

Phineas's first thought, after his wife left, was that he should go to her. Then he stopped himself. She was clearly angry and needed a moment or two to clear her head. Instead, he studied the woman in front of him—the woman who looked so much like his wife that it was almost eerie. An older version of his wife, yes, but still frighteningly similar.

Was this what Iris would look like in twenty years? If so, then he felt very fortunate. Lady Carfield was still very beautiful.

Lady Carfield seemed to be sizing him up as well, and at last, she spoke. "So. You're the Duke my daughter has married."

Phineas nodded.

Lady Carfield's eyes narrowed. "And is it true what they say about you? That you're one of the most dangerous men in England?"

"I wouldn't believe the things your husband says about me," Phineas said coldly.

Lady Carfield waved a hand dismissively. "I haven't spoken to my husband in more than ten years. Your reputation precedes you, Your Grace, without his help"

"And so what if I am dangerous?" he challenged.

Lady Carfield folded her arms. Her gaze had all the intensity of her daughter's, and it unnerved him. "I married a dangerous man myself when I was young," she said. "And I've regretted it very much. I want to make sure that my daughter hasn't made the same mistake I did."

"If you wanted to keep your daughter safe, then you shouldn't have abandoned her at the tender age of thirteen," Phineas pointed out, his tone light even though his words were accusatory.

"I had my reasons," Lady Carfield said. "But that doesn't mean I don't regret my decision every single day."

Phineas didn't have time to listen to her tale of regret. He needed to find his wife.

"The butler will show you to your room," he said stiffly. "I trust you will honor your daughter's request and leave here first thing in the morning."

He was at the door when Lady Carfield called after him. "Just don't hurt her," she said as he turned back to her. "Give her a better life than either I or her father ever could."

Phineas stared coolly at his mother-in-law, resentful that she even needed to say this, then left the parlor in search of his wife.

Iris, a maid told him, was in her bedroom. Phineas only realized that the maid meant Iris's original bedroom and not the one they now shared when he entered his bedchamber and found it empty.

He went to the door connecting their rooms and tried the handle. It was locked.

"Iris?" he called through the door, knocking lightly. "Iris, are you there?"

There was no answer. After waiting a minute, he tried again.

"Iris? It's me. Can we talk?"

This time, he thought he heard the rustle of skirts from the other side of the door. He knocked again, then again.

"Iris, please open the door," he called gently. "I'm worried about you."

"I don't want to talk," Iris called back at last. Her voice sounded muffled and choked, and he wondered if she'd been crying. "Just leave me alone."

"I can't leave you alone," he said, pressing his forehead against the door. "You're my wife, and I won't let you suffer in there by yourself. Please, let me help you."

There was a short silence, then he heard her stand up and walk across the room to the door. However, she didn't open it.

"Is she still here?" she asked through the door, her voice small.

"Yes. I've put her in the bedroom farthest from ours. You won't have to see her again if you don't want to. And from now on, I'll tell Mr. Malloy that she isn't welcome here."

"Do you think I'm being too harsh?" Iris asked. "Should I listen to her and hear her side of things?"

"I don't know," Phineas sighed. "Sometimes it helps to hear someone's side of things. Other times, what a person did was so unforgivable that it doesn't matter what they say. And just because she needs to tell you something doesn't mean you need to hear it."

"That's very wise."

Phineas smiled. "I'm a very wise person."

He heard her laugh through the door.

"I understand if you need space," he added quietly. "I'll stop bothering you. But if you do want me, I'm here for you. I need you to know that."

Another moment passed, then Phineas heard the sound of a key turning in the lock, and then the door opened. His wife gazed up at him, her eyes puffy and her cheeks stained with tears.

"Will you hold me?" she whispered. "Hold me like you did all those nights ago?"

Phineas didn't need to ask which night she was talking about—it was the night she had first told him about her mother and they had shared a bed for the first time.

He cupped her chin and stroked his thumb across her jaw. "Of course, I will."

Iris woke up the next morning wrapped in her husband's arms. For several moments, she lay still, pretending to be asleep. She felt so warm and safe in his strong arms, and she didn't want the moment to end. At last, she blinked her eyes open, and she took in the sight of Phineas, fast asleep, the morning sun illuminating him as he held her. He looked so handsome and peaceful that she felt as if her heart was breaking with love.

And with that love flowing through her, she felt a sense of resolve that she hadn't felt last night. She would listen to her mother's story, even if just to hear her side of things. It was possible that her father had lied to her about her mother and not given her the full story. After all, she knew now how untrustworthy he was.

Phineas shifted, then opened his eyes. The moment he saw her, he smiled.

"Good morning," he murmured.

"Good morning." She wiggled closer to him and kissed the tip of his nose. "I'm going to talk to my mother this morning, before she leaves."

He looked surprised, and then he nodded. "I think that's a good idea."

"I don't think I can do it alone, though," she said softly. "Would you come with me?"

Phineas raised an eyebrow. "Haven't you learned by now that the answer to that is always yes?"

That is how Iris and Phineas found themselves, twenty minutes later, sitting across from her mother at the breakfast table.

The atmosphere in the room was tense. Lady Carfield was watching them both with a wary expression. She was eating little and said even less. Iris couldn't eat either. She felt nervous and angry and hopeful all at once, and the feelings drove all other thoughts out of her mind.

"I have decided to allow you to stay a little longer," Iris began. "And, after much consideration, to hear your side of the story."

"I'm glad to hear that," her mother said. She looked tired, as if she hadn't slept all night. "There is so much I want to tell you."

She took a deep breath, as if stealing herself, and then began to speak.

"I always knew I'd married a hard man," she began. "Back when I married your father, young ladies had even less choice in whom to marry than they do now. And I was young and naive. Your father was rich and handsome, and my father convinced me it would be a good marriage. I believed him. It didn't take long for me to realize how wrong he was.

"The first years were difficult. Your father was cruel and vindictive. But then I gave birth to you, and you gave me something to live for. I doted on you, loved you unconditionally. And although my marriage left much to be desired, I was happy as your mother. Then Violet and Rosalie came, and my life felt full. Your father, of course, wanted a son, but I was content with daughters. What if a son turned out like him? The thought chilled me to the bone.

"I always knew your father was involved in shady business dealings, but I was never involved in any of them until shortly after the death of his friends, the Duke and Duchess of Eavestone. I'd met them many times and had never understood how such good people could be friends with him. I assumed he had never shown them his true colors.

"Anyway, after their deaths, he asked me to be a witness to the signing of a land purchase deal. I was surprised to be asked and even more surprised when I discovered I wouldn't be witnessing the new Duke's signature. My husband told me that you, Your Grace, had already signed it. When I questioned this—wasn't the point of a witness to witness both signatures?—he called me an ignorant, stupid woman. His bullying was relentless, and, eventually, I signed the document.

"But I knew something was wrong, and after that, I began sneaking into his study to investigate his business dealings. That's when I learned how corrupt he truly was. The things he had done… they frightened me deeply, and I knew I couldn't stay with him. He was a bad man, and I couldn't allow my children to be brought up by him."

Tears sprang to her eyes, but she wiped them away and continued her story.

"But when I tried to leave him, he forbid me from taking you and your sisters with me, Iris. He threatened me, told me that if I left with you, he'd marry you and your sisters off—when the time came—to the worst men of the ton as punishment. I was scared, alone, and unsure of my power. So I capitulated. He let me leave, but without you, and he told me I was never allowed to contact any of you again.

"All these years, I have been trying to find a way to contact you, but he has blocked me at every turn. I wrote letters, but he destroyed them. I tried to meet you in public places, but he sent protection officers to threaten me. The only contact I had was through your governess. Do you remember her?"

Iris nodded. She was petrified by this story, barely able to move or think.

"She was a lovely woman and hated your father. She would give me updates on all of you, assure me you were safe. That's how I knew you had married, Iris. And then, of course, I read it in the papers."

Lady Carfield leaned forward, and it seemed for a moment as if she would take Iris's hand, then she thought better of it. "I know now that I was wrong to leave you and your sisters. Even if living with your father was torture, I never should have left you alone with him. And I'm so sorry, Iris. I can't tell you how deeply I regret it, how much I want to make it up to you. But it is important that you know I never forgot you. I tried every day to contact you. And you were in my thoughts every moment of every day."

As she looked deeply into her mother's eyes, Iris realized she was crying. She reached out and took her mother's hand. Her mother looked surprised, but then she smiled gratefully.

"I'm so relieved to hear this," Iris whispered. "All these years, I thought you just didn't love us."

"I loved you so much," her mother whispered. "More than anything on earth. I still do."

"Don't leave again," Iris pleaded. "Please, just promise me that. Promise you'll stay and get to know me as I am now. You can even stay here if you want."

She glanced at her husband, who nodded in approval.

"Nothing on earth could keep me from you again," Lady Carfield reassured her. "And that's a promise. But…" Her eyes slid to Phineas. "There is another reason for my visit. And this one concerns His Grace."

Iris blinked and looked at Phineas. He seemed taken aback.

"What is it?" she asked quickly. "We already suspected that Father had forced you to sign the contract, so if that's?—"

"It's not that," Lady Carfield interrupted. Her eyes were still fixed unblinkingly on Phineas. "It's about the Duke's parents. They weren't killed during a robbery, as the world was led to believe. They were murdered on Lord Carfield's orders."