Chapter 5

Chapter Five

" A re the Duchess's chambers ready?" Phineas asked the butler the moment they returned to his London townhouse.

It had been a long day—first the ceremony, then the wedding breakfast, then various social obligations that were required of the new Duchess of Eavestone.

At last, they were back at Eavestone House, and Phineas needed a moment alone. He'd spent the whole day in the company of his bride, yet he hadn't really had a chance to speak to her or get to know her. And while a small part of him was curious about the blonde-haired, green-eyed woman who was now his wife, he was also anxious to be alone.

In the ten years since his parents' deaths, Phineas had worked hard to ensure that no one got too close to him. James, of course, was the exception. But Phineas spent most of his time by himself, and he didn't feel comfortable spending the whole day in the company of Iris.

If the butler thought it odd that Phineas seemed anxious to get rid of his new wife, he was too professional to show any sign of it.

"Of course, Your Grace," he replied, bowing to both of them. "I have put Her Grace in the chamber attached to yours."

This made Phineas pause. He had assumed that his servants would put Iris in one of the family rooms further down the hall from his. But no… of course they had put her in his mother's former chambers.

The chamber that adjoined his own…

Next to him, Phineas thought he felt Iris grow warmer, and indeed, when he glanced at her, she was blushing. Of course, Iris was not an innocent eighteen-year-old debutante. She had more of a sense of what was expected of wives on their wedding nights, and why her bedroom would be attached to her husband's.

Phineas felt his own ears start to redden, and he turned away at once.

Why are you acting like a schoolboy? This is a marriage of convenience, nothing more.

But he couldn't fully shake the feeling of agitation. Even if their wedding was one of mutual benefit, it still hadn't stopped him from reaching out during the ceremony and grasping her hand when she looked as if she might faint.

Poor thing… she had looked so fearful, even through her veil, and her whole body had been shaking. Not that he could blame her for being afraid. He wasn't exactly known for his kindness. She probably wished her father had started a rumor linking her to any other man but him.

Maybe Phineas had made it worse by taking her hand during the ceremony. The man who was the cause of her misery was probably the last person she wanted to comfort her. But he hadn't been able to help himself. She'd reminded him of a scared, wounded animal, in contrast to her usually tough exterior, and his instinct had been to care for her. Of course, she'd also taken his hand at the wedding breakfast, so perhaps she, too, wanted to care for him.

You'll have to put a stop to that before it goes too far .

It would not do to get sentimental about his new wife.

The butler led them up the staircase to their respective bedchambers.

"Goodnight," Phineas said, nodding to his wife as he left her outside her chamber. Her eyes were wide as she stared after him.

"Goodnight," she murmured.

Phineas felt a tug of guilt as he made his way to his bedchamber next door.

Was she expecting more? Does she want more?

Once inside, he went straight to the sideboard, where he poured himself a whiskey. The sideboard was near the door that connected his room to Iris's, and through it, he could hear her moving around. There was a low murmur of voices, and he leaned toward the door imperceptibly. He wasn't even fully aware he was doing it.

That must be her maid she was talking to. She'd come over with Iris's things. As Phineas listened, he couldn't quite make out what they were saying, but to his surprise, he realized he wanted to. He was strangely curious about what his wife was thinking and feeling during her first night in her new home.

After a while, he heard the sound of a door opening and closing, and then the chamber fell silent. Certain now that his wife was alone, Phineas set his glass down and knocked quietly on the door.

"Come in," her soft voice called.

Phineas took a deep breath and then entered her room.

Iris was sitting at her dressing table, wearing a long dressing gown that covered her nightshift, brushing her hair. The only hint at the intimacy of the moment was her loose hair. It fell down her shoulders in long, blonde waves. In the flickering candlelight, it looked honey-colored.

Iris looked up from her dressing table, her intelligent eyes flicking to him, taking in his fully dressed state.

"Good evening, Duke," she murmured. Although she appeared calm, he couldn't help but notice that her hand had tightened around her hairbrush.

Her voice washed over him, soft and seductive, and he closed his eyes very briefly. When he opened them again, it was to find her just as infuriatingly beautiful as she had been moments before. With difficulty, he tried to ignore this, but he wasn't entirely successful. Despite his determination to keep things simple between them, he was still a man, and he couldn't help but feel something when his beautiful, half-dressed new bride was sitting in front of him.

"Good evening, Duchess, " Phineas returned, and he was pleased to hear the composure in his voice. She would have no idea what the sight of her did to him. "I thought we might talk, now that we are finally alone."

"That's a good idea." She set the hairbrush down on the dressing table. "There's much we still have to figure out if we want to take down my father."

"Yes, and considering how much time and energy that will consume, I thought we might dispense with the added worry of making heirs."

It cost him something to say that, but he still did it. He had no time for distractions, even one as enticing as his enemy's daughter.

For a moment, Iris's face remained blank. Then her shoulders relaxed slightly, and he thought he saw the briefest look of relief cross her face. He tried, and failed, to not take offense at this.

"I think that's probably for the best," she agreed, and he nodded curtly.

Phineas knew he should be relieved as well. He didn't want his relationship with Iris to get complicated. Especially when he wasn't yet sure if he could trust her. It was still possible she was working for her father. And if they lived as man and wife, there was no saying what information on him she might give her father. The fact she'd accepted his suggestion that they abstain from their marital rights went a long way toward proving that she wasn't trying to manipulate him, but he still couldn't be sure.

And yet, he was not relieved. He was frustrated. Unaccountably frustrated.

"Well, now that that's decided," he continued, a little more peevishly than he intended, "I think we should discuss how best to go after your father. What exactly did he tell you to look for when he asked you to spy on me?"

Iris frowned. "He didn't elaborate much. He seems to think you're going to try and take down his business interests, but more than that, he didn't say."

"Hmm. I think we need more information," he said. "We need to know what exactly it is that your father thinks I'm after. That way, we can stay one step ahead of him."

"What do you suggest I do?"

"Are you prepared to visit him and ask him to give you more information?"

Iris looked uncertain. "Won't he suspect me if I come right out and ask what he's up to?"

"I'm not sure what choice we have. You can play dumb… make it seem like you don't know what to look for, that you're overwhelmed by the vagueness of what he's asked you to do. Play on your father's biases against the fairer sex, his belief that you all are feeble-minded, even the intelligent ones."

One of Iris's fair eyebrows shot up. "So you know what my father thinks about women?"

"Everyone knows," Phineas said contemptuously. He scowled, as he often did when he was thinking of Lord Carfield. "His lack of respect toward the fairer sex is well known."

There was a moment of silence as Iris absorbed this, staring down at her dressing table. After a long moment, she looked back at him, a cool glint in her eyes.

"And what about you?" she asked softly. "What is your opinion on the fairer sex ?"

Phineas chose his words carefully. As much as he wanted to try and keep his distance from Iris, he also wanted her to feel safe and secure in her new home.

"My mother was a very gifted painter. I believe you were admiring one of her paintings when you first came to Eavestone House?"

Iris's mouth opened slightly. "Your mother painted the portrait in the parlor?" she breathed.

Phineas nodded solemnly.

"It is an astonishing portrait. And to think… she painted her own likeness with such detail!"

"I remember her working on the painting," Phineas said, and he was surprised by the emotion that colored his voice. He never usually spoke about his parents, and he wasn't exactly sure why he was telling Iris about them now. "I'd come into her library every afternoon and watch her painting her own reflection in the mirror. She was patient, methodical, and obsessed with getting every detail right. My father was the opposite. He was an active man, impatient, and he hated sitting for portraits. But he would do it for my mother. The way he used to look at her…"

"Yes," Iris murmured. "I saw that look in the portrait."

There was a small lump in Phineas's throat, and he swallowed past it before speaking again. "He always respected her patience and careful attention, especially since he was so different. He told me that she was the wise one in their marriage, the one who could always see the way forward when things felt hopeless. It taught me that women are not only worthy of respect but can be far superior to men in many ways."

For a moment, Phineas thought that Iris was going to stand up and come to him. She was perched on the edge of her seat, staring at him, a look of deep emotion on her face. He wondered if he'd made a mistake in telling her so much about himself.

"It sounds as if they really loved one another," she noted at last. Then, more tentatively, she asked, "How did they die?"

Whatever sentimentality had overtaken Phineas immediately evaporated, and he came back to himself. Straightening, he schooled his expression into one of polite disinterest.

She must have noticed the coldness in his expression, because she said quickly, "I'm sorry to ask, it's just that?—"

"I should let you get some rest," he interrupted, not looking at her. Bowing low, he backed away toward the door connecting their bedrooms. "We will speak more about our plans tomorrow. I hope you sleep well in your new home, Duchess."

And without another word, Phineas left his wife's bedchamber as quickly as he possibly could, trying to ignore the hurt, confused look on her face.

It was strange to be back in her childhood home. Just a few days earlier, Iris had lived here, but now, it felt like a lifetime ago. In just a few short days, she had become the Duchess of Eavestone and taken over as mistress of Eavestone House. She had become a whole new person, with her own responsibilities and duties, no longer defined by her father.

Which is why it felt so strange to be back in her father's townhouse, where she'd often felt she would never escape him. It was not a pleasant feeling. The moment she stepped across the threshold, she could feel the old, familiar panic beginning to stir in the pit of her stomach, and she promised herself that this would be the last time she ever stepped foot in this house.

In the future, Violet and Rose can come to me .

For now, however, she was here to see her father. And as Mr. Jones led her into the library, she braced herself to meet with her father's usual brutal coldness.

Lord Carfield, however, looked surprised, and even a little excited, to see her.

"Iris!" he called, standing up and crossing to her. He kissed her hand before motioning that she should take a seat across from him. He sat back at his desk and gazed at her with anticipation. "I'm glad to see you so soon. I admit, I didn't think you would be able to get information out of the Duke so soon, but I'm happy to be wrong. I'm sure you have your ways of getting him to… trust you."

Iris didn't like the mocking look on her father's face, but she tried not to let her anger show. Taking a deep breath, she said, "I'm not here with information, Father, although I'm pleased to see you happy to see me."

At once, her father's face flushed, and he scowled. "Not here with information? Then why have you come? Your sisters aren't here—they're out promenading in Hyde Park."

"I came to see you, Father," Iris replied. "And to ask for your help."

Lord Carfield folded his hands on the desk, his eyebrows knitted in suspicion.

"It seems," Iris continued, "that I am having trouble finding out the information you want because I do not know what it is I'm supposed to be looking for."

"What do you mean?" her father barked. "I told you to find out if he's trying to sabotage me, to bring me down, ruin me like he has ruined my business associates."

Iris tried to be patient. "Yes, but he's hardly going to tell me his nefarious plans, is he? And the Duke keeps his study locked at all times, the key on him. Even if I were to somehow break into his study, which I don't think is possible, I wouldn't even know where to start. He's unlikely to state his plans outright. But if I had a sense of what it is you fear he is up to, then I could listen out for any reference to it, any conversations—no matter how subtle—with people who might visit."

Her father looked as if he were going to interrupt her, but she continued speaking. A change seemed to have come over her. Now that she was facing him, she didn't feel as afraid as she normally did in his presence. It was as if she were wearing armor that only she could see. He couldn't control her anymore.

"Right now I'm fumbling in the dark, and I don't want my sisters to be punished because you didn't properly prepare me for this scheme of yours," she said rather forcefully.

Her father leaned back in his chair, his eyes roving over her with interest. Iris sat up a little straighter.

The Viscount wasn't used to being spoken to like this, especially not by a woman, and certainly not by her, and she liked the slightly shocked look on his face.

"Very well." He nodded. "You may have a point. I will tell you what it is I'm anticipating, and you can be on the lookout for anything to that effect."

He stood up and went to the window, his back to her.

"Many years ago, I had a deal with the previous Duke of Eavestone, your husband's father. Under that agreement, he planned to sell me some of his land that was rich in coal. But then Eavestone died—an untimely death, and very inconvenient for me—and his son didn't want to honor our agreement. I suspect he wanted to keep the land for himself and build his own mine."

He turned back around and gave her a contemptuous look. "Well… I wasn't having that. I had an agreement with the former Duke, and so I enforced the contract. Now, I suspect his son is going to attempt to sabotage my mines or the land on them. He may also be planning some scheme to buy back my lands—which would involve either forgery or blackmailing me into selling, as he knows I wouldn't give up the mines otherwise."

Iris sat very still, absorbing everything her father had said. "I'm surprised to hear he wouldn't honor his father's agreement," she began slowly. "Especially if the legal documents had been drawn up."

"Yes, well, he was fifteen and eager to prove he was tougher than his father, I suppose. I was prepared to make him a very competitive offer for the lands."

"But if there was more profit to be had in mining it himself, then it makes sense he refused you," she reasoned.

The Viscount scoffed. "What does a lad of fifteen know about what is more profitable? Had he done the work of calculating how much it would cost to build a mine? Did he hire the contractors who evaluated the land? Did he figure out how long until he'd see a return on his investment? No, that was all me. I did all the work, and he wanted to take my idea and my hard work and use it for his own profit."

He strode to the chair where she was sitting and placed his hands on the arms, leaning over her in a menacing way.

"Believe me when I say this, Iris. Your husband is a spineless thief who couldn't even do right by his dead father by honoring his wishes. He is not a good man. That's why I need you. Together, we can take him down."

Iris nodded. She wished she could lean back, away from her father, but she was blocked by the back of the chair.

"I understand," she murmured. "And I promise to help you, now that I know what I'm looking for."

Her father leaned back and stood straight. "Good. Because, don't forget, your sisters' happiness hangs in the balance. You would be a fool to cross me."

Iris could hear his threat echoing in her head for the entire walk home, but it wasn't nearly as loud as the nagging voice of her own doubt.