“Take Harriet,” Iris’s mother continued. “Introduce her to some of the gentlemen. She is nearly of age to be out. It will seem the most natural thing in the world.”
“But I’m still in costume,” Harriet protested.
“This is no time to be missish,” her mother declared, grabbing her arm. “Come.”
Harriet stumbled along behind her mother, but not before shooting a sympathetic last glance at Iris.
Mrs. Smythe-Smith closed the door to the drawing room and then let out a breath. “This is a fine mess,” she said, and not with compassion.
“I will make arrangements for a special license immediately,” Richard said. He saw no need to tell them that he had already procured one.
Mrs. Smythe-Smith crossed her arms and began to pace.
“Mama?” Iris ventured.
Mrs. Smythe-Smith held up a shaking finger. “Not now.”
“But—”
“We will wait for your father!” Mrs. Smythe-Smith snarled. She was shaking with fury, and the expression on Iris’s face told Richard that she had never seen her mother thus.
Iris stepped back, hugging her arms to her body. Richard wanted to comfort her, but he knew her mother would fly into a rage if he took even one step in her direction.
“Of all my daughters,” Mrs. Smythe-Smith said in a furious whisper, “you are the last one I would have thought might do something like this.”
Iris looked away.
“I am so ashamed of you.”
“Of me?” Iris said in a small voice.
Richard took a menacing step forward. “I said your daughter is blameless.”
“Of course she is not blameless,” Mrs. Smythe-Smith snapped. “Was she alone with you? She knows better than that.”
“I was in the middle of a marriage proposal.”
“May I assume you have not yet requested a private meeting with Mr. Smythe-Smith to obtain his consent?”
“I thought to do your daughter the honor of asking her, first.”
Mrs. Smythe-Smith’s mouth pressed together in an angry line, but she did not respond. Instead she looked vaguely in Iris’s direction and let out a frustrated “Oh, where is your father?”
“I’m sure he will be here soon, Mama,” Iris replied quietly.
Richard prepared himself to jump to Iris’s defense again, but her mother held her tongue. Finally, after several more minutes passed, the door to the drawing room opened, and Iris’s father walked in.
Edward Smythe-Smith was not an exceptionally tall man, but he carried himself well, and Richard imagined that he had been quite athletic when he was younger. Certainly, he was still strong enough to damage a man’s face, should he decide violence was appropriate.
“Maria?” he said, looking to his wife as he entered. “What the devil is going on? I received an urgent summons from Charlotte.”
Mrs. Smythe-Smith wordlessly motioned to the two other inhabitants of the room.
“Sir,” Richard said.
Iris looked at her hands.
Mr. Smythe-Smith did not speak.
Richard cleared his throat. “I would very much like to marry your daughter.”
“If I am reading this situation correctly,” Mr. Smythe-Smith said with devastating calm, “you don’t have much choice in the matter.”
“Nevertheless, it is what I desire.”
Mr. Smythe-Smith tipped his head toward his daughter but did not look at her. “Iris?”
“He did ask me, Father.” She cleared her throat. “Before . . .”
“Before what?”
“Before Aunt Charlotte . . . saw . . .”
Richard took a breath, trying to hold himself back. Iris was miserable; she could not even finish her sentence. Couldn’t her father see this? She did not deserve such an interrogation, and yet Richard instinctively knew that if he were to intercede, he would only make it worse.
But he could not do nothing. “Iris,” he said softly, hoping she would hear his support in his voice. If she needed him, he would take over.
“Sir Richard asked me to marry him,” Iris said resolutely. But she didn’t look at him. She did not even flick her eyes in his direction.
“And what,” her father asked, “was your reply?”
“I—I had not yet made one.”
“What was your reply going to be?”
Iris swallowed, clearly uncomfortable with all eyes on her. “I would have said yes.”
Richard felt his head jerk. Why was she lying? She had told him she needed more time.