A footman arrived just as they entered the drawing room, and Lady Pleinsworth pulled him aside and spoke to him in a low voice. Richard presumed she was sending him with a message for Iris’s father.
“Sit,” Lady Pleinsworth ordered.
Iris sank slowly into a chair.
Lady Pleinsworth turned her imperious stare on Richard. He clasped his hands behind his back. “I cannot be seated while you remain standing, your ladyship.”
“I give you leave,” she bit off.
He took a seat. It went against everything in his nature, to sit meekly and silent, but he knew this was what had to happen. He just wished Iris didn’t look so hollow, so troubled and ashamed.
“Charlotte?”
He heard Iris’s mother’s voice coming from the hall. She stepped into the room, followed by Harriet, still holding her shepherdess’s crook.
“Charlotte, what is going on? Harriet said . . .” Mrs. Smythe-Smith’s words trailed off as she took in the tableau. “What has happened?” she asked, her voice low.
“I have sent for Edward,” Lady Pleinsworth said.
“Father?” Iris said tremulously.
Lady Pleinsworth whirled to face her. “You did not think you could act as you did without repercussion?”
Richard shot to his feet. “She is blameless in this.”
“What. Happened?” Mrs. Smythe-Smith said again, each word sharply pronounced.
“He has compromised her,” Lady Pleinsworth said.
Mrs. Smythe-Smith gasped. “Iris, how could you?”
“This is not her fault,” Richard cut in.
“I am not speaking to you,” Mrs. Smythe-Smith snapped. “At least not yet.” She turned to her sister-in-law. “Who knows?”
“All three of my youngest.”
Mrs. Smythe-Smith closed her eyes.
“They won’t say anything!” Iris suddenly exclaimed. “They are my cousins.”
“They are children!” Lady Pleinsworth roared.
Richard had had enough. “I must ask you not to speak to her in that tone of voice.”
“I don’t think you are in any position to be making demands.”
“Nevertheless,” he said softly, “you will speak to her with respect.”
Lady Pleinsworth’s brows rose at his impertinence, but she said nothing more.
“I cannot believe you would behave so foolishly,” Iris’s mother said to her.
Iris didn’t speak.
Her mother turned to Richard, her mouth cut into a firm, furious line. “You will have to marry her.”
“There is nothing that would please me more.”
“I doubt your sincerity, sir.”
“That’s not fair!” Iris cried out, jumping to her feet.
“You defend him?” Mrs. Smythe-Smith demanded.
“His intentions were honorable,” Iris said.
Honorable, Richard thought. He was no longer sure what that meant.
“Oh, really,” Mrs. Smythe-Smith nearly spat. “If his intentions were so hon—”
“He was in the middle of asking me to marry him!”
Mrs. Smythe-Smith looked from her daughter to Richard and back, clearly not sure what to make of this development. “I will say nothing more on the subject until your father arrives,” she finally said to Iris. “It should not be long. The night is clear, and if your aunt”—she tipped her head toward Lady Pleinsworth—“has made clear the import of the summons, he will likely come on foot.”
Richard agreed with her assessment. The Smythe-Smith home was a very short distance away. It would be much faster to walk than to wait for a carriage to be readied.
The room remained in tense silence for several seconds until Mrs. Smythe-Smith abruptly turned to her sister-in-law. “You must go to your guests, Charlotte. With neither of us there, it will appear very suspicious.”
Lady Pleinsworth nodded grimly.
“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.”