A/N: Happy Sunday! I managed to get the last 3 or 4 chapters written, but have been trying to proof read them. Unfortunately, I am typing and uploading these from my.phome and so a few "fat thumb" moments seem to have occured. These will be dealt with at the end, once the story is complete so I can sort any spelling mistakes out then.
Thanks for the new followers and reviews, they are appreciated, as always!
As always, I only own Iris and her interactions - everything familiar belongs to Shonda (as this follows the Netflix series).
Iris moved through the front doors of Bridgerton house silently, heading for the stairs as she choked back sobs. As she neared the stairs, an arm firmly hooked in hers and pulled her into a study on the ground floor, littered with sketch paper, easels and an overabundant smell of charcoals and of paint.
Benedict gently deposited Iris into the chair beside the fire, and immediately got the flames crackling, before pouring a generous helping of brandy from a decanter on a side table, before sitting beside her and placing her glass in between her trembling fingers.
She took a gentle sip, before changing her mind and taking a generous gulp of the drink, sinking into the comfort of the prettily upholstered chair, exhausted by the antics of the late night and early dawn.
"Iris, we need to talk," Benedict's sober voice cut through the silence like a knife through cake. Looking at her friend over the rim of her glass, she gestured for him to continue.
"First, you are going to tell me what on earth is going on, and then we have a few things to discuss," he explained softly, taking her free hand and squeezing gently.
Iris nodded and explained the entire evening, from her dance with Anthony, her private conversation with the eldest Bridgerton, causing Benedict to grit his teeth in barely concealed rage, as Iris finished, advising of what she had found in his study, which incurred a fresh round of tears from the young woman.
Benedict pulled her into a gentle embrace and comforted his friend, before clearing his throat, determining he would be having words with his brother regarding this, but currently Iris was his priority.
"Iris," he began softly, "before the duel, Anthony called me to his study to have a conversation, where he asked me to be his second," he explained. Iris opened her mouth to voice concern for his wellbeing, causing him to raise a hand to stop her in order to continue, "but he also made preparations for the eventualities that come with a duel. He told me should he die, or should he have to go into exile, that he would like to ensure you were taken care of, and the best way to do this, is by your marriage," he took a breath and finished with "to me."
Iris stared at her friend wide eyed and drained her brandy. She turned to Benedict as though awaiting his opinion. "To be frank, Iris, I am disappointed in Anthony, but should you ever need the protection of a Bridgerton, you will have mine in a heartbeat – you are my best friend and have always done so much for my family that this kindness would be almost impossible to repay."
Iris shook her head, a single tear falling from her hazel eyes, which she wiped away quickly. "As honourable and touching as your offer is, Ben, I could not accept – what of your heart, say you find someone you love, what then? You would be trapped with me!"
Heading off another upset, Benedict took Iris's hands in his, kissing her cheek fondly, "I appreciate your care, but please bear me in mind. Though it isn't how you want it, I do love you as family should and you deserve every comfort and protection we can offer you, think on it, Iris," Benedict ordered, before standing.
Iris sadly offered to Benedict that perhaps she should leave the ton for a while and advised of her cousin who had offered her a visit at any time, but Benedict denied her request, touting that "You are with us, and we will never abandon you, Iris. My brother has been incredibly pigheaded but I assure you, his feelings towards you are genuine and have changed him much these last few weeks, and he will see sense soon."
He stood and helped her stand then, embracing her gently. His heart swelled with fondness for his friend who had never held back her affection and kindness for all members of his family and he resolved to fix this entire situation soon.
"Off to bed with you then," he stated, gesturing the ceiling, "before the others wake, and we can discuss this when everyone has calmed." Benedict led her to the door and she nodded once, curtseying to her best friend, before ascending the stairs and returning to her room.
With a frown sliding onto his noble features, Benedict slipped into Anthony's study and collected the ribbon and letters from the soprano singer haunting his dear friend, and sat on the chaise awaiting his brother's arrival.
Soon enough, Anthony stomped into the study and froze, seeing Benedict. "Good morning brother," Benedict trilled, "lovely day for it, isn't it?" he questioned airily. Turning a spiteful look to his brother and stood approaching the newly fed fire, "while I was home, I thought I would survey what could have been the seat of my new title and found some things that need disposing of, especially if they were to upset the potential new Viscountess," he added, shoving the ribbon and letters into his chest.
Anthony glanced at the handful of letters written in the hand of his former lover, and sank into the chaise that Iris favoured, tired. As he sank into the cushions, the faint floral fragrance from Iris's perfume wafted at him and brought him immeasurable comfort.
"If I didn't believe it would kill our mother, and if you hadn't already proven its idiocy," Benedict gritted out through clenched teeth, meeting his brother's gaze, "I would call you out and shoot you myself, for what you have done to poor Iris alone," Benedict lectured. Anthony started, staring at his brother, who has shaking with fury, hands clenched into fists, as he stared at him.
Anthony glanced at the bundle in his hands and nodded, defeated. He handed the letters and ribbon to his brother, who immediately, and callously cast them into the fire, and as the papers curled under the heat, Anthony stood turning to his desk.
"Believe me, Benedict, I have much to regret," Anthony began. Benedict slammed a fist on the desk, silencing his brother, "No, Anthony, if what Iris deduced was true, that after your abhorrent behaviour, you went and visited your mistress, after dishonouring someone who has loved you for years! You truly are an idiot!" Benedict was restraining himself from yelling due to the hour, but how he would love to land a fist in his eldest brothers face.
"I can forgive your ridiculous notion of me taking over your position, purely because the result has not now ruined my life with little warning," Benedict continued, "but you had better give Iris the very best of apologies, or I shall tell mother of your behaviour!" he threatened.
Anthony nodded, pale at the declaration that Iris had loved him for years, and moved to speak again, before Benedict stomped to the door, and fled, slamming the door with a "bah! I cannot look at you!" thrown over his shoulder.
Anthony emptied his desk of any and all hint of his firmer mistress, before sitting and drawing paper and ink and beginning to write.
Iris had squirrelled herself away, feigning illness to remain in her rooms as she caught up with the sleep she had not received the evening before, tossing and turning for the most part, before Hyacinth slipped into the room, with a tray bearing some tea, her post for the day. Hyacinth placed it on her bedside table, before climbing onto the bed beside her.
Iris smiled and cradled the young girl next to her as she babbled about Daphne and the duke, who were now going to be wed and who had gone with Lord Bridgerton to visit the Archbishop to obtain a license to wed immediately.
Sinking into her pillows, her golden hair sprawled around her, Iris remained silent.
"Won't you open your letter, Iris? It looks like Anthony's hand," Hyacinth queried curiously, handing Iris the letter on the tray as she placed her tea cup down. Sitting up and comfortably, Iris peels the letter open and began to read it, with interest.
Dearest Iris,
I must firstly offer my sincerest apologies for how I have behaved. I have not earned the titled bestowed upon me at passing of my beloved father.
I wish to explain myself regarding the events of yesterday evening, and as I shall no doubt be occupied with the planning of my sister's soon-to-be nuptials, I would request that you and I have a conversation to resolve these matters this evening.
Please know that it is not as you feared, that what I said to you, was most certainly true, and I should like to discuss this further with you to ascertain your thoughts on this matter.
Meet me tonight in the pavilion Iris, we need to talk.
Yours,
Anthony Bridgerton
Iris finished the letter and folded it neatly, tucking it back in it envelope, unsure of how she really felt about this message from Anthony.
Hyacinth had tried to catch a glimpse of the letter, but wise to the young girls antics, Iris had hidden the letter with a secret smile.
Iris turned to Hyacinth and smiled tiredly, gently twisting a loose curl from the girls' face. "Well then, Hyacinth," she said softly, as Hyacinth turned her brown eyes on Iris, Anthony's eyes, Iris realised and her heart skipped a beat.
"What do you think of Daphne's choice to accept the Duke's proposal?" she asked as she sat up, and drew a robe about herself. Hyacinth laughed and chattered away about how romantic the Prince's acceptance of her engagement to the Duke was, and how she knew that Daphne and the Duke would end up together.
Iris sighed and stood, flipping through her day dresses and selected a violet frock, with cream accents and iris flowers embroidered into the lovely fabric, before dressing herself.
She and Hyacinth descended the stairs to face the rest of the day, Anthony's note safely tucked into Iris's bureau.
Iris had sat a while afterwards, with Lady Bridgerton, who fussed her while Hyacinth was with her governess, and who stuck to her during the afternoon, while discussing what would need doing for Daphne's wedding, while awaiting to hear back from Lord Bridgerton regarding the dispensation to wed.
Iris, curious to these circumstsnces, squashed down her suspicion and helped Lady Bridgerton make lists upon lists of the fabrics required, outfits that needed ordering, and the food, while Lady Bridgerton flitted about fussing over the Guestlist.
Iris, having handed the last of her noted off to the Lady's maid Mrs. Wilson, had turned and begun embroidering laurel leaves on the corner of a plain white handkerchief, when Lady Bridgerton sat beside her, eyeing the now empty room.
"Dearest, I do believe we have something to discuss." Lady Bridgerton was very serious, and Iris, terrified, had put her embroidery to one side.
The silence was tense, and Iris was uncomfortable, not knowing where to look or what to say. Lady Bridgerton cleared her throat, and reached over, smoothing Iris's hair back over her shoulder, her having chosen to leave her flowing locks loose that day. Violet was tender, her touch warm, and clearly that of a mother.
"I cannot pretend to know exactly what is going on between you and Anthony," she began, fluffing the cushion between them, before reaching over and taking one of Iris's shaking hands in both of hers, "but I something were to be going on," she continued, "I want you to know there are no complaints from me."
Iris took in a shaky breath and squeezed Lady Bridgerton's hand gratefully. "I cannot confirm anything is arranged between Lord Bridgerton and myself, Lady Bridgerton," Iris responded quietly, "you have been a second mother to me these last few years, and yours has been the only family I have known for so long, and I am so grateful," Iris stated, her voice wobbling with emotion. She steeled herself and took a deep breath before continuing, "and if anything should be arranged, then I would be wholeheartedly thankful that I would be officially joining such a wonderful family," she finished earnestly.
Violet pressed a motherly kiss to Iris's brow, patted her cheek and then stood, nodding, before turning and leaving the room. It was early afternoon, and the front door had just shut loudly and Iris could not yet face him, especially not after that conversation with the dowager Viscountess.
Avoiding the clamour in the foyer, she slipped into her rooms, catching a maid and asking for her food to be brought to her rooms that evening while she decided what she would do that evening.