Anthony lead Iris across the room, and within five steps of his dear friend bellowed "Bassett!", while almost dragging Iris along beside him. Iris had, helpfully deposited her empty glass on a passing tray, and managed to hold her balance, despite being dragged about like a doll. Anthony stopped and shook hands with the Duke, who had jovially responded to his call. "Come here, old friend! I heard news of your father," Anthony said sombrely. His eyes sharpened then as he stood straighter, realisation dawning.
"Deuce take it, you are no longer Basset! Hastings! The Duke of Hastings now known for evermore."
Iris turned to face the gentleman and took him in slowly. He was handsome, to be sure, with a fine, proud face and lovely eyes, and his voice indeed was charming, but when comparing him to Anthony Bridgerton, Iris felt there was no comparison. She suddenly held eye contact with the Duke who seemed to have deduced her look and was smirking slightly. Thankfully she was rescued by Daphne – "The Duke of Hastings, is it?" she had asked innocently, eyes never leaving the man.
"Right," Anthony started, "Hastings, this is my sister," he explained, missing the shock on his old friend's face. "Your sister?" the Duke responded slowly as Iris offered a cheerful nod. "Daphne," Anthony continued, completely missing the current atmosphere, "Hastings and I know each other from our days at Oxford, days we shall not soon forget, and this, Hastings is Miss Iris Edgehill." Anthony finished, offering Iris before him, who had now flushed scarlet with shyness. She bobbed a curtsey to him, before demurely stepping back to Anthony's side.
"Yes" Daphne began, raising an eyebrow challengingly to the Duke, her eyes burning with laughter, "as I am well aware of the company you keep brother, I am certain your days with His Grace Were most civilized, indeed." The Duke merely rose an eyebrow right back at the scoff in Daphne's voice, and Iris moved from Anthony's side to Daphne's, quickly, and seized her hand. Smiling softly she chastised the young girl from between her teeth, hissing quietly for her to hear, "and what, pray tell, are you doing, dearest?" Daphne quirked her lips up and glanced at Iris sweetly. "I am merely making an acquaintance of His Grace," she responded. Iris narrowed her gaze at the young woman shrewdly before tutting and turning back to the Gentlemen, who had continued their conversation without them.
"Miss Bridgerton, Miss Edgehill," The Duke offered a short bow of the head to each of the ladies in farewell, before finally turning to Anthony.
Anthony shook the Duke's hand once more, before offering his arm first to Daphne, then to Iris and escorting them on, continuing their turn about the room. They were fast approaching the door to the foyer of Lady Danbury's property when Lady Bridgerton approached joyfully. She paused beside Daphne and took her hand. "Daphne," she began, smiling warmly at her daughter, "I believe Lord Wetherby is looking for you to dance," she gestured to the Lord in question. Daphne locked eyes with the gentleman in question and offered a demure smile. Iris nodded to Lady Bridgerton, her own eyes scanning the crowd for Benedict and Colin to ensure they were not up to any mischief, when Anthony squeezed her hand, a little too tightly, drawing her attention, as always, back to him. Daphne's happiness from her mother's interruption had caused her to drop her brother's hand, which Anthony had compensated for by placing atop Iris's. His frustration at the situation had caused his grip to tighten, and Iris, fighting a wince, gently placed her gloved hand atop his. He grimaced at her apologetically before halting further conversation between his mother and sister.
"If only it weren't time for us to retire." His flat declaration was met with shock from the Lady Bridgerton. She squared her shoulders though, head raised proudly. "Daphne is anything but weary. I shall stay with her," she declared, motioning for him to leave with Iris, her eyes twinkling at the young woman.
Stoic, as ever, Anthony shook his head, bending to explain to his sister. "Daphne," he began, his eyes roaming cruelly at the men who had the gall to openly gawk at his sister, "there is nary a gentleman here who would have your hand. You must think about this. The most perfect thing to do now, is not to dance, but to leave them all wanting more. You too Iris, you have only danced with Benedict, showing off your skill as both a dancer and a Lady if anyone knows how this works, it is your eldest brother." Anthony turned to Iris, whose eyes had widened. She had not thought he had been keeping an eye out for her prospects this evening as well. Softly, she acquiesced, meeting Benedicts gaze from across the room, who merely waved at her, knowing of his elder brother's plans from before.
Soon after arriving home, Daphne immediately retired, Anthony disappeared into his study muttering about suitors and imbeciles, while Iris and Lady Bridgerton headed for the parlour. Iris seated herself behind her harp and gently plucked at the strings, imitating some of the songs she had danced to that very evening. Iris played for a little while, as Lady Bridgerton reclined on her chaise, closing her eyes and enjoying the peace.
This continued for several minutes, until Lady Bridgerton tutting caused her attention to slip and she twanged a flat note. Iris scrunched her face up, it wasn't often she had made a mistake on the harp and was offended it had happened. Lady Bridgerton stood and stalked from the room, as Iris righted herself and continued to play.
In the study, Anthony, disturbed by his mother almost stomping past the door to retire quirked his lips at the thought of riling her to anger. To be sure, it was his duty alone, to aid his sister in securing a match. Iris was another story as he had no Lordly ruling to do so, but his father had begged him on his death bed to look after her too. Closing his eyes, Anthony thought back to the heart-wrenching evening that he lost his father.
"You are to be the new Lord, Anthony and that comes with responsibilities," his father had rasped, his tired eyes squinting in the dimness of the room. Anthony sat, square jawed and disbelieving that this was happening, a stone pit of sadness settling in his gut. His father drew a rattling breath, before continuing; "No more gambling and dalliances. You are to be the man of the house, and it will be your duty to see to your sisters debuts and ensuring good matches for them. Someone who has good lineage and who will care for your sisters."
Anthony nodded his agreement, he could do that, ensure reasonable matches, beginning with Daphne and he could care for his family thus. His father grabbed his hand tightly, drawing his attention back to the frail man in the bed. "Anthony," he began, his eyes firm and unyielding, "You must do right by Iris. She is already close with you, you must do right by Iris and do the honourable thing." Anthony nodded, agreeing with his father as he swore to him that he would care for Iris as well as his sisters. His father shook his head, opening his mouth to explain further but a coughing fit overtook him, and Anthony ended the conversation to allow his father to rest. His father had passed a few days later.
Anthony shook himself and nodded, turning back to the sheaf of paper in front of him. A list of suitable matches for Daphne or indeed Iris, though the thought of Iris leaving his home to live with another caused a bubble of some unrecognisable emotion to squirm inside him.
Sometime later, he was disturbed from his concentration by the floorboard creaking outside his study. Lifting his head, his brown eyed gaze meeting Iris' hazel. She smiled in apology, and entered. Offering her the seat across from him with a soft gesture, she smiled and sat.
"I thought all had retired following this evening," he remarked, folding the papers up and shoving them in a drawer. Iris shook her head, "it seems this evening has me a touch overexcited. I have calmed myself by sitting at the harp once we returned. Lady Bridgerton joined me for a little while, but soon retired for the evening." Anthony nodded at that, his lips twisting downward as he remembered the look his mother threw him before she turned to the staircase.
"Anthony," Iris asked softly, drawing his eyes to hers, "are you well?" she asked, concern in her visage. Anthony nodded and smiled at her. "I am well Iris, worry not," he began before fingering the pocketwatch his father had left him. "You really do look lovely, this evening," he complimented her, and indeed, he meant it. Her fair hair had been twisted into an elegant knot, with curls hanging gracefully around her face, and though she had since removed it, a pretty circlet of pearls had sat snugly in her hair, which reflected the candlelight very pleasantly, and the champagne colour of her gown had been so elegant while she danced with Benedict or even while she walked about the room with him. Her cheeks had been flushed a pretty pink from the exertion of dancing and her eyes glittered with mirth from laughing at something ridiculous his brother had said. Yes, he mused, she had looked beautiful this evening. Iris smiled shyly at the complement and regarded him seriously. "Have you made any decisions for Daphne yet?" she asked quietly, her eyes focused on his. He sighed and nodded, "nothing set yet, but I have ruled some out. I will be speaking with my sister tomorrow morning before any callers may arrive," he explained.
Iris nodded thoughtfully, already planning a leisurely morning with Hyacinth and Gregory in the gardens, while Daphne and Lady Bridgerton entertained possible callers. With soft conversation, both agreed it was time to retire, and Anthony walked Iris up to her room. At the doorway, she bobbed into a curtsey and offered him a smile and "goodnight, Lord Bridgerton," before he softly kissed her knuckles and returned to his study, donned his coat and left, seeking the warm embrace of his lover.
The following morning, Iris was awoken by Daphne bursting into her room, in naught but her nightgown, positively trembling with excitement. Blearily, Iris sat up, rubbing her eyes, her curls messily spread about her face and shoulders qs she watched the younger woman pace.
"...and I have asked Rose to tell cook to bake as many extras as possible to offer any callers, what do you think? Will it be enough?" Daphne chewed her lip nervously. Iris rose from the bed and embraced the young woman, smiling at her encouragingly. Iris, like Daphne, had decided on blue for the day to wear, and as both dressed in Daphne's room (Iris had continued to support Daphne for her nerves' sakes), Iris was glad she had chosen a deep, midnight blue as opposed to Daphne's innocent and soft powder blue. Both silently descended the stairs to the parlour where the rest of the family waited. Iris grabbed a cup of tea before seating herself next to Eloise, ruffling the young girls hair fondly.
Lady Bridgerton had a maid bring the ladies their embroidery, and sensing Gregory gearing up to wind up his sister, Iris stood and asked if Gregory would be a gentleman and escort her for a turn around the garden, she leaned down to him and whispered conspiratorially in his ear, "dearest, that I will give you an art lesson this morning, and should you behave, I will see if we can have a picnic luncheon in the garden." Gregory stood, faced her and bowed, offering his arm, which she took, and crooked a finger at Hyacinth as well. Lady Bridgerton smiled at the trio as they left the parlour. Iris caught a maid and asked for a blanket and her easels and sent Hyacinth off to collect her watercolours and a few books, aiming to avoid this uncomfortable debacle as long as possible.
"Iris, how do you get the Willow Tree to dance in your paintings?" Gregory asked, impatient as he sketched another vine of leaves on his canvas. Iris smiled as Hyacinth laid on the blanket, reading aloud in French, practising for Iris to correct. Iris guided Gregory's hand to the canvas again and tilted her head as he drew, studying his work. "There, Gregory, that is a fine drawing. You will be better than Benedict soon enough if you practise hard enough," Iris teased. Gregory nodded, focusing on his canvas again. Iris turned to her own work, of Hyacinth and Gregory, reading and painting respectively, while enjoying the burst of colour from the garden.
Dearest reader, this author finds herself compelled to share the most curious of news. It seems our diamond requires a closer inspection. As such, an even rarer jewel of only the most remarkable brilliance, fire, and luster has been unearthed. Her name, unknown to most, yet soon known to all, is Miss Marina Thompson.
This author is left to wonder whether Her Majesty might reconsider the high praise she once afforded Miss Bridgerton...for we all must know, what the Queen despises more than anything...is being wrong.
And the drawing room at Bridgerton House currently appears to be emptier than the muddled head of her dearest King George, while the garden blooms with the laughter of the still unattached Miss Edgehill.
It follows that Lady Featherington is to receive what she has always desired: the season's true incomparable living under her own roof.
She must be overjoyed.