CHAPTER 4




THE VISIT with Falmouth’s daughters had been an adagio cantabile hell.

Clonmere jogged down the steps of the earl’s townhouse, the next weeks stretching before him like the labors of Hercules. Without magic potions, intervening goddesses, a friendly centaur, or some handy poison arrows, he would end up married to a woman who needed her twin to finish her sentences.

“I must thank you,” Cousin Thomas said. “That was a surprisingly delightful hour.”

“It felt more like an eternity.”

Thomas was a few years Clonmere’s junior and had always loved music. “Not one but four lovely women shared their time and attention with us,” he said. “I’d always thought Lady Iris too serious, but I hadn’t realized Lady Lily was such a music lover.”

Thank God that Lady Lily has ensconced herself on the piano bench and not budged until the visit’s conclusion.

“What did you two find to talk about?” Clonmere asked.

“The difference between harmonic, relative, and natural minor as they impact the emotional tone of a piece.”

Clonmere paused at the street corner. “I have no idea what you just said. If Lady Iris were any more devoted to her sisters, she’d have to swear fealty to them in a public ceremony involving a sword and Latinate oaths.”

And that was a problem. That was a serious problem.

“Sisters are supposed to be devoted. Perhaps I’ll write an air to show off Lady Lily’s voice.”

“Cousins are supposed to be devoted.” Clonmere took off across the street, entirely frustrated with the time spent with Falmouth’s daughters. He’d undertaken the call to get the initial introductions over with, and to gather information regarding the best means of courting Lady Iris.

“How can a woman be so firmly un-courtable?” he asked.

Cousin Thomas hung back, not quite keeping pace, not quite falling behind. “Lady Lily is eminently court-able. She’s intelligent, knowledgeable, pretty, soft-spoken, knows Beethoven from Mozart and is pretty.”

“You mentioned that.” Twice.

“Well, she is. If you hadn’t been so busy stuffing yourself with tea cakes, you might have noticed that she’s the pick of the litter.”

“Stop languishing at my elbow. Falmouth’s daughters are not puppies.”

Cousin Thomas picked up his pace, barely. “As your cousin, I feel honor-bound to express my opinion that Lady Lily would make you an excellent duchess. The other two are chatterboxes who haven’t outgrown sibling rivalry.”

“And Lady Iris?”

Cousin Thomas linked his hands behind his back, a pose he probably practiced: Composer looking handsome in a creative fog.

“Lady Iris is a perfectly pleasant woman but she lacks…. Sparkle. A duchess should sparkle, tastefully.”

Clonmere barely restrained the urge to shove Cousin Thomas into the street. “She sparkles. You’re too blinded by music to see it.”

“Are you daft, Clonmere? I mean Lady Iris no insult, but she’s not youthful, she’s not musical. She’s not… I have danced with Lady Iris several times in an effort to gain closer acquaintance with Lady Lily. Lady Iris is oblivious to my cause, and now I know why.”

Thomas presented as a placid, dreamy soul who would nonetheless work himself to exhaustion when in the grip of inspiration. He was in the grip of something now, something interesting.

“I say Lady Iris is the most duchess-like of the sisters,” Clonmere retorted. “She is gracious, kind, dignified, selfless, and uncomplaining.”

“And that won’t result in any grand finales.”

“What are you going on about?”

“Molto appassionato,” Thomas said, waving his hands. “Vivace, Con brio. Fire, Clodpate-mere. I fear the Portuguese sun has addled what few wits God gave you, if you can’t see those qualities in Lady Lily.”

Clonmere had read Cervantes, and he knew a man enthralled when he saw one. “You are an honorable man, Thomas, and a good cousin.”

His shoulders slumped. “You’ll marry Lady Lily then?”

Hercules had pulled off more than one of his labors with the aid of loyal companions. In a pinch, a cousin could be recruited to that role.

“I haven’t made up my mind. I’ve only met the ladies, and marriage is forever.”

Thomas paused at the next crossing. “If you break Lady Lily’s heart, I will break your nose.” He’d do it, too, despite the damage to his own knuckles.

“Good decisions are made based on good information. I don’t know enough about Lady Lily to make any decisions about her.”

“Then you’re a dunderhead, though we knew that about you.”

“Take pity on a dunderheaded duke and get to the know the lady. I must find a way to pry the twins apart long enough to become familiar with them individually. That will take effort and time, leaving you to scout the terrain where Lady Lily is concerned.”

Thomas gazed off across the square. He was a handsome devil, his dark hair fell over his forehead a la Byron, and while he was tall, he wasn’t a brutish looby who went around lifting carriages in public.

“Lady Lily will need friends,” Thomas said. “Especially if she’s to become your duchess, she’ll need friends.”

Clonmere clapped him on the shoulder. “I knew I could count on you. Now, do you happen to know which clubs Amherst and Derwood frequent?”

Thomas brushed at his coat sleeve as if a cousinly display of affection was unwelcome. “They frequent them all, depending on where they have credit left. This time of the month, the Brigadier is your best bet. The ale is good quality, the spirits reasonably priced. Nobody plays too deeply.”

“Then I’m away to the Brigadier. My thanks for your assistance.”

Thomas sidled off down the walkway, humming a minor tune. Clonmere let him go and ducked into the nearest flower shop. He sent a bouquet to the ladies of Falmouth’s house—sweet pea, in thanks for a lovely time—but for his lapel he chose an iris.

IRIS WATCHED Clonmere dance with her sisters at one ball after another, watched as each lady grew in confidence and grace for having become one of very few whom His Grace partnered. She listened to the envious speculation of the wall flowers, the sighing asides of the chaperones.

And she’d smiled more in the past three weeks than in the previous four years, then gone home and hugged her pillow in solitude.

Clonmere was nothing if not conscientious about getting to know her sisters. Soon he’d make his choice, and Iris could retire to country with Cousin Hattie.

Though the countryside had few bookshops, and Iris didn’t have any friends there.

Then too, Puck would be a member of the rural household, and he had a disagreeable habit of leaving evidence of feline dyspepsia on carpets and stairs, and cat hair everywhere.

“I’ll have you to cheer me up,” Iris said, patting Rosie’s shoulder. Though Rosie was getting on in years, and she preferred driving to going under saddle, while Iris loved a good gallop.

Iris’s groom was a good dozen yards back, chatting with another groom. The path ahead was quiet with the stillness of pre-dawn, a good time to feel sorry for oneself or to canter away regrets.

“My lady.” The bushes to the right rustled to reveal Clonmere on his gray. “Good day.”

Must he look so delectable in his riding attire? Must he sit that horse like he was born atop it?

“Your Grace, good morning.”

“Keep me company, won’t you?” he said, steering his horse to Rosie’s side. “I’m without siblings today, and the rare solitude has left Boru fidgety.”

“He’s Irish stock?”

“A present from my godfather. So which of the Fallon sisters should I marry?”

Me. You should marry me. Except that made no sense. Iris was the oldest, the plainest, the least outgoing. Her settlements were modest, while her sisters would likely bring handsome sums to the negotiations.

“You should marry the lady with whom you are most compatible, though all three of my sisters would try hard to make a marriage to you successful.”

I’d try harder. The earl would be furious, though, and likely banish his daughters to Surrey. Peter might try to intervene for his sisters, but he was still not of age and had no funds of his own.

Clonmere took a turning onto a narrower path, so that Rosie and the duke’s gelding had to amble along shoulder to shoulder.

“I ask your opinion,” Clonmere said, “because your sisters have given me no clue which of them esteems me most highly. They are all that is charming, they waltz very well, and ask me the polite questions a lady is trained to ask her dance partner, but they are sphinxes when it comes to the matter of their regard for me.”