Chapter 8
Tilly entered the parlor to take her morning meal smiling. She still had much on her mind that was not resolved, but she had learned long ago to hide what she was feeling behind a pleasant facade.
“Good morning, Father, Mother,” she said, moving around the table to kiss their cheeks.
Short, round, and scholarly, Harrison Wilson was usually found reading or playing chess at his club. He was the best man Tilly knew.
Her mother was seated beside him, as she was anytime they sat down to eat a meal.
Mildred Wilson was taller than her husband, and where he was round, she was angular from her cheekbones to her ankles. Her days were spent attending lectures with her friends who shared her passion for philosophy and science and then debating the topic heatedly over tea after.
Neither of Tilly’s parents fit the normal constraints of how society thought they should behave. People saw them as eccentric because of their pursuits and believed they gave their only child too much freedom.
They’d raised her to have her own opinions and make them known when required, but she also knew which lines to never cross.
“A gentleman called on you yesterday, Tilly.”
She was pouring her tea and managed to not spill it at her father’s words. “Why would a gentleman call upon me?”
“The usual reasons, I suppose,” he said. “He is interested in you,” he added when she looked at him blankly.
“Who called?”
“Mr. Howard. He left his card,” her mother said before she took another bite of toast.
Tilly tried to place Mr. Howard and realized she’d danced with him two nights ago at the Bolton soiree.
He was pleasant enough, but he had not led her to believe there was any interest there, which was likely because there rarely was after she’d turned down two proposals in her first season and received none in the years following.
“He seemed a nice young man,” her mother added.
Tilly didn’t say anything to that and took a crumpet from the plate before her. Why would he have called?
“How’s the club, darling?”
“Very well, thank you, Mother,” Tilly said, dismissing all thoughts of Mr. Howard.
The Iris was going well, but when she’d approached the Metropolitan Board of Works for details about what she needed to do, as they had not been in the papers she’d been handed, as the man had suggested, they’d said they were too busy to discuss the matter with her.
Tilly knew when she was being toyed with and had then hired builders to look into the noncompliance issue. They could find nothing. It was extremely vexing, and she was unsure what her next move should be.
Then there was what she and Ambrose had found below. She had no idea what to do about it, so for now Tilly would not be mentioning that.
“Excellent,” her father said.
They were an odd couple who shouldn’t fit, but they did, and shared a deep love and respect for each other.
Her father was the second son of a baron—hence the reason they were accepted in society.
Tilly knew they would not frequent as many social gatherings as they did were it not for her.
They had told her once that whether she lived life in the country or among their peers, they cared not, but the decision would be Tilly’s to make.
“Are you looking forward to the Mandelson masked ball in a few weeks, Tilly?”
“I have not given it much thought, Mother.”
Society events, for all they could sometimes be filled with boring, obnoxious people, also had many wonderful guests who had interesting stories to share, and those were the ones she spent time with.
Before her friend had been married, Tilly also had Violet to gossip with, but not anymore. Now she rarely attended, and if she did, it was with Charles at her side. Not that Tilly begrudged her that, but she missed her very much.
“How many members does The Iris Club have now, dear?” her father asked.
“We have reached forty.”
Everything had changed for Tilly this year with the opening of the Iris Club.
It had given her a purpose. Previously she’d flitted from one pastime to another, but nothing had really grabbed her attention until now.
So, she’d come to the decision over the past few days that this would be her last season.
“Excellent. We’re very proud of you, Tilly. It is a wonderful thing you are doing for womankind,” her mother said.
“Thank you, Mother.”
“I will be bringing the ladies there next week after the lecture by Professor Hindlemarsh.”
“I look forward to it.”
Her father lowered his paper and studied her suddenly. “Have you had any trouble about what you are doing, Tilly?”
“Trouble, Father?” Tilly hedged, not wanting to lie to him outright, but also not wanting to speak the complete truth.
“From people, namely men, displeased with what you have done.”
“Only minor disagreements, which we knew would happen. Nothing alarming,” she added quickly as he frowned.
They were wonderful, kind people who liked a peaceful existence, and Tilly had no wish to destroy that by telling them about the incidents at The Iris or the rooms she’d found beneath.
“Any marriage prospects this season?” her mother asked as she slathered jam on her toast.
She’d told them that she had no desire to wed, and they respected her wishes considering her start in life, and yet they always asked in case she’d changed her mind. They’d denied wanting grandchildren, but she wasn’t entirely convinced about that.
“No one of interest,” she said after a sip of tea. “And now I have The Iris I believe this will be my last season.”
That got their full attention.
“I have some of the money from the Pavlov fortune now to help with the club, and I want to focus on that… if you are both all right with that decision?” she rushed to add.
She’d given it a lot of thought. Every year, there were new dresses that her father never had issue with purchasing, along with the other things she needed, and this year it had suddenly become pointless. She would not wed, so why continue the pretense of entering society?
She wanted to make The Iris Club better in every way. The best women’s club in London—not that there were many, but still. Long after Tilly was dead, she wanted people to become members because it had an excellent reputation.
“Why now?” her father asked.
“I had little to occupy my time before, and the social events were enjoyable, but I no longer need them.”
“There is no reason you cannot wed, daughter,” her mother said gently.
“Perhaps for a while I thought about marrying, but no longer. I won’t do that, if any future husband doesn’t know the truth, and I don’t think any man would want a woman of uncertain birth. At least not anyone who lives in our world.”
“We’ve always told you there is no shame in your birth, Tilly. We love you as our child, and were blessed the day you became ours,” her father said.
She held out both hands, and they took them, gripping her fingers tightly.
Tilly counted her blessings every day that these people were her parents.
“I know, just as I know how wonderful and generous you have both been with me, but this is how I feel, and I will not marry with a lie hanging over me. It would not be right to do so.”
“Very well, if that is your choice, but one day you may change your mind,” her father said.
She sipped the cup of tea her mother had just poured her and thought about what she wanted to say next. “If I leave society, will you retire from London?”
Her parents looked surprised by her question, which told Tilly she should have asked it before now. She’d thought it plenty of times but had never been brave enough to enquire out loud.
“We enjoy our time in London, Tilly. However, we may not frequent society as often in the future if you are not there, but we would still come to London occasionally, with you,” her mother said.
Tilly looked into her teacup briefly before speaking again. “I could live here while you are in the country.”
The silence settled, heavy and full of questions.
Then her mother spoke. “You have no wish to retire to the country?”
“I will, of course, want to spend time there with you both, but now that I have The Iris Club, I want to spend most of my time in London because there is much to do to keep it running.”
“We shall think on that, daughter, but I will point out that you will not do so without a chaperone or an assurance you are not here alone. We are liberal in many ways, Tilly, but there is also your safety, and we need to know someone is watching over you,” her father said.
It was to him she’d gone to first with the idea for the club when the Nightingale family had given her some of the Pavlov fortune. She’d spent a great deal of time planning what to say and outlining her reasons why she wished to start The Iris Club.
As was his way, he’d listened as she’d detailed everything for him and then asked questions. An hour later, after extensive discussion, he’d agreed to help her. They’d then worked out an extensive and detailed plan of what she would need, and had guided her through implementing it.
Tilly had always felt different from the other young ladies of society due to her birth, which was likely more her fault than theirs. But when the idea for The Iris Club had formed in her head, it had felt right.
It was finally a place for her to be herself. Yes, she had that here, with her parents, but rarely outside the front door. The day she’d stepped inside the club, it had felt right—so right, in fact, that she’d sunk down to the floor and wept right there in the entranceway.
“I thought you enjoyed society, hence why you are in your fourth season,” her mother said.
“Before The Iris Club, it was enough, and yes, I enjoy many aspects of society, but now I have the club I need nothing more to complete me.”
“I understand, and I feel like that with my chess club,” her father said. “I am pleased you have found your place, my dear, but you must promise to come to me if you have any trouble.”
“I will, thank you, Father.”