Chapter 15
“Oh, Iris, you simply must hear this one!” Pamela exclaimed, her voice bright with excitement as she clutched a slim volume of poetry to her chest. “It is from the new collection by Lord Byron. The words are so passionate, so full of longing and forbidden desire. Listen to this passage!”
Iris smiled warmly as she sat in Camelia’s elegant drawing room with a cup of tea cooling in her hands.
She considered Pamela another younger sister.
It was so pleasant hearing the girl speak so lively.
When Iris first met Pamela, she thought she was mute, but now, at the tender age of seventeen, she outspoke Iris at all their gatherings.
She understood how grief could make one silent; after all, it had happened to her too.
“‘She walks in beauty, like the night. Of cloudless climes and starry skies…” Pamela read aloud, her tone dramatic and heartfelt. “Is it not the most exquisite thing you have ever heard? It makes one’s heart ache with such sweet melancholy. I have been reading it every night before bed.”
“It is quite beautiful,” Iris agreed softly, though her mind wandered.
The mention of forbidden desire sent an unwelcome rush of heat to her cheeks.
She could not help but think of Blaise, the way he had looked down at her on her knees and commanded her to pleasure herself.
She would not forget the heat in his eyes as she had touched herself for him.
The memory made her shift uncomfortably in her seat.
Pamela was not finished. She set the poetry book aside and picked up a small portfolio from the table beside her.
“And look at these! I have been practicing my sketches. This one is of the garden at dawn, and this...” She held up a charcoal drawing of a woman in profile, head tilted back in what appeared to be deep emotion.
“I tried to capture the feeling of the poetry. The surrender to passion. Do you like it?”
Iris gently took the sketch, her fingers tracing the lines.
The shading was soft yet bold, capturing the curve of the woman’s neck and her parted lips with surprising sensuality.
It vividly reminded her of Blaise’s sketches and how he had captured her half-naked form with raw hunger.
The charcoal strokes, the intimate focus, and the way light and shadow played across bare skin.
Heat pooled low in her belly at the memory.
“They are lovely, Pamela,” Iris said, handing the drawings back with a slightly unsteady smile. “You have a real talent. The emotion in them is quite… powerful.”
Pamela beamed, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. “Thank you! I feel as though the poetry has unlocked something in me. I want to draw more figures now, more scenes of people. Camelia says I should be careful, or I shall scandalize the ton, but I think art should stir the soul, do you not agree?”
“I do,” Iris replied, her voice quieter than she intended. “Art can reveal truths we are not always brave enough to speak aloud.”
Camelia, who had been listening with an amused smile, leaned forward. “Pamela has been positively consumed by it all week. Between the art, poetry, and her riding lessons, she hardly sits still.”
“How do you keep up, Pamela?” Iris asked the young girl with genuine curiosity.
“I believe if you are passionate about something, you will simply make the time for it,” she said proudly.
Iris wished it were that simple.
The three ladies chatted comfortably for some time.
Iris laughed at Pamela’s animated retelling of a disastrous poetry reading she had attended, but beneath the light conversation, her mind kept drifting back to the question burning in her chest. She wanted to ask Camelia something in private.
But she was afraid that the words would not come.
I am not bold enough, yet.
As if sensing her distraction, Camelia set her teacup down and glanced at Pamela. “Pamela, darling, is it not time for your riding lesson?”
Pamela’s eyes lit up. “Oh, yes! I nearly forgot.” She gathered her poetry book and sketches with youthful energy, pressing a quick kiss to Iris’s cheek and then Camelia’s. “Do not have too much fun without me. I want to hear all the gossip when I return!”
Once Pamela had bounded out of the room, Camelia turned to Iris with a knowing look. “You have been too quiet today, sister. Is something weighing on you?”
Iris hesitated, her fingers tracing the rim of her teacup. The question she wanted to ask hovered on her tongue, but the boldness required still eluded her. She managed only a small smile. “Nothing I cannot manage.”
Camelia studied her for a moment, then rose gracefully. “Come. Let us go for a walk in Hyde Park, just the two of us. The fresh air will do the baby and us good, and Pamela will be occupied with her riding for at least an hour. We can loosen up properly without little ears listening.”
Iris nodded, relieved. “That sounds perfect.”
The sisters donned their bonnets and pelisses and stepped out into the mild afternoon.
As they walked arm in arm toward Hyde Park, the bustling streets of London gave way to the greener paths lined with trees and fashionable promenades.
Iris felt some of the tension in her shoulders ease, though her thoughts remained tangled with memories of Blaise’s touch, his voice, and the dangerous bargain that loomed nearer.
“Oh! The baby is kicking!” Camelia suddenly squealed.
“Oh, dear!” Iris gaped and turned toward her sister. “Should I call your husband?”
“No need.” She grabbed Iris’s hands and placed them gently on her bulging stomach.
Iris gasped when she felt the soft push. “Oh, Camelia.”
Tears gathered in the sister’s eyes as they laughed. Iris could not imagine how it felt to carry a little version of yourself and your loved one within you.
It must feel heavenly.
Iris and Camelia continued to walk arm in arm, teary-eyed.
“Your husband will be so upset that I was the first one to feel the baby kick; perhaps you should not tell him,” Iris warned her sister.
Camelia laughed. “He will be so jealous! But enough about him and our little angel. Now, tell me, what is on your mind?”
Iris was not yet ready to confess everything that had happened between her and Blaise. But the weight of it all pressed heavily on her chest, and she desperately needed some form of guidance. After several minutes of silence, Iris finally spoke, but her voice was low and hesitant.
“Camelia,” she began, keeping her eyes on the path ahead. “Would you ever… do the things you do with your husband with someone you knew you would not end up marrying?”
Camelia’s steps slowed. She turned her head, studying Iris with those sharp, perceptive eyes that had always seen the unseen in everyone. For a long moment, silence stretched between them, broken only by the distant laughter of other walkers and the soft clip of hooves on the nearby path.
“Such intimacies require complete trust, Iris,” Camelia replied carefully; her tone was gentle but serious.
“The kind of trust that comes from knowing someone will protect your heart as fiercely as your body. What better person to place that trust in than one’s own husband?
The man bound to you by vows, by honor, by the eyes of society.
Anything less feels… perilous. Dangerous, even. ”
Iris’s heart sank. That was not quite the answer she had been hoping for. She had wanted reassurance, perhaps even permission, for the reckless bargain she had struck with the Duke of Knoxford. That way, she could justify the fire he had lit within her.
“Why do you ask?” Camelia squeezed her arm affectionately as they continued walking along the curving path beside the water.
“Just… out of curiosity.”
“Hmm.” Camelia was not buying it. “That said… If you feel you can truly trust someone enough to respect your boundaries and not ruin you or cast you aside afterward, then you owe no explanation to anyone, not to society, not to our family, and not even to me. After all these years of solitude and sacrifice, Iris, you deserve to let yourself go. To feel alive and to experience pleasure without the constant chains of duty weighing you down.”
Iris looked down at the gravel path, her throat tightening with emotion. The words stirred a longing she had buried for seven long years.
“I have not sacrificed anything,” she insisted quietly, though her voice wavered. “When it truly mattered, I could not help our family. I could not save Papa from ruin or prevent you from having to marry for our sake. I still feel so humiliated by my uselessness. By how powerless I was.”
Camelia stopped walking entirely and turned to face her fully, a soft, knowing laugh escaping her lips. She reached out and brushed a stray curl from Iris’s face with sisterly tenderness.
“Oh, Iris. I am beginning to think you take a strange satisfaction in reminding yourself of that one single failing. When the rest of your life has been that of a perfect, spotless angel.”
Iris frowned at her. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Camelia sighed and continued, “You carried us through Mama’s death with such quiet strength.
You managed the household when Papa fell apart.
You endured a cold, empty marriage and seven years of crushing debt without a single complaint.
You bargained with creditors, mended sheets until your fingers bled, and kept that crumbling house standing through sheer force of will.
Yet you cling to that one moment of helplessness as if it defines your entire worth. ”
Iris blinked back the sudden sting of tears, and her chest began to ache. “It feels like I failed when it mattered most.”
Her sister pulled her into a warm embrace.
“You did not fail,” she whispered fiercely against Iris’s hair. “And you are allowed to want more than penance, sister. You are allowed to desire. So be selfish for once. Let a man, even a dangerous, scarred duke, make you feel like a woman instead of a martyr.”
Iris pulled back. “How did you—”
“I am not blind, Iris.” Camelia winked at her wickedly, and she felt her face heat up with embarrassment.
They resumed walking after a moment; the emotional weight of the conversation lingered like a heavy perfume in the air. Iris gathered her scattered thoughts, her heart pounding as she voiced the question that had been burning inside her for days.
“Camelia… what really happened the night you met your husband? And tell me the truth, please. I do not need a pretty version for my sake.”
Camelia’s steps faltered briefly. She glanced around to ensure they had a measure of privacy before speaking in a low, honest voice.
“The night I met Raph… I had been prepared to sell my body,” she admitted quietly, her cheeks colored slightly at the memory, and Iris’s heart shattered. She briefly remembered her promise to Blaise.
“I was going to sell myself to the first man who would have paid enough to save our family from immediate ruin,” Camelia continued.
“Camelia, why did you not tell me?” Iris choked on her words, and fresh tears sprang into her eyes.
“I was desperate, Iris. I saw no other path. I walked into that situation ready to sacrifice my innocence and my dignity.”
“How could I have not seen this and save you from your decision?” She shook her head and felt the hot tears fall carelessly across her cheek.
“But Raph saved me. He refused to take advantage of my situation. He would not rest until he brought me home safely. He protected me when I was ready to throw myself away for all of you. That is the main reason I was able to trust him so completely, even when we were both too foolish and stubborn to admit our growing feelings. And I trusted him intimately too…”
Iris looked at her sister with a mixture of understanding and concern.
“But what if you did not meet Raph? I would not have been able to live with myself—”
“But I did meet him, and it all worked out.” Camelia reached out and squeezed her hand reassuringly.
“That night, Raph showed me the kind of man he truly was beneath the title and the charm. If you had stopped me, I would have never met him.” She smiled, and Iris felt a warmth spread across her chest.
Iris absorbed Camelia’s words, turning them over slowly in her mind. She thought of Blaise, the way he paid off her debts, and the fierce protectiveness he showed toward Marcus.
“I think I understand,” she finally whispered, and a quiet resolve began forming.
She still carried shame for what had happened to her family, and now she felt worse that Camelia planned to sell herself to save them, but Iris looked at her sister, who was glowing, and she felt a strange sense of hope.
“Are you happy, Camelia? After everything?” Iris asked quietly.
“Yes,” Camelia said without hesitation. “And perhaps you, too, deserve to explore some happiness, Iris.”
Iris smiled at her sister. “Perhaps I do.”
Even if it was just quenching the fire the Duke of Knoxford had ignited within her.