25
It was almost a relief to Iris that upon her return to Rose House she was bombarded with immensely troubling news. She could not think of Oliver now, not if she wished to retain even a modicum of her sanity.
This new development, however, threatened what little sanity she had remaining.
“Lord Durand has turned off all outside help for the exhibition,” Laney stated grimly as Iris took her seat in the small drawing room.
Iris gaped at her, her stomach dropping into her toes.
She had considered this possibility during the trek here, of course, a trek that Euphemia had remained determinedly closemouthed during, saying it would be better if they told her everything all together.
But to have this setback verified was devastating.
“But the exhibition is today,” Iris said.
Her nails scratched against her wrist in her agitation—only to come up against Oliver’s cuff.
Memories of him lurked at the edges of her mind, trying to gain access.
In a panic she pushed them back, determinedly tucking her hands under her bottom to prevent further interruptions.
“What will he do for help during the event?” she continued.
Sylvia, who had been standing at the window staring sightlessly out at the early morning landscape, turned then.
“It seems he is determined to rely solely on his own staff.” She gave a bitter laugh.
“Those poor people. Not only has their entire schedule been upended, but they will be forced to take on double their work. And knowing Durand, it will be under threat of losing their positions should they make even the smallest mistake.”
“But how will we gain access?” Iris’s entire body began to vibrate in her agitation. Unable to sit still a moment longer, she surged to her feet, pacing the floor in quick, jerking steps. “There is not even the slightest chance we can get in now.”
“As it happens,” Heloise joined in, “Sylvia had the foresight to secure for us an alternative should our plan fall through. As it obviously has,” she added with a wry twist of her lips.
“An alternative,” Iris repeated, a small spark of hope igniting in her chest. She stilled, looking at Sylvia. “What is it?”
“You have heard of Glennis Shaw?” Sylvia asked her.
“Mrs. Glennis Shaw? The botanist famed for her work with bryophytes?” Iris smiled delightedly.
“Of course I have heard of her. More than that, my mother was dear friends with her. She visited us often when I was a child, before she became a recluse. But what does Mrs. Shaw have to do with us getting into Durand Manor?”
“As you’ve stated,” Sylvia said, “Mrs. Shaw is quite reclusive. As luck would have it, your mother introduced her to me years ago, before she married and hid herself off in the wilds of Cornwall with her husband. Knowing her standing in the botanical world, and out of an abundance of caution, I sent a missive off to Mrs. Shaw once we learned of the exhibition, asking her that, if she received an invitation, she accept and allow us to go in her place. Though at the time I was fairly certain Lord Durand would agree to my request to attend, I did not want to leave anything to chance. In truth, I was not certain anything would come of contacting Mrs. Shaw. I have not seen her in twenty years or better. And so I kept my attempt a secret from all of you. I did not want to raise any of your hopes should it fall through.”
She looked down to the letter in her hand, a letter Iris had not noticed until that moment. “But it seems Mrs. Shaw dislikes Lord Durand nearly as much as we do. She was happy to provide us with her invitation.”
“That’s wonderful!” Iris exclaimed, pressing a hand to her chest in relief as she looked about at them all with a wide smile.
It took her some moments, however, to realize they did not return her smile.
Her own faltered, her heart beginning to pound in trepidation beneath her palm.
“But what’s wrong? Why aren’t you relieved? ”
Laney was the first to speak. “Mrs. Shaw, it seems, has many old friends who will be in attendance tonight. Friends who will know how she looks, how she speaks, her mannerisms. And though Euphemia would gladly step in as Mrs. Shaw, her height and figure alone prevent her from doing so believably.”
Iris blinked in incomprehension. “But if not Euphemia, who could hope to become Mrs. Shaw?”
There was a peculiarly loud silence. Then Sylvia stepped up to her and took her hand in hers. “Iris, you must become Mrs. Shaw.”
Iris stared at her. “No,” she stated faintly. “That’s an impossibility. You all know I’m rubbish at that sort of thing.”
“Would that one of us could step in,” Sylvia said softly. “But you are the only one with the same stature, the same figure, the same delicate features. And, equally important, you knew her when you were a child. You know how she moved, how she spoke. No, my darling, it has to be you.”
Needing space, Iris stepped back from Sylvia, pressing her fingers to her temples, trying to control the spinning in her head. It all made perfect sense, of course. She was the only candidate who could perform such a sensitive role. Yet that did not make it any easier to stomach.
“I am assuming,” she finally said into the cloying silence, “that in this scenario I’m to mingle with the guests, and then sneak away from the festivities at a designated time and let you all into the house?”
Sylvia gave her a sickly smile. “Yes, that’s it exactly, dear.”
“I?.? .? .? see,” Iris replied, feeling faintly sick to her stomach.
“We did consider every other avenue possible,” Laney said. “We know you don’t care for acting—”
“It is not that I don’t care for it,” Iris interrupted, panic beginning to take hold now that the initial shock was wearing off. “Though that is certainly true enough. But I cannot act to save my life. Or all our lives in this case.”
“I do believe,” Sylvia said gently, “that you have much more ability in that regard than you give yourself credit for.” She hugged her arms about her middle.
“Though mayhap I can only blame myself for your lack of confidence. I sheltered you more than I should have in my need to protect you after your mother died. I should have pushed you to try new and uncomfortable things instead of letting you remain in the background. I did a disservice to you, and I am sorry for it.”
Iris, who had begun to curl in on herself as panic took over her, paused at that.
Sylvia looked as miserable as Iris had ever seen her, the lines about her eyes and mouth so deep that she appeared a decade older than her fifty-something years.
Abandoning her own anxiety, she hurried to the woman, taking her cold hands in hers.
“Don’t ever apologize for caring for me,” she said fiercely.
“Without you, I don’t know what would have become of me. You saved me, Sylvia.”
Sylvia gave her a watery smile. “You know if I could have had a daughter, I would have wanted her to be just like you.”
Hot tears sprang to Iris’s eyes. “Sylvia,” she managed, wrapping her arms about the older woman.
Sylvia returned the embrace, her grip tight. “While I miss your mother more than I can ever express, I shall always be grateful my dear Joanne brought you into the world, and that she named me your godmother. You have been a blessing to me, my dear.”
Some minutes passed, the only sounds the occasional sniff from one of the other women. Eventually Sylvia pulled back, giving Iris a wide smile as she dashed a hand across her damp cheeks.
“And speaking of my darling Joanne, I don’t think I need to ask you if you are still determined to protect her name and reclaim her legacy from Lord Durand, do I?”
Iris thought of Oliver, and the agony on his face when he’d practically begged her to give up her schemes.
The past hour since then had given her some distance from and perspective on the betrayal she’d felt.
She knew he was only doing what he felt he needed to.
Just as she was doing what she felt she needed to.
Why, then, did the thought of moving forward and denying Oliver break her heart into splinters?
But she could not possibly give up everything she and the Widows had worked toward.
She could not sit silently by while Lord Durand stole her mother’s life’s work and stomped her reputation to dust beneath his feet in the process.
No matter the grief it gave her to go against Oliver, she could not willfully ignore what was right.
What Lord Durand had done to her mother’s legacy, the destruction he had done to her home and everything that had mattered to her after her mother’s death, was too great for her to turn her back on.
“No,” she said now, pressing her lips tight. “You don’t have to ask me. I am determined. Tonight we shall finally let my mother’s soul rest easy after five long years.”
Oliver didn’t know how long he remained in the sitting room after Iris left.
It could have been minutes; it could have been hours.
Hell, it could have been days for all he knew or cared.
All he understood as he sat there, trying not to hear how utterly empty the house sounded, was he could not return to his room.
He could not face that place where he had lain with Iris, where he had loved her.
Not after seeing the devastating hurt and betrayal that had clouded her beautiful eyes.
And this deep, clawing guilt was only what he deserved.
Would that he could go back in time, to support her instead of trying to turn her from the path of justice she was on?. .? .