25 #2
But my family , he reminded himself for quite possibly the thousandth time that morning.
He recalled Durand’s menacing words, the cold certainty in his eyes when he’d threatened his mother and sister.
But after the confrontation with Iris that morning and the self-flagellation he was suffering from—again, very much deserved—there was no longer any fear of the earl in him.
Now a simmering fury was starting up deep in his gut.
That, and a mourning for the man he used to be, who would have stood at Iris’s side and helped her fight for what was right no matter the consequences.
But how could he return to that man, when his family’s security and safety were on the line?
As if just thinking about them had conjured them, there was a sudden commotion on the front walk. And then his mother and Verity threw the door wide and clattered into the front hall with a surprising—and almost deafening—amount of noise.
“We’re home!” Verity called out. More clattering, as they dropped whatever bags they’d brought with them on the floor.
“Don’t mind us,” she continued. “Continue doing whatever it was you were doing.” She came into view of the sitting room door and spotted him.
“Oh! Hello, Oliver. I hope you and Iris had a lovely evening.” She grinned, looking very much like the cat that licked the cream.
Their mother, however, had quite a different reaction upon seeing him. Her smile of hello drifted away, a look of worry taking its place. “What are you doing alone here in the dark, dearest?” she fretted, bustling into the room. She frowned as she glanced about. “And where is Iris?”
Verity finally sensed that something was amiss. She hurried forward, stopping at her mother’s side, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Yes, where is Iris?”
Oliver couldn’t stand to look at them and turned to gaze out the window—only to recall too late that the drapes had been drawn against anyone seeing in.
His heart, which had been a fair way to fracturing into a thousand pieces, finished the job as he thought of Iris, and how she had willingly hidden herself away in his home without even a glimpse of the outside world in her quest to do what was right, suffering so much in the process.
Which led him to thoughts of last night, and his attempt to give her a reprieve from it all, and how they’d fallen into each other’s arms as a result.
“Oliver?” his mother prodded gently.
He heaved a sigh. “Iris is gone.”
There was a moment of blessed silence. Unfortunately it was quickly followed by what could only be termed screeching outrage that battered his already aching head.
“Iris is gone ?” Verity demanded.
For once, his mother did not quiet her youngest, her entire focus on Oliver as she hurried to his side. “What do you mean she is gone? Did you fight? Was there a misunderstanding?”
“But she will be back, won’t she?” Verity interjected. “Surely she just stepped out for a moment and will be back soon.”
“No,” Oliver replied wearily. “She is not coming back.”
“But we left so the both of you would finally realize you care for one another!” his sister cried.
Oliver stilled at the confession, slowly looking at Verity. Her eyes opened wide, mouth forming an oval, as she no doubt realized too late that she had let slip something she was not supposed to.
“I had a feeling the two of you were up to something. But I had hoped I was wrong.”
“Oliver,” his mother soothed, placing her hand on his arm, “surely you must know we did it because we cherish Iris dearly and want to see the both of you happy. It seemed the two of you care deeply for one another, but could do nothing about it while we were here.”
Oliver’s momentary frustration drained at her anxious words, leaving nothing but a bone-deep weariness in its place. He closed his eyes and sighed. “I know. And I appreciate you caring about us. But it was all for naught.”
“Oliver—”
He held up a hand. “Can we just leave it at that? Please?”
He felt rather than saw her deflate at his side. “Very well, dearest,” she replied quietly, getting up to leave.
Verity shifted, and he half expected her to ignore him completely and begin railing at him for his utter stupidity.
And he wouldn’t have blamed her a bit, would have sat and taken it.
But she did not. Instead, she turned and quietly left the room after their mother.
Which, surprisingly, was much worse than her screaming at him that he was a fool for letting Iris go.
It told him plainer than words ever could how massive the mistake he’d made was.
Not that he needed Verity to inform him of that.
All too soon it came time for Oliver to leave for the manor house.
He peered at himself in the small looking glass above his washstand, frustration mounting as his clumsy hands tried and failed to tie an intricate knot in his silk cravat.
Durand had sent the suit of clothes on, wanting Oliver to blend into the crowd tonight, a fashionable set such as he had never worn in his life.
Not that he had never tied a proper necktie before.
No, his stepfather and his mother had made certain he had the talent for at least that much.
But his mind was too full to remember those hard-fought lessons of his youth.
Too full of Iris, to be precise. He supposed he should be asking himself what her plans were, how was she planning on infiltrating the ball and finding what she needed, and what he would do when he saw her there tonight.
Instead, he found himself wondering how she was feeling, if she was nervous, whether she would be safe?.? .? .
“Damn it,” he cursed for probably the tenth time as he tugged the now-creased silk free from his neck.
A knock sounded at his door. He half expected his mother to be standing there ready to offer help. Instead, he found Verity hovering in the doorway.
“Have you finally come to chastise me?” he asked quietly.
“I’ve come to bring you this,” she said, just as quietly. “Iris left it behind.”
And then she was gone, nothing but a muted sadness left in her wake. Sadness, and a small wooden box, which she had left on his bed. A bed he had tried his damnedest not to look at since forcing himself to come here to ready himself.
Wordlessly he reached for the box, opening it on instinct—too late remembering where he had seen it last, that first day Iris had stayed in his home when she had shown Verity her keepsakes of her mother.
It seemed almost invasive to be peering within, at these things that meant so much to her.
He should close it up tight and put it aside.
Which he was in the process of doing—when he suddenly spied a glint of gold, and a pattern that was strangely familiar.
Pausing, he frowned, then fully opened the lid. There, just under a periodical clipping, was a bit of moss green, the same green as Iris’s eyes, covered in twining golden vines. He pulled it out, trying to recall where he had seen it before.
It hit him like a fist to the gut: Durand had been holding just this notebook when he’d called Oliver to his study.
Or, if not this very notebook, then an exact copy of it.
Too coincidental, really, considering the unusual design of it.
Which could only mean one thing: The book Durand had been holding had belonged to Iris’s mother.
He had been holding the proof of his theft in his hands.
Oliver stared down at it, head spinning.
As if sensing the weakening of the very last of his defenses, his mother chose that moment to enter.
“Oh, Oliver,” she whispered from the doorway, eyes glowing as she took him in, “how handsome you look. The very image of your dear father.”
A strange thickness, the same thickness that had besieged him since Iris’s departure, filled his throat.
He turned to glance in the looking glass, trying to see his father in his reflection.
But he had been too young when the man had died, and the one miniature his mother had of him was not well done.
He could only stare in frustration. “Do I?”
“Oh, yes. He was very handsome, your father. He quite turned my head the first moment I saw him.” She laughed softly.
“Though your stepfather also caught my eye,” she continued, moving into the room.
“I’d had no thoughts of remarriage while raising a small child alone.
But he was so very insistent, and proved himself to be so very kind and exactly the person you needed in your life.
How could I fail to fall in love with him as well? ”
As she spoke, she laid something down on the dresser before, unasked, she reached for the ends of the long length of silk draped around his neck.
Though her movements were slow, and he could still see the shadow of muted pain in her eyes, she managed the intricate knot, and it occurred to Oliver that she would not have been able to do even this much if not for Iris’s oils.
Which, of course, caused that thickening in his throat to transform into a knot of anguish.
She stepped back with a pleased smile on her face. “It has been ages since I’ve done that,” she said proudly. “How I used to love to tie your stepfather’s cravats for him.”
She paused and looked fully at him. “He would have been proud of you, you know. Especially regarding that decision you made a year ago in pursuing justice against your fellow Runners though you were told to stay quiet.”
Oliver shook his head helplessly. “How could he have been proud of me for that? My decision nearly destroyed our family.”
“Destroyed our family?” She reached up, patting his cheek. “My wonderful son, the only thing that would have destroyed our family would have been if you had remained silent. Being complicit in their crimes is the only thing that could have ever destroyed us.”
“But we had to move to smaller accommodations,” he said, his frustration mounting as images of the past year flooded his mind. “We had to go without food, go without things I wanted so much to give to you.”
“Silly boy,” she said affectionately. “I’ve lived on far less at times in my life.
Why, after your father’s death—well, I will not tell you what I was very close to doing for our survival before your stepfather came along.
” He gaped at her, and she waved a hand in the air.
“But what I am trying to say is that, though it seemed severe, and though we had to go without much, we were never without what we needed.”
A statement that he nearly refuted—until he stopped, and thought back, and realized that what she said was true.
Yes, they’d had to eat only the most basic, cheapest cuts of meat.
But they’d had enough to fill their bellies.
Yes, he had not been able to afford new gowns for his sister.
But how content Verity had been while following their mother’s instructions on how to mend her own gowns, and how proud she’d looked when she’d succeeded.
Yes, they’d had to move out of the spacious town house they’d been living in.
But the neighborhood where they’d taken up residence had been full of kind, caring people.
His mother smiled as if to say, You know I’m right, you pig-headed thing , before she turned and took up the small box she’d placed on his dresser.
“Now,” she said, “I swore I would not pry. And I certainly am not. But you seemed to be having a difficult time of it, and I thought this could help you.”
She opened the box to reveal a gold stickpin, its garnet jewel winking in the light.
The breath caught in Oliver’s chest as he stared at it, visions of it nestled in his stepfather’s cravat flooding his mind, his childish fingers reverently touching the brilliant gem while his stepfather laughed in that wonderfully boisterous way he’d had.
“Your stepfather would have wanted you to have it,” she said quietly, looking at it with fondness. “I don’t know why I held on to it so long. Sentimentality, I suppose.” She laughed softly. “But it is time it went to its rightful owner.”
She took the pin from the box and tucked it into the folds of Oliver’s cravat.
And as he turned to gaze at his reflection, it was like a key slid into place, opening a lock in his heart.
The resolve that flooded him was familiar, an old friend that he had abandoned but that nevertheless returned with open arms.
“Mama,” he said softly, the words imbued with an electric energy as he turned to face her, “I may have to put our livelihood in jeopardy again.”
There was not a hint of worry clouding her face.
No, to his surprise a relieved and proud smile lifted her cheeks, shone from her face.
“Do you know,” she mused, “this is the first time in a year that I’ve seen the life back in your eyes?
Well,” she amended slyly, “except perhaps when you were with Iris.”
He stared at her. “You aren’t worried? We might lose our home, my living, everything again.”
She shrugged. “What is there to fear? We can take care of ourselves just fine. As I’ve said, we’ve been through worse.” She took his hand in hers, tears making her eyes shine like precious diamonds. “But if you turn your back on your morals, that is no way to live.”
Oliver stared into his mother’s upturned face, a warmth filling him that banished any fear that might have remained. Then, giving her cheek a kiss, he hurried from the room.