30
Two days later, Rose House was a hive of activity.
Not only were the Widows preparing to return to London, but there were four more people residing under its roof: Oliver and his mother and sister had vacated their cottage immediately after the ball and come to stay, and Heloise’s husband Ethan had rushed to Rose House from London upon learning of the dangers the night of the ball.
But the main source of chaos in the rented house was the steady stream of visitors that crossed its threshold.
Iris, having just seen out the last—and hopefully final—batch of guests, collapsed on the settee and heaved an exhausted sigh. Sylvia, passing by the drawing room door with Laney, poked her head in, giving her an amused smile.
“Entertaining is exhausting, is it not, my dear?”
Iris closed her eyes and groaned. “More than I ever thought possible. We are set to leave at first light still?”
“We are,” Sylvia confirmed before chuckling. “Though don’t think you will be able to escape the hordes of your new admirers. If I am not mistaken, you will have even more visitors upon our return to Wimpole Street.”
Laney lifted Sylvia’s hand, giving it a lingering kiss.
“Perhaps you and I should take a bit of a holiday, my love. After the excitement of recent events, I could do with some peace and quiet, which I doubt Iris’s newfound popularity will allow.
But we have promised Verity to go out walking, Iris, for one last stroll before we depart tomorrow. Will you join us?”
“I would love to,” Iris replied, stifling a yawn, “but I fear I don’t have the energy.”
“Goodness, you truly must be tired if you’re forgoing something of that sort,” Sylvia said. “Do make certain you rest. I doubt you’ll be able to once Oliver learns you are finally free from visitors.”
Sylvia and Laney chuckled knowingly before, heads bent close, they continued down the hall.
Iris, for her part, suddenly did not feel quite as tired as she had, the mention of Oliver making her forget her exhaustion.
Though he had been staying at Rose House, she felt she never had a chance to be with him.
Between her visitors—all of them guests from Lord Durand’s ball, who had been coming in droves to offer not only their apologies for believing the earl’s lies, but their unwavering support for when Iris decided to publish her mother’s work—and the many people crowding the house, she hadn’t been able to be truly alone with him.
And though she saw him often, she missed him, dreadfully.
Which was why, a moment later, she was on her feet and hurrying from the drawing room. Where could he be? Surely it could not be terribly difficult to find him. The house was not that large, after all.
But her search proved more troublesome than she had expected.
“I thought I saw him in the library,” Heloise said when Iris peeked into the downstairs sitting room, untangling herself from her husband’s embrace and looking decidedly flushed and mussed.
Mr. Ethan Sinclaire frowned mightily at the interruption.
But Iris, who had known the man this past year or better, no longer felt intimidated by his glower, something she had not thought possible when she had first made his acquaintance.
After all, the man, part owner of Dionysus, one of London’s premier gaming hells, was known for his ruthlessness.
Iris, however, knew that was just a facade, and that the true Ethan was a man who was utterly and completely smitten with his wife.
“Iris,” he said now, deep voice gravelly with his aggravation, totally at odds with the soft look he gave his blushing spouse as he pulled her in close again, “I don’t suppose you could continue your search and leave Heloise and me in peace? Oh, and do close the door behind you.”
Before Iris could react, Ethan bent his head to kiss Heloise. Iris, for her part, squeaked and hurriedly closed the sitting room door. Very well, on to the library. But while it was not empty when she stepped inside not a minute later, there was no sign of Oliver.
“He was here,” Verity said, in the process of packing her drawing supplies and botanical journal into her bag, no doubt in preparation for her outing with Sylvia and Laney.
“But he left fairly quickly. And right when I was telling him about all the specimens I have managed to collect ahead of our return to London.” She paused and gave a beleaguered sigh before, shrugging, she returned to the job at hand.
“But then, he did look quite distracted. I thought I heard him mumble something about needing to fetch something from his room.”
Which was where Iris went next, climbing the stairs, heading down the hall of bedrooms. But he was not in the one he had taken up residence in.
Sighing in frustration—truly, how difficult could it be to locate one man in a not-very-large house?
—Iris started back down the hall, only to stop when she heard her name being called.
“Iris, are your visitors finally gone then?” Euphemia asked from her bedroom, the one she was currently sharing with Oliver’s mother, seeing as every space had needed to be utilized to fit all the guests of Rose House.
“Yes, just,” she replied, stepping in the room. “Oh, hello, Mrs. Archer. Have you had a pleasant afternoon?”
“Very much so,” Oliver’s mother said with a smile. She held up the piece of clothing in her hands. “Mrs. Blount was just showing me the most cunning adaptation she has made to this pelisse. Really, blades in the collar? I never would have dreamed of something of that sort.”
“Mrs. Archer,” Euphemia said with a sweet smile for the woman, “I thought I asked you to call me Euphemia.”
“And I thought I asked you to call me Maeve,” Mrs. Archer countered with a wink before they both laughed softly.
Iris, however, though beyond happy the two women were getting along so well, was growing more impatient by the second.
Time, after all, was not currently on her side, not if she wanted to steal a few moments alone with a certain someone who was proving ridiculously hard to locate.
“I don’t suppose either of you has seen Oliver? ”
“Actually, we have,” Euphemia said.
Mrs. Archer nodded, eyes bright. “He passed by not long ago, saying he needed some air. Perhaps he’s in the garden?”
Iris did not need to be told twice. Did she hear the faint echo of their laughter as she rushed down the hall? Yes. Did she care? Not a bit.
In no time she hurried out the back door and reached the small garden.
Though it was creeping into late afternoon and the sun was making its final descent to the horizon, the garden was still buzzing with life, insects droning lazily in the residual warmth of the day, birds chirping cheerfully in the distance.
She cast a quick glance around, heart about to drop that Oliver was not here, either.
Until a tall, familiar figure stepped around the corner and into view and smiled at her.
Iris did not think twice, grabbing her skirts up in both hands, racing through the garden, stopping only when she was finally in front of him.
“Hello,” he murmured, gazing softly down at her. “Are you finally free of visitors then?”
“Yes, thank goodness.”
He quirked a brow. “Thank goodness? I thought you would be happy learning that you have the support of so many of your mother’s old colleagues.”
“Oh, I am,” Iris hurried to assure him. “But that does not mean I’m not even happier to see them gone so I can finally be with you.”
His slight smile stretched into a full grin at that. “I do love it when you speak exactly what you feel.”
“Do you?” she asked happily.
“I do.” His smile slipped ever so slightly. “And I hope you continue that unfiltered honesty when I say what I wish to say to you. No matter how it might gut me.”
She frowned in confusion. “Oliver?”
He took her hand, guiding her down the path, to the stone arch at the far side and the small sunken garden beyond.
A small pool graced the center, a fountain spouting merrily within.
He stopped at one of the benches that looked out over it, motioning she should sit.
She did so, glad for it, seeing as how her legs trembled beneath her at his increasing nervousness. What in the world was going on?
He cleared his throat, shifting from foot to foot, looking anywhere but at her. By the third throat clearing, Iris had had enough.
“Oliver, please tell me what’s going on,” she begged.
He started. “Oh, er, right.” Clearing his throat once more, he finally sat beside her and looked at her fully.
But while she had hoped to gain some insight into his thoughts, she was left even more in the dark.
There was grimness there, as well as soft affection, fear, worry, excitement?.
.? .? Truly, too many emotions for her to identify.
Her frustration mounted. She had thought she had begun to understand how to read him better over the past days. But she was more confused than ever.
“Before I begin,” he said, “I first must tell you how desperately I love you. I’m not certain I’ve actually said the words aloud, but I had to let you know exactly how I feel.”
The anxiety in her chest melted away. She beamed up at him. “I love you as well, Oliver.”
His gaze softened, caressing her face. “You cannot know how happy that makes me. And I hope you remember all that when I say what I need to say.”
He took a deep breath, grasped her hand, and placed something warm and hard in her palm. When she looked down, she gasped softly to see a small gold ring with a smooth green stone the very shade of her eyes glinting up at her.
“I know it’s not much,” he said thickly. “It’s not new, or particularly grand. But this ring is incredibly important to me. It was a gift from my stepfather to my mother upon their engagement, and so I really could not give you a more poignant symbol of my love.”