An Improper Proposal (The Distinguished Rogues Book 6) (9 page)

“Mr. Talbot.” A slow blush crept over her cheeks. “It is a pleasure to see you, sir.”

“And it is a pleasure to see you.” The man glanced at him and Talbot’s smile dimmed a little. “And with Lord Louth no less. What an unexpected surprise this is.”

“Talbot,” he acknowledged, but he was keen to see the back of the man. Iris, for all her warm greeting, appeared unimpressed with the man.

Iris sighed and gestured to Whitney. “Are you acquainted with my friend, Miss Whitney Crewe?”

Whitney held out her hand, bare of her glove and sparkling with gold at the wrist. Talbot took her fingers in a light grip and grinned. “Not as yet. A pleasure.”

“Sir. It is such a pleasure to make your acquaintance, too.”

His attention returned to Iris immediately. “Any news of your father?”

Iris winced. “No.”

Talbot nodded, and then squared his shoulders. “One does hope he remains in good health.”

Martin’s eyes narrowed when Iris paled. It pained him that she was so hesitant to speak of her father to acquaintances. She kept her gaze averted. “I hope so too.”

Talbot smiled and was about to speak again when Martin tipped his head to the group the man had recently left. “I believe your party is moving on without you.”

Distaste, quickly masked, flickered over Talbot’s face but he smiled and took his leave in a rush, with a promise to see Iris again soon.

Whitney frowned after his retreating form. “Well, I must say he has a distinct presence but rather abrupt in his manner of leaving.”

Iris grimaced. “I’m sure he has many demands on his time.”

The frown and the words combined did not give Martin the impression she’d meant to compliment the man. “Do you know him well?”

“Not really. He was an acquaintance of my father’s some years ago and always speaks of him when our paths cross.”

Whitney patted Iris’s hand soothingly. “Then I shall overlook his haste just to make you happy.”

What the devil was Whitney blathering about? By her own account, Talbot hardly knew Iris Hedley. What did it matter if he was not liked?

“I’ve no care for him either way but it would be rude to ignore him.” Iris met his gaze and the corner of her mouth lifted into a tentative smile. Despite Whitney’s odd behavior, a tremor of anticipation, of shared purpose, filled him. He shifted his position on the bench seat as her smile widened. She leaned close to Whitney. “You cannot say no one of interest comes to the park, Miss Crewe. Lord Acton is headed this way, and he is very handsome.”

Astonishment and then a keen sense of loss filled Martin at the sound of Iris’s earnest praise for another man. He turned. Seated atop a dappled gray gelding, Lord Acton presented a fine figure and quite likely inspired passion in many women. To hear Iris speak so well of another cut him to the quick.

Acton trotted up to the carriage and greeted them warmly. “Good afternoon, Louth, and ladies. ’Tis a fine day for it.”

Whitney’s mouth turned down in a frown. “Have you been prowling Rotten Row long, my lord, in search of a victim for your amusement?”

“Not particularly.” The earl patted his horse’s neck as the beast pranced. “I was just leaving the park and thought to pay my respects when I saw you waiting here.”

Whitney smirked. “Are you on your way to call on your sister then? She came to Town last week. How long has it been since you’ve spoken to her?”

Martin froze. The earl’s recent estrangement from his sister wasn’t a subject to discuss openly. Whitney didn’t approve of Acton. The harm his sister had done to the Marquess of Taverham’s marriage had cost the couple a decade of lost time and trust. Whitney, who still insisted Acton must have played a part in the estrangement, made no bones that her loyalties were with the couple.

Acton ignored her remarks and turned his attention to Iris and nodded. “A pleasure to see you again, Miss Hedley. Louth. Good day to you.”

He kicked his mount and left them without a backward glance or a word to Whitney.

“Drive on,” Whitney called out to the coachman and they lurched forward.

“Stop,” Martin countered and was immediately obeyed. He exchanged a worried glance with Iris then faced his cousin. “Were you trying to be inexcusably rude?”

“You
were
impolite,” Iris agreed.

“Well, he had it coming.” Whitney protested.

Before Martin could say another word on the subject, Iris twisted to face Whitney with a dark expression. “As I understand the matter from Lady Heathcote, the earl’s only crime was ignorance. Lord Acton placed his faith in his sister and she betrayed him. That must be painful enough without other people pouring salt on the wound.”

Whitney’s eyes widened. “You dare take his side?”

Iris shook her head. “It is not fair of you to hold him accountable for his sister’s actions. Believe me, I know how it hurts to have been that ignorant. My father made a lot of bad decisions I had no control over, and I continue to pay the price.”

At last, Whitney appeared abashed. “I didn’t think of it that way. You know he was beastly to her.”

“And he is trying to make amends by all accounts in any way he can,” Iris insisted.

A warm glow filled Martin’s chest. When he got Iris alone, he would kiss her in thanks for making the attempt to straighten out his cousin. He’d tried many times to calm her ire but to no effect. “Miranda is at ease with Acton and that is all that matters.”

Whitney shrugged. “Then he should stop bothering us.”

Martin frowned. “He doesn’t bother me in the slightest. It would have been rude not to have spoken to each other.”

Whitney shrugged again and he studied her sullen expression.

“Apparently he bothers you a great deal though. Why?”

Whitney smiled and she turned away. “Don’t be ridiculous. I could care less about what that scoundrel does.”

As he opened his mouth to continue his line of questioning, he caught Iris’s warning glance suggesting he should not. What had Acton done, what more than he already knew, to provoke such spite in his cousin? They’d actually had very little to do with each other, though any recent meeting between the pair had always held an edge of hostility. The bachelor had never asked Whitney to dance but perhaps she felt slighted for being overlooked. He would have to find out what was going on but Hyde Park wasn’t the place for such a discussion.

“Perhaps we could step out and take a stroll,” Iris suggested softly.

He glanced at her face and noted her pallor. “An excellent idea. Exercise is just the thing to turn the mind from unpleasantness.”

Martin waved the grooms aside and assisted the ladies down from the carriage. As they strolled along the paths together, Martin took the rear but was constantly forced to direct his gaze away from the sway of Iris’s hips. He loved the feel of her curves beneath his hands, tiny though she was. However, he wasn’t the man to pursue her and so he turned his mind back to the real problem—how to convince Iris to marry instead of becoming a mistress.

Despite a few promising and enthusiastic conversations with several bachelors along the path, he could detect no overt sign of her interest in other men.

There was her glowing praise of Acton, though. He at least had been friendly toward her earlier.

Martin glanced away as distaste filled him. He was no matchmaker and had no right to choose a husband for her. He didn’t know the first thing about what Iris looked for in a man but he could guide her in the direction of every decent bachelor he knew, and would. Acton, for all his past mistakes, wasn’t an utter scoundrel when it came to women and rich enough, he suspected, to marry a woman without a penny to her name.

He let his attention move ahead, where it landed on a lady pushing a wicker perambulator along the path toward them. A tall older man walked slowly at her side and they appeared quite cozy together. His breath caught as he recognized the woman.

That was his daughter’s housekeeper coming toward him.

His glance fell to the wheeled contraption she pushed. Dear God, was his daughter in Hyde Park, or another child?

He glanced around discreetly, hoping to avoid a meeting but the nearest dissecting path was too far away. He’d prefer to avoid a meeting without drawing undue attention but it seemed he could not avoid the encounter.

When Mrs. Hughes finally saw him, her step faltered as she took in his party. He nodded to her politely and stepped aside so she could pass him by, and hoped she would go on her way without stopping. The man at her side, a stranger to him, smiled fondly down at the perambulator as the child gurgled. He caught a brief glimpse of his daughter and his apprehension grew.

“Wait,” Iris cried out and bent to pick up a white cloth that lay upon the path unnoticed. “Is this yours, by chance?”

She hurried toward Mrs. Hughes, casting a glance at his child where she lie wrapped up snuggly and protected from taking a chill. As Iris stared down at his daughter, a soft smile teased her lips. “What a beautiful child.”

“She’s a lamb, truly,” Mrs. Hughes claimed as proudly as any mother, with a nervous glance in his direction.

Mrs. Hughes tucked the scrap of cloth more firmly at the end of the wicker basket as Iris leaned close to stroke the child’s cheek. “She is so very young.”

“She is,” the gentleman agreed. “She lost her poor mother at birth, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, I’m so very sorry,” Iris murmured. “Is there anything I can do?”

Mrs. Hughes’s eyes bulged. “No. Nothing is required for the child. She has everything she needs and is well cared for now.”

“That is such a relief.” Iris folded her hands at her waist, and he sensed she was restraining herself. “Might I ask her name?”

At the question, the housekeeper paled. “I just call her ‘my lamb’.”

Iris looked at her curiously but accepted the response. When she opened her mouth to speak again, Martin called to her. “Miss Hedley?”

Iris quickly said her goodbyes, touched the babe’s cheek and hurried toward him.

“Forgive me.” A blush filled Iris’s cheeks as she glanced up at him. “I adore children of that age.”

“Quite all right,” he assured her, tipping his hat to Mrs. Hughes. He certainly didn’t mind her admiring his offspring but if Iris knew he was the father, would she feel differently? Would she condemn him as a careless cad and scorn the child for the irregular nature of her birth, as many in society would?

Whitney spotted a female acquaintance and hurried forward, leaving Iris alone with him.

Iris gripped his arm. “Do you think it strange that the woman did not share the child’s first name or her connections?”

“Not terribly,” he said carefully, alarmed by her continued interest in the child’s identity. He was at a loss to decide what to call her and that confused him too. It shouldn’t be so hard to name a baby.

“I’ve never met anyone who would not share a babe’s first name when asked. I wonder whose child it is? Perhaps I ought not to have spoken to her at all but I couldn’t help myself.”

“Why do you say that?”

Iris worried her lip a moment. “She is so very young and normally would be kept at home, protected from the elements and disease until she is much older.”

His heart flipped at the mention of risk to the child. “I’m sure the woman knows what she’s doing.”

“I do hope so.” Iris did not seem convinced, judging by the growing frown on her face.

He leaned toward her ear and pitched his voice low, eager to change the topic of conversation. “Have you thought what you would do if you became pregnant to a protector?”

“I would keep the child,” she said immediately. Her brow furrowed and she glanced over her shoulder toward Mrs. Hughes’s retreating back. “I’ve no idea if it’s the done thing or not but that is my answer.”

“You would allow your child to suffer an irregular birth?”

She licked her lips. “I should not like to see them suffer of course, but that is likely what will happen, isn’t it?”

“Very true, and yet there are some gentlemen who would do the right thing.” Martin would have married Vivian if he’d been given the choice. “What if your protector were to propose marriage to give the child his name? Could you marry the man if you did not love him?”

“Many women do marry for a title rather than affection.” A tiny smile twisted her lips. “I would have to consider the matter at that time, of course.”

He stopped. “You would hesitate to live a respectable life?”

“Well, I cannot say with any certainty what I would do at this moment. I’ve not even begun to be a mistress.” She smiled cheekily. “Perhaps he picks his toes at the dinner table and drinks custard with his pork chops.”

What nonsense. “These are serious matters, Iris. You cannot make light of them. Mistresses get with child every day and it is the children who suffer for their father’s mistakes.”

She seemed taken aback by his fervor. “Why are you so concerned?”

Why indeed? He steadied his temper. “I don’t want to see you hurt.”

She glanced behind her toward the retreating form of Mrs. Hughes and the baby once more but they’d already left the park, her expression wistful and sad. “If I had a child, I would likely marry the father if he cared to ask but then I would not have any other choice in my life. I could never earn my own money, as a mistress can do.”