Page 63 of Plucked By the Orc

“Why don’t the two of you want me to talk to him?” Iris whispered.

“All in good time, I’m sure. But I see others who wish to get to know you better now, and we mustn’t disappoint.”

She eyed the sideboards on the opposite side of the room, where more treats nestled between festive red and pink garlands: sweet shortbread, pastillage flowers, and barberry ices in porcelain serving cups. Biscuits with the Prince Regent’s standard of triple plumes artfully stamped on them topped a three-tiered crystal platter. From her lessons, Iris rememberedthose paired with one of the ample selection of dessert wines and cordials.

No one had ever accused Iris Gabbert of not having a sweet tooth. She supposed this countess she embodied now might also have a taste for such fare.

“Perhaps we might meet those eminent folks near the refreshment table?”

Albion smiled at her. “Dunc always said you were a sensible woman.”

Iris had not thought of Duncan speaking of her to others, let alone complimenting her. And now this was verified by his brother, no less. She and Duncan needed to speak after this was all over. With a pang in her heart, she wondered if there was any hope of them resuming their former relationship.

After following Albion to the hors d’oeuvres, she took a plate and prepared to heap some macarons on it. A polite tap on the back disrupted her. Lady Bellingham stood behind Iris. Next to her was a middle-aged gentleman with a a sash diagonal across his chest, medals and ribbons affixed to it. Men and their medals!

But these marked him as a hero of the wars against Napoleon, specifically the Battle of Waterloo. Even Iris couldn’t make light of that. There was nothing to gain from having a dictator cross the Channel and seize England.

Duncan’s lessons ran through her head. She wasn’t supposed to react. She was to hold her smile and keep her true thoughts safely to herself.

“Might I introduce my son, countess,” Lady Bellingham said. “He lives at our family home in Northumberland and has not the acquaintance of many ladies in London. I asked who I should introduce first, and he indicated you straightaway.”

Albion remained at her side. Northumberland, where Lady Bellingham’s son hailed from, was on the border of the “portal” to the hidden realm.

“Well, I’ll be,” she heard Albion mutter, still with that grin.

“This is. An honor,” Iris said, curtsying.

“Now, now, there’s no time for all that,” Lady Bellingham said. “The first dance will commence, and I insist the two of you lead.”

Iris didn’t particularly want to accept but knew it would look far odder were shenotto dance. So she accepted the gentleman’s hand, as she’d been taught. But even as the music started, and every eye was on her, Iris wished Duncan stood across from her. That it was his tremendous hand on her back as they took to the center of the floor.

Though not a formal ball, Lady Bellingham had engaged a trio playing strings for a few quick dances. The waltz was up-tempo and almost lively enough to keep Iris’s thoughts from returning to this same waltz with Duncan.

Almost.

“You are from. Northumberland. Sir?”

“I am indeed.”

His shoulders hunched as he lumbered through the waltz, as focused on the steps as Iris. Only once did she stumble. Even then, she didn’t think it was noticeable.

When they passed the side of the room where Duncan Higgins stood next to the vicar, she caught his eye, trying to signal that she would rather dance with him without saying a word.

For a moment, Duncan’s facade cracked. She saw the same sweeping look in his eyes that she’d witnessed in the privacy of his bedroom, as though he could not exist without her.

Just as quickly, he resumed his usual glower. But Iris had seen it. He must have expected she would dance at this affair were the opportunity presented, but his expression suggested that hewished she had been inhisarms rather than those of Lady Bellingham’s son.

However, Duncan couldn’t have been that jealous, for her partner’s grip was stiff and formal, far different from what she’d experienced with him. Iris got the impression that his choice of partner had, in truth, been prompted by his mother. If her eyes did not deceive her, he paid more mind to the gentlemen along the room’s periphery than the ladies.

He surprised her when he showed he had been tracking her gaze.

“I do hail from Northumberland, my lady.” He tilted his head toward Duncan and his brother. “Same as your friends over there.”

“Oh, yes,” Iris replied, hoping she didn’t sound overly eager. “I am curious about that place.” She steadied her voice, which had lapsed into its old habits. “I should think. You know something. About the Hidden Realm.”

He looked from Duncan to Iris slyly. “How are you and the Duke of Barrington acquainted?”

Iris had practiced this answer and delivered it relatively smoothly, though she kept the details vague. “We first met at Drury Lane. Actually. The theater. I am new to London. His grace. Offered to show me around the town.”

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