Page 37 of An Accidental Bride for the Duke
Iris’ eyes widened and a stone dropped in her stomach. She was not facing the door so she could not see Philip’s face. But the coldness in his voice was enough to tell her how he was feeling.
“Iris…” he growled.
She swallowed and turned around. “Ph—Philip,” she stammered upon seeing him, confirming immediately that he was indeed angry. “You’re back.”
“Your Grace!” Agatha jumped on the spot and took a hurried step back. “It is lovely to see you again…” She offered a deep bow.
Philip surveyed the scene coolly. “I take it that this is the modiste you were telling me about? From the village.”
“That’s right.” Iris was shaking.
“And you brought her into my home?”
“I did.” She attempted to stand tall and look brave but failed completely.
Perhaps this wasn’t such a smart idea after all. An act of immaturity and I should not be so surprised that he is furious with me.
“Why?” he asked, still standing in the doorway.
“I…” She swallowed again. “I thought I would have some gowns and dresses made. Is there a problem?”
She could literally see Philip trying to contain his anger. And likely, was it not for Agatha’s presence, he would have unleashed it. Oddly, he was not glaring at Iris so much as he was at the modiste, as if she were the one at fault.
“I would ask that you leave us,” he said to modiste.
“Oh!” Agatha yelped. “Yes, of course?—”
“Wait!” Iris cried. “We are not finished.”
“You are today.”
“But—”
“It is perfectly fine,” Agatha assured her as she hurried to pack her things. “We made a good start today, Your Grace. More than enough for me to busy myself with.”
“I am so sorry,” she apologized to Agatha. “And I promise to come and see you in the next day or two.” When she said those words she saw Philip turn rigid with frustration.
Agatha was quick then to pack her things. Done in silence as Philip continued to glare and scowl. Agatha kept her head down the entire time, refusing to meet Philip’s eyes, whipped into a nervous panic that had her tripping over her things as she hurried from the room.
It was only once she left that Iris spoke again.
“That was rude.”
“Excuse me?”
“I said, that was rude.” She stepped down from the stool and strode across the room. Still wearing her shift, she was aware of how little covering it offered her, how her breasts bounced without containment. Philip’s eyes flicked to them quickly, but looked away just as fast. “Agatha is not to blame here.”
“Agatha?” he scoffed. “You are on first name terms now.”
“Why not?” she said hotly. She came to within feet of Philip but stopped short, careful not to get too close. “You might be determined to hate every soul in the village, but I am not. And from all I have seen of them, there is no reason I should be.”
He groaned and rubbed his eyes. “We are not talking of this again.”
“Oh, I know that well enough. I wouldn’t dream of forcing you to explain yourself. I know how you hate me snooping.”
Iris was into it by that point. Having overcome her initial surprise and fear, she found herself whipped into a frenzy. Philip was going to be angry at her whatever she said—and she refused to apologize for doing what he deemed as the wrong thing. How could it be the wrong thing if he could not tell her why?
If this marriage was to be one of turmoil and non-stop fighting, no chance at them ever getting along, so be it. But she would not simply roll over and accept her fate. This was her home, her life, and Philip needed to know it.
