Rose in Bloom (Sex and the Season 2)

“In Mayfair. We have a townhome there.”

“You didn’t stay in Scotland?”

“No. Longarry had no family to speak of, so there was no reason to. The girls and I decided to return to England. I spend much of my time with my sister, and now that Lucy and I have renewed our friendship, I hope to see more of her as well.”

Finally! A footman served the first course. Iris raised a lobster canapé to her mouth and was suddenly very conscious of her chewing.

“Iris and I were best friends as girls,” Lucy chimed in. “It’s been wonderful getting to know each other again.”

“Yes, I can see how it would be.” David gazed at Iris with his warm brown eyes. “It certainly would be.”

Iris inhaled as a servant set a plate of tomato bisque before her. Was it the steam rising from the soup that made her feel hot all over? Or was it David’s gaze? And why in hell did the chef prepare something red and runny? The way her hands were shaking, she wasn’t sure the soup would make it to her mouth.

“Father,” Evan said, “Rose is an excellent rider. I thought maybe the three of us could go riding on the morrow.”

“Hmm?” The earl turned to his son.

“I thought the three of us could go riding tomorrow. You, Rose, and I.”

“Yes, of course. I’ve heard you’re quite the horsewoman,” he said to Rose.

“I’m afraid your son flatters me, my lord.”

“Nonsense,” Evan said. “She’s amazing on horseback. And at the pianoforte. You should play something for my father, Rose.”

“Evan…”

“I’d love to hear you play, my dear,” the earl said.

“Of course, I would be honored.”

“Tell me, how is your father?”

“He’s fine, my lord.”

“Good, good. And your lovely mother?”

“Fine as well.”

“Good.” He turned back to Iris. “My lady?”

“Yes?” Iris fussed with her napkin, which was now a twisted knot in her lap. She still hadn’t braved a spoonful of the soup.

“Would you—?”

They were interrupted by the chef, who came in wielding a large carving knife over a roast baron of beef.

“That looks marvelous, Pierre,” Maggie said.

“Merci, Madame.” The chef bowed and began carving.

Minutes passed like hours. Iris barely tasted her roast beef. Or her potato soufflé and vegetable casserole. Even the fruit and cheese slid down her throat like dry crackers. She washed it all down with claret and began to feel a bit light-headed. She was secretly relieved when Evan and his father retired to the smoking room for their cigars and port.

Sophie, Alexandra, and Rose took their coffee on the front terrace, but Iris stayed in the main parlor. She was lost in thought when Lucy entered.

“Are you faring well, Iris?” Lucy asked.

“Yes, I’m fine.” Iris rubbed her temple. “Goodness, I shouldn’t have drunk so much wine.”