“Lord Hadrian,” she began, then stopped. The practiced speech she had rehearsed throughout the remainder of her sleepless night now seemed hopelessly inadequate. How did one graciously withdraw a promise that should never have been made?
“Is something troubling you, Lady Iris?” Hadrian leaned forward slightly, concern etching lines across his brow. “You seem … distressed.”
Iris drew a deep breath. There was no gentle path through this conversation, no way to soften the blow she was about to deliver. She could only move forward with as much honesty and compassion as possible.
“There is no easy way to say this,” she said, forcing herself to meet his gaze directly. “But I find I cannot go through with our marriage. I must … end our engagement.”
For a moment, Hadrian’s expression remained unchanged, as if her words had not yet penetrated. Then his face went utterly still, the warmth draining away to leave behind a mask of shocked disbelief.
“You … wish to end our engagement?” he repeated, his voice scarcely above a whisper.
“Yes.” The single syllable felt inadequate, almost cruel in its brevity. “I am so very sorry.”
He stared at her, his eyes searching her face as if seeking some sign that this was merely a misunderstanding, a jest in poor taste. Finding none, he straightened his shoulders—a gesture so reminiscent of Jasvian that Iris felt a fresh pang of guilt slice through her.
“May I ask why?” His voice had regained some of its steadiness, though a slight tremor remained. “Have I given offense in some manner? Said or done something to displease you?”
“No! Not at all.” Iris’s response came swiftly, vehemently. “You have been nothing but kind and considerate. The fault lies entirely with me.”
“I don’t understand.”
A soft breeze whispered past, bringing with it the curious scent of mint—the fragrance the climbing roses appeared to have opted for today. Iris brushed escaping tendrils of hair from her face, tucking them hastily behind one ear.
“I should never have accepted your proposal,” she admitted, her voice soft with regret. “I was … overwhelmed by everything. Your kindness, my family’s expectations, the pressures of society. I allowed myself to believe that admiration and respect would be a sufficient foundation for marriage.”
“And you’ve since determined they are not?” A flash of hurt crossed his features.
“No,” she replied quietly. “Not for me.”
Hadrian’s shoulders sagged slightly. “You don’t love me.”
It wasn’t a question, but Iris answered anyway. “I care for you, my lord. But not in the way a wife should love her husband.”
A heavy silence stretched between them. Just beyond Hadrian’s shoulder, several roses quivered as two hedge pixies attempted to swing from one bloom to another like miniature acrobats, entirely oblivious to the drama unfolding in their presence.
“Is there nothing I might say to change your mind?” Hadrian asked at last. “Perhaps, with time?—”
“I fear not.” Iris shook her head, feeling the weight of her decision pressing down upon her. “It would be a disservice tous both to proceed with a marriage built upon such an unstable foundation.”
Hadrian nodded slowly, his eyes downcast. He was silent for several moments. Then he raised his gaze to meet hers, holding it with a quiet, searching intensity. And then he spoke.
“Is this because of Jasvian?”
The question sucked the breath from Iris’s lungs. She had not prepared for such directness, had hoped to avoid mentioning Jasvian entirely. Her lips parted, but no sound emerged.
“Your silence is answer enough,” Hadrian said, nodding to himself as he drew in a deep breath.
“I never meant—that is, I didn’t intend—” Iris stumbled over the words, horrified by her own transparency.
“Do you know,” he continued softly, “that I had not the faintest idea until that night, mere minutes after you accepted my proposal. Until that evening, I had been convinced that Jasvian barely tolerated your presence, which was why I hesitated to share my intentions with him. I dreaded inviting his obvious disapproval when what I truly sought was his support.
“But then,” Hadrian went on, “after you accepted my proposal, I saw the way you looked at each other when you nearly collided with him. The pause between you stretched, the moment lasting far longer than mere courtesy demanded, and then was something in his gaze—something almost … desperate—that gave me pause. And then he followed you to the kitchen.”
Iris felt heat rise to her cheeks as she recalled the confrontation in the tea house kitchen, the harsh words exchanged before she had fled into the storm. And what had followed … the near-kiss that still haunted her dreams.
“You didn’t return for quite some time,” Hadrian observed. “And when you did, you were soaking wet, having apparently been outside in the rain for reasons that made little sense. Thefollowing morning, Jasvian departed without explanation. It certainly made me wonder.”
Hadrian met her gaze directly once more. “But then you seemed happy this past week, genuinely pleased with our engagement. I told myself I had imagined the whole thing.”
