The room remained in tense silence for several seconds until Mrs. Smythe-Smith abruptly turned to her sister-in-law. “You must go to your guests, Charlotte. With neither of us there, it will appear very suspicious.”

Lady Pleinsworth nodded grimly.

“Take Harriet,” Iris’s mother continued. “Introduce her to some of the gentlemen. She is nearly of age to be out. It will seem the most natural thing in the world.”

“But I’m still in costume,” Harriet protested.

“This is no time to be missish,” her mother declared, grabbing her arm. “Come.”

Harriet stumbled along behind her mother, but not before shooting a sympathetic last glance at Iris.

Mrs. Smythe-Smith closed the door to the drawing room and then let out a breath. “This is a fine mess,” she said, and not with compassion.

“I will make arrangements for a special license immediately,” Richard said. He saw no need to tell them that he had already procured one.

Mrs. Smythe-Smith crossed her arms and began to pace.

“Mama?” Iris ventured.

Mrs. Smythe-Smith held up a shaking finger. “Not now.”

“But—”

“We will wait for your father!” Mrs. Smythe-Smith snarled. She was shaking with fury, and the expression on Iris’s face told Richard that she had never seen her mother thus.

Iris stepped back, hugging her arms to her body. Richard wanted to comfort her, but he knew her mother would fly into a rage if he took even one step in her direction.

“Of all my daughters,” Mrs. Smythe-Smith said in a furious whisper, “you are the last one I would have thought might do something like this.”

Iris looked away.

“I am so ashamed of you.”

“Of me?” Iris said in a small voice.

Richard took a menacing step forward. “I said your daughter is blameless.”

“Of course she is not blameless,” Mrs. Smythe-Smith snapped. “Was she alone with you? She knows better than that.”

“I was in the middle of a marriage proposal.”

“May I assume you have not yet requested a private meeting with Mr. Smythe-Smith to obtain his consent?”

“I thought to do your daughter the honor of asking her, first.”

Mrs. Smythe-Smith’s mouth pressed together in an angry line, but she did not respond. Instead she looked vaguely in Iris’s direction and let out a frustrated “Oh, where is your father?”

“I’m sure he will be here soon, Mama,” Iris replied quietly.

Richard prepared himself to jump to Iris’s defense again, but her mother held her tongue. Finally, after several more minutes passed, the door to the drawing room opened, and Iris’s father walked in.

Edward Smythe-Smith was not an exceptionally tall man, but he carried himself well, and Richard imagined that he had been quite athletic when he was younger. Certainly, he was still strong enough to damage a man’s face, should he decide violence was appropriate.