Iris entered the bedchamber with Zayne, and before she closed the door, she cast a glance down the corridor to ensure none of the servants had noticed them slipping inside together.

Zayne went to the fireplace and bent to light it. "You know, if you keep glancing about to see who is near, you will appear suspicious. They shall assume there is a courtship between us. Act as though nothing is amiss," he suggested.

"Nothing is amiss. I am merely here to see old dresses," Iris replied, closing the door firmly and turning the lock. "I would never be so inappropriate, and I don’t want it to follow my good name. You should hear the way the servants speak of ladies who engage in those activities."

Her cheeks burned at the thought.

"With me? I don’t entertain my servants," Zayne said, failing to light a fire.

"No," Iris shook her head quickly. "With other employers. I don’t want to be pulled into it. I might be a commoner, but I care about my reputation. I also don’t want anyone to use me to tarnish Eloise’s name."

Her eyes widened as Zayne pulled open the wardrobe, revealing many gowns. "There are so many," she whispered, breath catching at the sight.

"It smells of dust," Zayne muttered, covering his nose as he dropped the dresses onto the bed.

"I will open a window. I cannot see very well," Iris said, stepping carefully across the floor.

Zayne startled her by yanking back the drapes, letting the moonlight spill in, mingling with the faint glow of lanterns outside.

Iris considered going for a candle, but the thought of its flicker drawing attention from outside made her hesitate.

"Try one on. I will tell you if it looks good on you," Zayne said, settling onto the bed with folded arms. "They might only need to be washed to rid them of the scent."

Iris picked up a blue dress that caught her eye. "I envy that they could leave behind so many fine gowns. They look to be of remarkable quality. My father would have scolded me for abandoning such treasures."

Her fingers traced the embroidered pattern. "It is beautiful," she murmured. "Almost so beautiful that I don’t know if I can wear it."

"Iris," Zayne sighed, his patience thinning.

"But I must. Wait a moment," Iris said, glancing about for the bathing chamber. "It won’t be long."

"If you need a hand, you can call for me," Zayne offered, though his words were cut short by Iris’s laughter. "She’s adamant about not crossing the line," he thought out loud. A smile tugged at his lips.

He didn’t mind. It was rare to have someone with whom he could speak of Eloise and Damien.

Zayne sighed again, leaning back on the bed as silence filled the chamber. "Why am I here?" he muttered. "Why did I bring her here?" His eyes drifted to the pile of dresses he had long intended to discard, yet never ordered the servants to remove.

Zayne covered his face, disbelief washing over him. He was waiting for Iris to try on a gown, eager to see her in it. More astonishing still was the thought of buying her one. Something he had only ever done for the women of his family.

"I need to get out of this home more often," Zayne whispered, but he couldn’t think of where to go. "Should I bother Damien? But then I would have to lie to his face about Iris. Yet is it lying if he doesn’t ask me whether I saw her?"

"Or should I just tell them?" Zayne considered, torn between duty and secrecy.

If Iris didn’t write in the morning, he thought of secretly telling Damien she was well, though it would spoil the fragile trust between them. "She doesn’t want to be dismissed so that she wouldn’t be angry for long," he muttered, trying to soothe his own conscience.

Not long after, Iris emerged from the bathing chamber wearing the blue dress. She held her hair up with her hands, lacking time to style it properly. Her eyes shone with nervous anticipation. "What do you think?" she asked, seeking Zayne’s honest attention. "If you saw me at a ball wearing this, would you approach me and ask for a dance?"

Zayne stared at her, wishing for more light to truly see her. He lowered his head to hide the smile tugging at his lips before looking back up. "Would I approach the lady who keeps twirling for a dance?"

Iris stopped twirling, clutching the sides of the gown. "I would not twirl so much. My mother always made me stand in places where I would be noticed by gentlemen."

"And yet, you are without a husband. Is it because you kept chasing Damien?" Zayne asked.

"My mother did encourage me to become Lady Hawthorne, but there were other men I thought I could marry. They simply weren’t good enough, since she truly believed I could succeed with Damien. Some common men proposed," Iris revealed with a bit of regret.

Iris walked to the bed and picked up another dress. "If only I had some indication that my life would turn out this way, then I would have married sooner. Then I would have a home to return to after work."

"A lovely lady like you could have easily found a man capable of caring for you. Your family wasn’t searching in the right place. Pursuing Damien was your first and greatest mistake," Zayne said firmly.

"I could have, and perhaps it would have stopped my father. But if I hadn’t, I would have been quickly cast aside after the news. I no longer worry about what could have been. In time, my father will be known as a murderer and a thief. I don’t think even a thief would marry me," Iris said, her eyes betraying the sorrow of acceptance.

Iris lifted a green dress, her fingers trembling slightly with anticipation. "I am going to try this one. Wait a moment."

"You can still find a gentleman who won’t care what your father did. It is not you who is the murderer," Zayne assured Iris.

"I beg you to get out more. You think only people of your wealth care about gossip and reputation, but we little people do as well. I am not going to find a husband now, so my focus is on work. You should understand, since you also don’t want to marry," Iris said, finding comfort in Zayne sharing the same thought.

Zayne wished to clarify the misunderstanding, but he didn’t. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to marry. He simply refused to be forced.