Her blue eyes lit up in wonder. “Are you? I should love to see that. I read that when it is completed, one might be able to travel at fifteen miles per hour, but I cannot credit such a speed. It sounds frightfully dangerous.”
He nodded absently, glancing over at Daisy, who was still interrogating poor Winston about the Russian prince. “I suppose your sister thought that Miss Elizabeth should not have refused Darcy’s first proposal.”
Iris stared at him blankly before blinking, and saying, “Oh, yes, the book. Yes, you’re correct. Daisy found Lizzy to be most foolish.”
“What do you think?” he asked, and he realized that he truly wished to know her opinion.
She paused, taking the time to choose her words. Richard did not mind the silence; it gave him the opportunity to watch her as she thought. She was prettier than he’d supposed at first sight. There was a pleasing symmetry to her features, and her lips were far rosier than one might guess, given how pale the rest of her was.
“Given what she knew at the time,” Iris finally said, “I don’t see how she could possibly have accepted him. Would you wish to marry someone you could not respect?”
“Certainly not.”
She nodded officiously, then frowned as she regarded Winston and Daisy again. Somehow, they had managed to get quite a bit ahead. Richard couldn’t hear what they were talking about, but Winston had the look of a man in trouble.
“We will have to save him again,” Iris said with a sigh. “But this time you must do it. I’ve exhausted my knowledge of Russian politics.”
Richard allowed himself to lean toward her, close enough so that he could murmur in her ear. “The Treaty of St. Petersburg defined the boundary between Russian America and the North Western Territory.”
She caught her lip between her teeth, clearly trying not to smile.
“Iris!” Daisy called out.
“It appears we won’t have to stage an interruption,” Richard said as they closed the gap between the two couples.
“I have invited Mr. Bevelstoke to the poetry reading at the Pleinsworths’ next week,” Daisy said. “Do insist that he attend.”
Iris stared at her sister in horror before turning to Winston. “I . . . insist that you attend?”
Daisy gave a petulant snort at her sister’s lack of resolve and turned back to Winston. “You must attend, Mr. Bevelstoke. You simply must. It is sure to be uplifting. Poetry always is.”
“No,” Iris said, with a pained frown, “it’s really not.”
“Of course we will be there,” Richard announced.
Winston’s eyes narrowed dangerously.
“We wouldn’t miss it,” Richard assured Daisy.
“The Pleinsworths are our cousins,” Iris said with a pointed look. “You might recall Harriet. She played violin—”
“Second violin,” Daisy cut in.
“—in the concert last night.”
Richard swallowed. She could only be talking about the one who could not read music. Still, there was no reason to think this boded ill for a poetry reading.
“Harriet’s a bore,” Daisy said, “but her younger sisters are darling.”
“I like Harriet,” Iris said firmly. “I like her a great deal.”
“Then I am certain it will be a most pleasant evening,” Richard said.
Daisy beamed and looped her arm once again through Winston’s, leading the way back to the Cumberland Gate through which they’d entered. Richard followed with Iris, setting their pace more slowly so that they might be able to speak privately.
“If I were to call upon you tomorrow,” he asked in a quiet voice, “would you be at home?”
She did not look at him, which was a pity, because he would have liked to see her blush again.
“I would,” she whispered.
That was the moment he decided. He was going to marry Iris Smythe-Smith.
Chapter Four
Later that evening
A London ballroom
“THEY’RE NOT HERE yet,” Daisy said.
Iris pretended to smile. “I know.”
“I’ve been watching the door.”
“I know.”
Daisy fussed with the lace on her minty green dress. “I do hope Mr. Bevelstoke likes my gown.”
“I do not see how he could find it anything less than charming,” Iris said quite honestly. Daisy drove her utterly mad most of the time, and Iris did not always have kind words for her younger sister, but she was willing to give compliments when they were deserved.
Daisy was lovely. She had always been lovely, with her bright golden curls and rosebud mouth. Their coloring really wasn’t too terribly different, but what shone like gold on Daisy left Iris rather bleached and washed-out.
Her nanny had once said that Iris could vanish in a bucket of milk, and really, she wasn’t too far off the mark.
“You shouldn’t have worn that color,” Daisy said.
“And just when I was having benevolent thoughts,” Iris muttered. She liked the ice blue silk of her gown. She rather thought it brought out her eyes.
“You should be wearing darker colors. For contrast.”
“Contrast?” Iris echoed.
“Well, you need some color.”
One of these days, she was going to kill her sister. She really was.
“Next time we go shopping,” Daisy continued, “let me pick out your gowns.”
Iris stared at her for a moment, then started to walk away. “I’m getting some lemonade.”
“Fetch some for me, would you?” Daisy called out.