The Secrets of Sir Richard Kenworthy
One really couldn’t help but admire her brazenness.
“It’s the agreement, you know,” Iris continued, “between Great Britain and Russia.”
“Indeed,” Winston said helpfully. “A treaty. I believe it was signed in St. Petersburg.”
“It’s quite a relief,” Iris put in. “Don’t you think?”
“Oh, yes,” Winston answered. “We should all sleep more soundly because of it.”
“I’ve never trusted the Russians,” Daisy said with a sniff.
“Well, I don’t know if I’d go that far,” Iris said. She looked over at Richard, but he just shrugged, enjoying himself far too much to intercede.
“My sister almost married a Russian prince,” Winston said offhandedly.
“Did she?” Daisy asked, suddenly aglow.
“Well, no, not really,” Winston admitted. “But he wanted to marry her.”
“Oh, how divine,” Daisy gushed.
“You just said you don’t trust the Russians,” Iris reminded her.
“I didn’t mean royalty,” Daisy said dismissively. “Tell me,” she said to Winston, “was he terribly handsome?”
“I’m not really the best judge of that,” Winston hedged, then offered, “He was very blond, though.”
“Oh, a prince.” Daisy sighed, one fluttery hand coming to rest over her heart. Then her eyes narrowed. “Why on earth didn’t she marry him?”
Winston shrugged. “I don’t believe she wanted to. She married a baronet instead. They’re quite nauseatingly in love. Good fellow, though, Harry is.”
Daisy gasped so loudly Richard was sure they heard it in Kensington. “She chose a baronet over a prince?”
“Some women aren’t swayed by titles,” Iris said. She turned to Richard, and said in a low voice, “Believe it or not, this is the second time we’ve had this conversation today.”
“Really?” His brows rose. “Who were you talking about before?”
“Fictional characters,” she explained, “from a book I was reading.”
“Which one?”
“Pride and Prejudice,” she said with a wave of her hand. “I’m sure you haven’t read it.”
“I have, as a matter of fact. It is a favorite of my sister, and I thought it prudent to acquaint myself with her reading choices.”
“Do you always take such a paternal view with respect to your siblings?” she asked archly.
“I am her guardian.”
Her lips parted, and she hesitated a moment before saying, “I am sorry. That was rude of me. I did not know.”
He accepted her apology with a gracious nod. “Fleur is eighteen and a bit of a romantic. If she had her way, she’d read nothing but melodramas.”
“Pride and Prejudice is not a melodrama,” Iris protested.
“No,” he said with a laugh, “but I have no doubt that Fleur has managed to turn it into one in her head.”
She smiled at that. “Have you had her guardianship for very long?”
“Seven years.”
“Oh!” Her hand came to her mouth, and she stopped walking. “I’m so sorry. That is an unimaginable burden on such a young man.”
“I regret to say that I did consider it a burden at the time. I have two younger sisters, in fact, and after my father died, I sent both of them away to live with our aunt.”
“You could hardly have done otherwise. You must have still been in school.”
“University,” he confirmed. “I am not so harsh on myself that I think I should have tended to them myself at that point, but I should have been a more involved guardian.”
She placed her hand on his arm in a gesture of comfort. “I am sure you did your best.”
Richard was sure he had not, but he said, “Thank you.”
“How old is your other sister?”
“Marie-Claire is almost fifteen.”
“Fleur and Marie-Claire,” Iris murmured. “How very French.”
“My mother was a fanciful woman.” He flashed her a smile, then added a little half-shrug. “And she was also half-French.”
“Are your sisters now at home?”
He gave a nod. “Yes. In Yorkshire.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “I have never been so far north.”
This surprised him. “Have you not?”
“I live year-round in London,” she explained. “My father is the fourth of five sons. He did not inherit land.”
Richard wondered if she was issuing a warning. If he was a fortune hunter, he should look elsewhere.
“I visit with my cousins, of course,” she continued lightly, “but they are all in the south of England. I don’t believe I have ever traveled past Norfolk.”
“It’s a very different landscape in the north,” he told her. “It can be quite desolate and bleak.”
“You are not proving yourself an enthusiastic ambassador for your county,” she chided.
He chuckled at that. “It’s not all desolate and bleak. And the parts that are are beautiful in their own way.”
She smiled at the description.
“At any rate,” he continued, “Maycliffe sits in a rather pleasant valley. It’s quite tame compared to the rest of the county.”
“Is that a good thing?” she asked with an arch of her brow.
He laughed. “We’re actually not too far from Darlington, and the railway that is being built there.”