The Secrets of Sir Richard Kenworthy
“He has the guardianship of his two younger sisters,” Iris told her. “Perhaps he is finding it difficult without a female influence in the house.” As she said it, though, she could only think that the future Lady Kenworthy would be thrust into quite a challenging position. Hadn’t he said that one of his younger sisters was already eighteen? Old enough so that she would likely not appreciate guidance from her brother’s new wife.
“A sensible man,” Mrs. Smythe-Smith mused. “It does him credit that he can recognize when he requires help. Although one can only wonder why he did not do so years earlier.”
Iris nodded.
“We can only speculate upon the condition of his estate if his father was as much a spendthrift as rumored. I do hope he does not think you have a grand dowry.”
“Mama,” Iris said with a sigh. She didn’t want to talk about this. Not now, at least.
“He wouldn’t be the first to make that error,” Mrs. Smythe-Smith said blithely. “With all of our connections to the aristocracy—close connections, mind you—people do seem to think we have more than we do.”
Wisely, Iris held her tongue. When her mother was pontificating on a topic of social importance, it was best not to interrupt.
“We ran into this with Rose, you know. Somehow it got about that she had fifteen thousand. Can you imagine?”
Iris could not.
“Perhaps if we’d had but one daughter,” her mother said. “But with five!” She let out a little laugh, the sort that sounded of disbelief and wishful thinking. “We shall be lucky if your brother inherits anything by the time we get all of you married off.”
“I’m sure John will be very comfortable,” Iris said. Her only brother was three years younger than Daisy and still away at school.
“If he’s lucky, he shall find a girl with fifteen thousand,” her mother said with a caustic laugh. She stood abruptly. “Well. We can sit here all morning speculating over Sir Richard’s motives or we can get on with the day.” She glanced at the clock on her vanity. “I don’t suppose he mentioned when he might arrive?”
Iris shook her head.
“You should make sure you’re ready, then. It will not do to keep him waiting. I know that some women think it best not to appear eager, but you know that I think it’s rude.”
A knock at the door forestalled Iris’s exit, and they both looked up to see a housemaid in the doorway. “Begging your pardon, milady,” she said. “But Lady Sarah is in the drawing room.”
“Ah, well, that’s a pleasant surprise,” Mrs. Smythe-Smith said. “I’m sure she’s here to see you, Iris. Run along.”
Iris headed downstairs to greet her cousin, Lady Sarah Prentice, née Lady Sarah Pleinsworth. Sarah’s mother and Iris’s father were siblings, and as they were reasonably close in age, so were their children.
Sarah and Iris were but six months apart and had always been friendly, but they had grown closer since Sarah’s marriage to Lord Hugh Prentice the previous year. They had another cousin who was also their age, but Honoria spent most of her time with her husband in Cambridgeshire, whereas both Sarah and Iris lived in London.
When Iris reached the drawing room, Sarah was sitting on the green sofa, leafing through Pride and Prejudice, which Iris’s mother had obviously left there the day before.
“Have you read this?” Sarah asked without preamble.
“Several times. It’s lovely to see you, too.”
Sarah pulled a face. “We all must have someone with whom we need not stand on ceremony.”
“I tease,” Iris said.
Sarah glanced at the door. “Is Daisy about?”
“I’m sure she’s making herself scarce. She still hasn’t forgiven you for threatening to run her through with her own violin bow before the musicale.”
“Oh, that wasn’t a threat. It was an honest attempt. That girl is lucky she has good reflexes.”
Iris laughed. “To what do I owe this visit? Or are you simply starved for my sparkling company?”
Sarah leaned forward, her dark eyes gleaming. “I think you know why I’m here.”
Iris knew exactly what she meant, but nonetheless, she leaned forward, meeting her cousin’s gaze dead-on. “Illuminate me.”
“Sir Richard Kenworthy?”
“What about him?”
“I saw him chase after you at the musicale.”
“He did not chase after me.”
“Oh, yes, he did. It was all my mother could talk about afterward.”
“I find that difficult to believe.”
Sarah shrugged. “I’m afraid you’re in a very sticky spot, dear cousin. With me married and none of my sisters old enough to be out, my mother has determined to fix all of her energies on you.”
“Dear heavens,” Iris remarked, with no sarcasm whatsoever. Her aunt Charlotte took her duties as a matchmaking mother very seriously.
“Not to mention . . .” Sarah went on, her words laced with great drama. “What happened at the Mottram ball? I did not attend, but clearly I should have done.”
“Nothing happened.” Iris fixed her best what-nonsense! expression upon her face. “If you refer to Sir Richard, I simply danced with him.”
“According to Marigold—”
“When did you speak with Marigold?”
Sarah flicked a hand in the air. “It doesn’t matter.”
“But Marigold wasn’t even there last night!”