The Secrets of Sir Richard Kenworthy

“I don’t envy you, Brother.” Marie-Claire looked at Iris. “Or you.”

Iris started. She’d almost thought they’d forgotten her presence. “What is she talking about?” she asked Richard.

“Nothing,” he bit off.

Well, that was clearly a lie.

“Or me, really,” Marie-Claire continued. “I’m the one who has to share a room with her.” She groaned dramatically. “It’s going to be a long year.”

“Not now, Marie-Claire,” Richard warned.

The siblings shared a look that Iris could not even begin to interpret. They had the same eyes, she realized, the same way of narrowing them to make a point. Fleur, too, although hers had a greenish hue, where Richard’s and Marie-Claire’s were dark and brown.

“You have lovely hair,” Marie-Claire said suddenly.

“Thank you,” Iris said, trying not to blink at the sharp change of subject. “So do you.”

Marie-Claire let out a little laugh. “No I don’t, but it’s very kind of you to say so.”

“But it’s just like your brother’s,” Iris said, darting a mortified look at Richard when she realized what she’d said. He was looking at her strangely, as if he didn’t know what to make of her accidental compliment.

“You must be weary after your journey,” Iris said, trying to salvage the moment. “Would you like to rest?”

“Er . . . yes. I suppose so,” Marie-Claire said, “although I’m not sure my bedchamber will be very restful just now.”

“I’ll talk to her,” Richard said grimly.

“Now?” Iris asked. She almost suggested that he wait until Fleur had had time to calm down, but what did she know? She hadn’t a clue what was happening. A quarter of an hour ago she’d been peacefully reading a novel. Now she felt as if she were living in one.

And she was the only character who did not seem to know the plot.

Richard stared up at the house, his expression stark. Iris watched as his mouth flattened into a hard, forbidding line. “It’s got to be done,” he muttered. Without further farewell, he stalked off into the house, leaving Iris and Marie-Claire alone in the drive.

Iris cleared her throat. This was awkward. She smiled at her new sister, the kind where you can’t quite manage to show your teeth, but it’s not really insincere because truly, you’re trying.

Marie-Claire smiled back in precisely the same way.

“It’s a nice day,” Iris finally said.

Marie-Claire nodded slowly. “Yes.”

“Sunny.”

“Yes.”

Iris realized she was rocking on her feet, up to her toes and back to her heels. She clamped herself back into place. What on earth was she supposed to say to this girl?

But in the end she didn’t have to say anything. Because Marie-Claire turned and looked at her with an expression that Iris greatly feared was pity.

“You don’t know, do you?” the younger girl said softly.

Iris shook her head.

Marie-Claire glanced over her shoulder, staring at absolutely nothing before turning back to Iris. “I’m sorry.”

Then she, too, walked into the house.

And Iris just stood in the drive.

Alone.

“OPEN THE DOOR, FLEUR!”

Richard pounded his fist against the wood, oblivious to the shock reverberating down his arm.

Fleur made no response, not that he’d thought she would.

“Fleur!” he roared.

Nothing.

“I’m not leaving this spot until you open the door,” he growled.

At that he heard footsteps, followed by, “Then I hope you don’t need to use the chamber pot!”

He was going to kill her. Surely no older brother had ever been pushed quite so far.

He took a breath, then let it out in a lengthy exhale. Nothing would come of his bad temper. One of them needed to act like an adult. He flexed his fingers, straight out, then back into fists. The bite of his nails in his palms had a paradoxically calming effect.

Calming. But he was not calm, not by any stretch.

“I cannot help you if you will not speak to me,” he said, his voice tightly controlled.

No response.

He had half a mind to head down to the library, where he could access the secret staircase that led to her room. But knowing Fleur, she would have already thought of that. It wouldn’t be the first time she dragged her vanity table in front of the hidden door to block access. Besides, she’d know what he was about the instant he abandoned his current post.

“Fleur!” he yelled, slamming the door with the flat of his hand. It stung, and he swore viciously. “I will saw off the bloody doorknob!”

Again, nothing.

“I will do it!” he bellowed. “Do not think I won’t!”

Silence.

Richard closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall. He was appalled at what he’d been reduced to, screaming like a madman outside his sister’s bedroom door. He didn’t even want to think about what the servants were saying below-stairs. They had to know something was amiss; no doubt each would have his own lurid theory.

He didn’t care, just as long as no one guessed the truth.

Or rather, what would be the truth.

He hated himself for what had to happen. But what else could he do? When his father had died, he had been entrusted with the care and well-being of his sisters. He was only trying to protect her. And Marie-Claire. Was she really so selfish that she could not see that?

“Richard?”

He nearly jumped a foot. Iris had sneaked up on him while his eyes were closed.