The Secrets of Sir Richard Kenworthy
“Yes, it is just as I said,” Daisy exclaimed. “The sun is shining uncommonly well. Is it warm outside, Mr. Bevelstoke? I have not yet left the house.”
“Tolerably warm,” Winston replied before shooting Richard a quick but lethal glance. They were even now, or perhaps he was in Winston’s debt. The Smythe-Smith musicale could not be nearly as trying as an hour on the arm of Miss Daisy. And they both knew that Winston would not be the one escorting Iris.
“I was surprised to see you so soon after the concert,” Iris said once they were outside and headed toward the park.
“And I am surprised to hear you say so,” he countered. “Surely I gave no impression of disinterest.”
Her eyes widened. Normally he would not be so forward, but he did not have time for a subtle courtship.
“I am not certain,” she said carefully, “what I have done to earn your regard.”
“Nothing,” he admitted. “But then, regard is not always earned.”
“Is it not?” She sounded startled.
“Not in its immediacy.” He smiled down at her, pleased that the brim of her bonnet was shallow enough for him to see her face. “Isn’t that the purpose of courtship? To determine whether an initial regard is worthy?”
“I believe what you call regard, I call attraction.”
He chuckled. “You are of course correct. Please accept my apologies and my clarification.”
“Then we are agreed. I do not have your regard.”
“But you do hold attraction,” he murmured daringly.
Her cheeks colored, and he realized that when Iris Smythe-Smith blushed, she did so with every inch of her skin. “You know that’s not what I meant,” she muttered.
“You have my regard,” he said firmly. “If you had not earned it last night, you have done so this morning.”
Her eyes took on a bewildered expression, and she gave her head a little shake before turning her gaze back to the path ahead.
“I have never been a man who values stupidity in females,” he said lightly, almost as if he was remarking on a shop display.
“You hardly know me well enough to measure my intelligence.”
“I can measure it well enough to know you’re not stupid. Whether you can speak German and do sums in your head I can learn soon enough.”
She looked as if she was trying not to smile, then she said, “Yes to one, no to the other.”
“German?”
“No, sums.”
“Pity, that.” He gave her a knowing look. “The language would come in so handy with the royal family.”
She laughed. “I believe they all speak English by now.”
“Yes, but they keep marrying Germans, don’t they?”
“More to the point,” Iris said, “I don’t expect an audience with the King any time in the near future.”
Richard chuckled, enjoying her quick wit. “There is always little Princess Victoria.”
“Who likely doesn’t speak English,” Iris conceded. “Her mother certainly doesn’t.”
“You’ve met?” he asked dryly.
“Of course not.” She gave him a bit of a look, and he had a feeling that had they known each other better, she might have accompanied it with a friendly elbow in the ribs. “Very well, I am convinced. I must find a German tutor posthaste.”
“Have you an aptitude for languages?” he inquired.
“No, but we were all forced to study French until Mama declared it unpatriotic.”
“Still?” Good gracious, the war had been over for nearly a decade.
Iris gave him a pert look. “She can hold a grudge.”
“Remind me not to cross her.”
“I wouldn’t recommend it,” she murmured distractedly. Her head tilted just a bit to the side, and she grimaced. “I fear we might need to save Mr. Bevelstoke.”
Richard looked over toward Winston, who was about twenty feet ahead of them on the path. Daisy was clutching his arm and talking with such vigor that her blond curls were indeed bouncing about.
Winston was putting on a good front, but he looked vaguely ill.
“I love Daisy,” Iris said with a sigh, “but she’s an acquired taste. Oh, Mr. Bevelstoke!” With that, she detached herself from Richard’s arm and hastened toward Winston and her sister. Richard picked up the pace and followed.
“I meant to ask you,” he heard Iris say, “what is your opinion of the Treaty of St. Petersburg?”
Winston looked at her as if she were speaking another language. German, perhaps.
“It was in yesterday’s newspaper,” Iris continued. “Surely you read about it.”
“Of course,” Winston said, quite clearly lying.
Iris smiled brightly, turning away from her sister’s scowl. “It does sound as if it’s been worked out to everyone’s satisfaction. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Er . . . yes,” Winston said, with rising enthusiasm. “Yes, indeed.” He understood what Iris was about, even if he had no idea what she was saying. “Quite right.”
“What are you talking about?” Daisy demanded.
“The Treaty of St. Petersburg,” Iris said.
“Yes, you said as much,” Daisy said irritably. “But what is it?”
Iris froze. “Oh, well, it’s, ehrm . . .”
Richard choked down a laugh. Iris didn’t know. She’d jumped into the breach to save Winston from her sister, but she didn’t know the answer to her own question.