“So someone might not know while it’s happening?”
“I suppose not.”
Iris caught her lower lip between her teeth, then whispered, “Was it when he first kissed you?”
“Iris!” Sarah smiled in shock and delight. “What a question!”
“It’s not so improper,” Iris said, glancing at a spot on the wall that was decidedly to the left of Sarah’s face.
“Oh, yes it is.” Sarah’s chin drew back in her surprise. “But I love that you asked it.”
That was not what Iris expected her to say. “Why?”
“Because you always seem so . . .” Sarah waved a hand through the air, swirling it about as if that might draw out the correct word. “。 . . untouched by these things.”
“By what things?” Iris asked suspiciously.
“Oh, you know. Emotions. Infatuations. You’re always so calm. Even when you’re furious.”
Iris bristled defensively. “Is there something wrong with that?”
“Of course not. It’s simply who you are. And quite frankly, it’s probably the only reason Daisy has reached the age of seventeen without your killing her. Not that she’ll ever appreciate it.”
Iris couldn’t stop a wry smile. It was nice to know someone appreciated her forbearance with her younger sister.
Sarah narrowed her eyes and leaned forward. “This is about Sir Richard, isn’t it?”
Iris knew there was no point in denying it. “I just think—” She pressed her lips together, almost worried that if she didn’t, a whole string of nonsense would burst forth. “I like him,” she finally admitted. “I don’t know why, but I do.”
“You don’t need to know why.” Sarah squeezed her hand. “It sounds as if he likes you, too.”
“I believe that he does. He’s paid me quite a bit of attention.”
“But . . . ?”
Iris’s eyes met her cousin’s. She should have realized Sarah would hear the silent “but” at the end of the sentence. “But . . . I don’t know,” Iris said. “Something isn’t quite right.”
“Is it possible that you are searching for problems where they do not exist?”
Iris took a long breath and then let it out. “Perhaps. It’s not as if I have anyone with whom to compare.”
“That’s not true. You’ve had suitors.”
“Not many. And none I liked well enough to care if they continued in their attentions.”
Sarah sighed, but she did not argue the point. “Very well. Tell me what seems ‘not quite right,’ as you put it.”
Iris tipped her head to the side, and she looked up, momentarily mesmerized by the way the sunlight danced upon the crystal chandelier. “I think he likes me too well,” she finally said.
Sarah let out a loud bark of laughter. “That’s what is not quite right? Iris, do you have any idea how many—”
“Stop,” Iris interrupted. “Hear me out. This is my third season in London, and while I admit I have not been the most eager of debutantes, I have never been the subject of such warm attentions.”
Sarah opened her mouth to speak, but Iris held up her hand to forestall her. “It’s not even that they are so warm . . .” She felt herself blushing now. What a stupid choice of words. “It’s that they were so instant.”
“Instant?”
“Yes. You probably did not notice him at the musicale, as you were facing away from much of the audience.”
“I was trying to jump into the pianoforte and close the lid is what you mean,” Sarah joked.
“Quite right,” Iris said with a little laugh. Of all her cousins, Sarah was the one who most shared Iris’s loathing of the musicale.
“I’m sorry,” Sarah said. “I couldn’t resist. Pray, continue.”
Iris pursed her lips, remembering. “He was watching me the entire time,” she said.
“Maybe he found you beautiful.”
“Sarah,” Iris said frankly, “no one finds me beautiful. At least not at first glance.”
“That’s not true!”
“You know it is. It’s fine. I promise.”
Sarah looked unconvinced.
“I know I am not ugly,” Iris assured her. “But it’s as Daisy said—”
“Oh no,” Sarah cut in forcefully, “don’t quote Daisy.”
“No,” Iris said, trying to be fair. “Occasionally she says something that makes sense. I lack color.”