“I would have failed.”
Fleur’s mouth tightened. Or maybe it trembled. Iris could not tell what she was feeling.
Richard’s throat worked, and several seconds passed before he spoke. “Do you think I am proud of my behavior? I have spent every moment of the last few years trying to make up for it. Father might as well have been gone after Mother died. And then I—” He swore, raking his hand through his hair as he turned away. When he continued, his voice was more even. “I am constantly trying to be a better man than I was, a better man than he was.”
Iris felt her eyes go wide.
“I feel so bloody disloyal, and—” Richard stopped, quite suddenly.
Iris went still. Fleur, too. It was almost as if Richard’s lack of movement was a contagious thing, and they all stood there, tense and waiting.
“This is not about Father,” Richard finally said. “And it’s not about me, either.”
“Precisely why it should be my decision,” Fleur said sharply.
Oh, Fleur, Iris thought with sigh. She’d pulled out her claws just when things were starting to settle down.
Richard looked over at Iris, saw her dejected posture, and then turned back to his sister with furious eyes. “Now look what you’ve done,” he snapped.
“Me?” Fleur shrieked.
“Yes, you. Your behavior has been unfathomably selfish. Don’t you realized I might have to give Maycliffe to the son of Willam Parnell? Have you any idea how abhorrent I find that?”
“You said you would love the child,” Iris said quietly, “regardless of his parentage.”
“I will,” Richard practically exploded. “But that doesn’t mean it’s easy. And she”—he flung his arm toward Fleur—“is not helping.”
“I did not ask this of you!” Fleur cried. Her voice was shaking, but it didn’t sound like rage anymore. She sounded, Iris realized, like a woman about to shatter.
“That’s enough, Richard,” Iris suddenly announced.
He turned to her with irritated bewilderment. “What?”
Iris put her arm around Fleur. “She needs to lie down.”
Fleur let out a few wretched gasps and then crumpled against Iris’s side, sobbing.
Richard looked dumbstruck. “She was just yelling at me,” he said to no one in particular. And then to Fleur, “You were just yelling at me.”
“Go away,” Fleur sobbed, her words echoing through Iris’s body.
Richard stared at the two of them for a long moment, then cursed under his breath. “Now you’re on her side, I see.”
“There aren’t any sides,” Iris said, despite the fact that she had no idea which of them he meant was on the other’s side. “Don’t you understand? This is a horrible situation. For everyone. No one will emerge with heart intact.”
Their eyes met; no, their eyes clashed, and Richard finally turned on his heel and stalked away. Iris watched him disappear over the rise, then let out her breath in a long, shaky whoosh.
“Are you all right?” she asked Fleur, who was still hiccuping in her arms. “No, don’t answer that. Of course you’re not all right. None of us is.”
“Why won’t he listen to me?” Fleur whispered.
“He believes that he is acting in your best interest.”
“But he’s not.”
Iris sucked in her breath, trying to keep her voice even as she said, “He’s certainly not acting in his own best interest.”
Fleur pulled back and looked up at her. “Nor yours.”
“Certainly not mine,” Iris said, her agreement caustic at best.
Fleur’s mouth flattened into a sullen line. “He does not understand me.”
“I don’t either,” Iris admitted.
Fleur touched her hand to her flat abdomen. “I love—I’m sorry, I loved the father. The baby is born of that love. I can’t just give him up.”
“You loved him?” Iris asked. How was that possible? If even half of what Richard said was true, William Parnell had been a terrible person.
Fleur looked toward her feet, mumbling, “It is difficult to explain.”
Iris just shook her head. “Don’t even try. Come, shall we head back to the house?”
Fleur nodded, and they began walking. After a few minutes she said, completely without fervor, “I still hate you, you know.”
“I know,” Iris said. She reached out and gave the younger girl’s hand a squeeze. “I still hate you, too, sometimes.”