“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!”
“She heard it from Susan.”
Iris sat back. “Good Lord, we have too many cousins.”
“I know. Really. But back to the matter at hand. Marigold said that Susan said that you were practically the belle of the ball.”
“That is an exaggeration beyond compare.”
Sarah jabbed her index finger toward Iris with the speed of a practiced interrogator. “Do you deny that you danced every dance?”
“I do deny it.” She had sat out quite a few before Sir Richard had arrived.
Sarah paused, blinked, then frowned. “It’s not like Marigold to get her gossip wrong.”
“I danced more than I usually do,” Iris allowed, “but certainly not every dance.”
“Hmmm.”
Iris eyed her cousin with considerable suspicion. It never boded well when Sarah looked to be in deep thought.
“I think I know what happened,” Sarah said.
“Pray, enlighten me.”
“You danced with Sir Richard,” Sarah went on, “and then you spent an hour with him in private conversation.”
“It wasn’t an hour, and how do you know this?”
“I know things,” Sarah said flippantly. “It’s best not to inquire how. Or why.”
“How does Hugh live with you?” Iris asked to the room at large.
“He does very well, thank you.” Sarah grinned. “But back to last night. However much time you spent in the company of the exceedingly handsome Sir Richard—no, don’t interrupt, I saw him myself at the musicale, he’s quite pleasing to the eye—it left you feeling . . .”
She stopped then, and did that odd thing with her mouth she did whenever she was trying to think of something. She sort of moved her lower jaw to one side so that her teeth no longer lined up, and her lips did a funny little twist. Iris had always found it disconcerting.
Sarah frowned. “It left you feeling . . .”
“Feeling what?” Iris finally asked.
“I’m trying to think of the right word.”
Iris stood. “I’ll ring for tea.”
“Breathless!” Sarah finally exclaimed. “You felt breathless. And all aglow.”
Iris rolled her eyes as she gave the bellpull a stiff yank. “You need to find a hobby.”
“And when a woman feels all aglow, she looks all aglow,” Sarah continued.