“He’s dead,” he replied.
“Oh.” Iris felt as if she’d been punched. “Oh.” She looked at Fleur. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m not,” Richard said.
Iris’s eyes widened with shock.
“His name was William Parnell,” he spat. “He was a bastard. Always has been.”
“What happened?” Iris asked, not sure that she wanted to know.
Richard glanced over at her with an arched brow. “He fell over the side of a balcony, drunk and waving a pistol. It’s a miracle no one was shot.”
“Were you there?” Iris whispered. Because she had the most awful feeling he might have had something to do with it.
“Of course not.” He looked at her with a disgusted expression. “There were a dozen witnesses. Including three prostitutes.”
Iris swallowed uncomfortably.
Richard’s face was a ravaged mask as he said, “I tell you this only so you will know what sort of man he was.”
Iris nodded dumbly. She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know what to feel. After a few moments, she turned to Fleur—her new sister, she reminded herself—and took her hands. “I’m so sorry.” She swallowed, keeping her voice careful and soft. “Did he hurt you?”
Fleur turned away. “It was not like that.”
Richard lurched forward. “Do you mean to tell me you let—”
“Stop!” Iris cried out, yanking him back. “There is nothing to be gained by making accusations.”
Richard gave a curt nod, but he and Fleur continued to watch each other warily.
Iris swallowed. She hated to be insensitive, but she had no idea how far along Fleur was—her dress was loose enough to conceal an early pregnancy—and she rather thought they hadn’t many moments to spare.
“Is there another gentleman who will marry her?” she asked. “Someone who—”
“I’m not going to marry a stranger,” Fleur said hotly.
I did. The words came unbidden to Iris’s mind. Unbidden, but undeniably true.
Richard’s eyes made a disdainful roll. “I haven’t the money to buy her a husband, in any case.”
“Surely you could find someone—”
“Willing to take her babe as his heir, should it be a boy? That takes a hefty bribe indeed.”
“And yet you’re prepared to do it,” she stated.
Richard flinched, but he said, “The child will be my niece or nephew.”
“But not yours!” Iris turned away, hugging her arms to her body. “And not mine.”
“You cannot love a child not of your body?” His voice was low, accusing.
“Of course I can. But this is deceptive. It’s wrong. You know it is!”
“I wish you luck convincing him of that,” Fleur said.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, be quiet!” Iris snapped. “Can’t you see I’m trying to help you?”
Fleur lurched back, startled by Iris’s display of temper.
“What will you do when we have a boy,” Iris asked Richard, “and your son—your firstborn son—cannot inherit Maycliffe because you have already given it away?”
Richard said nothing, his lips pressed so tightly together they were nearly gone white.
“You would deny your own child his birthright?” Iris pressed.
“I will make arrangements,” he said stiffly.
“There are no arrangements that can be made,” Iris cried. “You cannot have thought this through. If you claim her son as ours, you cannot make a younger child your heir. You—”
“Maycliffe is not entailed,” Richard reminded her.
Iris drew an angry breath. “That’s even worse. You would allow Fleur’s son to believe he is your firstborn and then hand Maycliffe to his younger brother?”
“Of course not,” Richard nearly hissed. “What sort of man do you think I am?”
“Honestly? I don’t know.”
He recoiled, but he continued speaking. “I will divide the property in two if necessary.”
“Oh, that will be fair,” Iris drawled. “One child will get the house and the other the orangery. No one is going to feel slighted at that.”
“For the love of God,” Richard exploded, “will you just shut up?”
Iris gasped, flinching at his tone.
“I shouldn’t have said that if I were you,” Fleur said.
Richard snarled something at his sister; Iris didn’t know what, but Fleur took a step back, and all three of them hung frozen in an uneasy tableau until Richard drew a loud breath, and said in an emotionless voice, “We will all travel to Scotland next week. To visit cousins.”