Setting his glass down, he walked over to the window and peered out for a closer look. It was indeed his aunt’s carriage. He closed his eyes for a moment. He wasn’t sure why they were back early, but there was nothing he could do about it now.

It was time.

He could not decide whether to greet them alone or with Iris, but in the end it did not matter; Iris was reading in the drawing room, and she called out to him as he walked by.

“Is that a carriage in the drive?”

“My sisters,” he confirmed.

“Oh.”

That’s all she said. Oh. He had a feeling she’d soon be saying quite a bit more.

He paused in the doorway, watching as she slowly set her book down. She’d been curled on the blue sofa with her legs tucked under her, and she had to pause to put her feet back in her slippers before standing.

“Do I look all right?” she asked, smoothing her dress.

“Of course,” he said distractedly.

Her lips pressed together.

“You look lovely,” he said, taking in her green-striped frock and softly pinned hair. “Forgive me. My mind is elsewhere.”

She seemed to accept his explanation and took his arm when he offered it. She did not quite meet his eyes. They had not spoken of what had happened in her room the two nights before, and it appeared they were not going to do so anytime soon.

When Iris had come down for breakfast the previous morning he had been sure their conversation would be stilted, if they spoke at all. But as always, she had surprised him. Or maybe he had surprised himself. Whatever the case, they had spoken of the weather, and of the book Iris was reading, and a problem the Burnhams were having with flooding in one of their fields. It had all been very smooth.

But it had not felt right.

When they spoke, it felt almost . . . careful. As long as they restricted their conversation to trivialities, they could pretend that nothing had changed. They both seemed to recognize that eventually they would run out of impersonal topics, and so they measured their words, doling them out like treasures.

But that was all about to end.

“I did not think they were expected until Thursday,” Iris said, allowing him to lead her from the room.

“Nor did I.”

“Why do you sound so grim?” she asked, after a brief pause.

Grim did not even begin to cover it. “We should wait for them in the drive,” he said.

She nodded, ignoring the fact that he did not answer her question, and they headed out the front door. Cresswell was already standing at attention in the drive, along with Mrs. Hopkins and the two footmen. Richard and Iris took their places just as the carriage pulled up behind his aunt’s prized team of dappled grays.