The door to the carriage was opened, and Richard immediately stepped forward to assist his sisters. Marie-Claire bounced down first, giving his hand a little squeeze as she descended. “She is in a beastly mood,” she said without preamble.

“Wonderful,” Richard muttered.

“You must be Marie-Claire,” Iris said brightly. She was anxious, though. Richard could see it in the way her hands were clasped tightly together in front of her. He’d noticed that she did that to keep herself from bunching the fabric of her dress in her fingers when she was nervous.

Marie-Claire gave a small curtsy. At fourteen she was already taller than Iris, but her face still held the roundness of childhood. “I am. Please forgive us for returning early. Fleur wasn’t feeling well.”

“No?” Iris inquired, peering toward the open carriage door. There was still no sign of Fleur.

Marie-Claire looked over at Richard while Iris wasn’t watching and made a retching motion.

“In the carriage?” he could not help but ask.

“Twice.”

He winced, then stepped up on the stool that had been laid beside the carriage door and peered inside. “Fleur?”

She was huddled in the corner, miserable and pale. She looked like she’d been sick twice in the carriage. Smelled like it, too.

“I’m not talking to you.”

Bloody hell. “So it’s like this, then.”

She turned away, her dark hair obscuring her face. “I would prefer to have one of the footmen assist me from the carriage.”

Richard pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to stave off the raging headache he knew would soon have his skull in a vise. He and Fleur had been at odds about this for well over a month. There was only one acceptable solution. He knew this, and it infuriated him that she refused to accept what must be done.

He sighed wearily. “For the love of God, Fleur, put aside your irritation for one minute and let me help you out of the carriage. It smells like a hospital in here.”

“I’m not irritated,” she spat.

“You’re irritating me.”

She drew back at the insult. “I want a footman.”

“You will take my hand,” he ground out.

For a moment he thought she would hurl herself out the opposite door just to vex him, but she must have retained at least an ounce of the sense she’d once displayed, because she looked up, and snarled, “Fine.” With a purposeful lack of grace, she slapped her hand onto his and allowed him to assist her out of the carriage. Iris and Marie-Claire were standing side by side, pretending not to watch.

“Fleur,” Richard said in a dangerous voice, “I would like to introduce you to your new sister. My wife, Lady Kenworthy.”

Fleur looked at Iris. There was an awful silence.

“It’s lovely to meet you,” Iris said, holding out her hand.

Fleur did not take it.