But now, as she watched Fleur Kenworthy disappear into Maycliffe, Richard’s hand still improbably twined with her own, all Iris could think was—Whhaaaaa?

No one moved for at least five seconds. The first to wake up was Mrs. Hopkins, who mumbled something about making sure Fleur’s room was ready before hurrying into the house. Cresswell, too, made a swift and discreet exit, ushering the two footmen along with him.

Iris held herself totally still, her only movement her eyes as they darted back and forth between Richard and Marie-Claire.

What on earth had just happened?

“I’m sorry,” Richard said, releasing her hand. “She is not usually like that.”

Marie-Claire snorted. “It would be more accurate to say she’s not always like that.”

“Marie-Claire,” he snapped.

He looked exhausted, Iris thought. Utterly wrecked.

Marie-Claire crossed her arms over her chest and leveled a dark stare at her brother. “She’s been awful, Richard. Just awful. Even Aunt Milton lost her patience with her.”

Richard turned sharply toward her. “Does she . . .”

Marie-Claire shook her head.

Richard exhaled.

Iris kept watching. And listening. Something strange was going on, some sort of hidden conversation beneath their scowls and shrugs.

“I don’t envy you, Brother.” Marie-Claire looked at Iris. “Or you.”

Iris started. She’d almost thought they’d forgotten her presence. “What is she talking about?” she asked Richard.

“Nothing,” he bit off.

Well, that was clearly a lie.

“Or me, really,” Marie-Claire continued. “I’m the one who has to share a room with her.” She groaned dramatically. “It’s going to be a long year.”

“Not now, Marie-Claire,” Richard warned.

The siblings shared a look that Iris could not even begin to interpret. They had the same eyes, she realized, the same way of narrowing them to make a point. Fleur, too, although hers had a greenish hue, where Richard’s and Marie-Claire’s were dark and brown.

“You have lovely hair,” Marie-Claire said suddenly.

“Thank you,” Iris said, trying not to blink at the sharp change of subject. “So do you.”

Marie-Claire let out a little laugh. “No I don’t, but it’s very kind of you to say so.”

“But it’s just like your brother’s,” Iris said, darting a mortified look at Richard when she realized what she’d said. He was looking at her strangely, as if he didn’t know what to make of her accidental compliment.

“You must be weary after your journey,” Iris said, trying to salvage the moment. “Would you like to rest?”

“Er . . . yes. I suppose so,” Marie-Claire said, “although I’m not sure my bedchamber will be very restful just now.”

“I’ll talk to her,” Richard said grimly.