“Are you all right?” she asked Fleur, who was still hiccuping in her arms. “No, don’t answer that. Of course you’re not all right. None of us is.”

“Why won’t he listen to me?” Fleur whispered.

“He believes that he is acting in your best interest.”

“But he’s not.”

Iris sucked in her breath, trying to keep her voice even as she said, “He’s certainly not acting in his own best interest.”

Fleur pulled back and looked up at her. “Nor yours.”

“Certainly not mine,” Iris said, her agreement caustic at best.

Fleur’s mouth flattened into a sullen line. “He does not understand me.”

“I don’t either,” Iris admitted.

Fleur touched her hand to her flat abdomen. “I love—I’m sorry, I loved the father. The baby is born of that love. I can’t just give him up.”

“You loved him?” Iris asked. How was that possible? If even half of what Richard said was true, William Parnell had been a terrible person.

Fleur looked toward her feet, mumbling, “It is difficult to explain.”

Iris just shook her head. “Don’t even try. Come, shall we head back to the house?”

Fleur nodded, and they began walking. After a few minutes she said, completely without fervor, “I still hate you, you know.”

“I know,” Iris said. She reached out and gave the younger girl’s hand a squeeze. “I still hate you, too, sometimes.”

Fleur looked over at her with an almost hopeful expression. “You do?”

“Sometimes.” Iris reached down and plucked a blade of grass. She put it between her thumbs, trying to make a whistle. “I don’t really want to have your baby, you know.”

“I can’t imagine why you would.”

They resumed walking, Iris taking about six steps before saying, “You’re not going to ask me why I’m doing it?”

Fleur shrugged. “Doesn’t really matter, does it?”

Iris thought about that for a moment. “No, I suppose not.”

“I know you mean well.”

Iris nodded absently, keeping the pace up the hill.

“Aren’t you going to return the sentiment?” Fleur asked.

Iris turned her head sharply. “That you mean well?”

Fleur’s lips pressed peevishly together.

“I suppose you do,” Iris finally capitulated. “I will confess I find your motives utterly baffling, but I suppose you mean well.”

“I don’t want to marry a stranger.”

“I did.”

Fleur stopped in her tracks.

“Well, almost one, anyway,” Iris allowed.

“You weren’t pregnant with another man’s child.”

Good heavens, the girl was exasperating. “No one is saying you should deceive your bridegroom,” Iris told her. “I’m sure there is someone who will leap at the chance to align himself with Maycliffe.”

“And I shall be made to feel grateful for the rest of my life,” Fleur said bitterly. “Have you considered that?”

“No,” Iris said quietly. “I had not.”