“But she’s not going to do that,” Marie-Claire pointed out. “She’s giving the baby to you.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” Iris muttered. Fleur had never actually come out and agreed to Richard’s scheme. He might think her silence was assent, but Iris was not so trusting.

Marie-Claire sighed. “I’m sure she realized that she can’t possibly marry John Burnham, no matter how strongly she might feel about him. I don’t mean to sound unsympathetic. Truly, I don’t. But you’re not from here, Iris. You don’t know how it is. Fleur is a Kenworthy. We have been the main landholding family of Flixton for centuries. Do you have any idea what sort of scandal would ensue if she married a local farmer?”

“It can’t be worse than the alternative,” Iris pointed out.

“Obviously she thinks so,” Marie-Claire said. “And hers is the opinion that matters, don’t you think?”

Iris stared at her for a long moment, then said, “You’re right,” and turned and stalked away. Heaven help Fleur when she found her.

“Wait!” Marie-Claire yelled, hitching up her skirts so that she could catch up. “Where are you going?”

“Where do you think?”

“I don’t know.” Marie-Claire sounded almost sarcastic, which was enough to give Iris pause. When she glanced over her shoulder, Marie-Claire asked, “Are you going to Fleur or to Richard?”

Now Iris really did pause. It had not even occurred to her to take this information straight to Richard. But perhaps it should have done. He was her husband. Should not her first priority lie with him?

It should . . . but this was Fleur’s secret to reveal, not hers.

“Well?” Marie-Claire demanded.

“Fleur,” Iris said curtly. But if Fleur didn’t do the right thing and tell Richard the truth, Iris would be bloody well happy to do it for her.

“Really?” Marie-Claire said. “I thought surely you’d go straight to Richard.”

“Then why did you ask?” Iris snapped, resuming her trek up the hill.

Marie-Claire ignored this. “Fleur won’t tell you anything, you know.”

Iris stopped for just long enough to spear Marie-Claire with a raging glare. “You did.”

Marie-Claire froze. “You’re not going to tell her I told you, are you?”

Iris turned and stared in disbelief. Then she said a word she’d never uttered before and resumed her strides.

“Iris!” Marie-Claire yelled, running up alongside her. “She’ll kill me!”

“Really? That’s what you’re worried about?”

Marie-Claire slumped. “You’re right.” And then she said it again. “You’re right.”

“Damned right I am,” Iris said under her breath. She marched on. It was amazing how empowering a bit of profanity could be.

“What will you say to her?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe ‘Are you out of your bloody mind?’”

Marie-Claire’s mouth fell open. And then, skipping forward to catch up, she asked, “Can I watch?”