“I wouldn’t recommend it,” she murmured distractedly. Her head tilted just a bit to the side, and she grimaced. “I fear we might need to save Mr. Bevelstoke.”

Richard looked over toward Winston, who was about twenty feet ahead of them on the path. Daisy was clutching his arm and talking with such vigor that her blond curls were indeed bouncing about.

Winston was putting on a good front, but he looked vaguely ill.

“I love Daisy,” Iris said with a sigh, “but she’s an acquired taste. Oh, Mr. Bevelstoke!” With that, she detached herself from Richard’s arm and hastened toward Winston and her sister. Richard picked up the pace and followed.

“I meant to ask you,” he heard Iris say, “what is your opinion of the Treaty of St. Petersburg?”

Winston looked at her as if she were speaking another language. German, perhaps.

“It was in yesterday’s newspaper,” Iris continued. “Surely you read about it.”

“Of course,” Winston said, quite clearly lying.

Iris smiled brightly, turning away from her sister’s scowl. “It does sound as if it’s been worked out to everyone’s satisfaction. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Er . . . yes,” Winston said, with rising enthusiasm. “Yes, indeed.” He understood what Iris was about, even if he had no idea what she was saying. “Quite right.”

“What are you talking about?” Daisy demanded.

“The Treaty of St. Petersburg,” Iris said.

“Yes, you said as much,” Daisy said irritably. “But what is it?”

Iris froze. “Oh, well, it’s, ehrm . . .”

Richard choked down a laugh. Iris didn’t know. She’d jumped into the breach to save Winston from her sister, but she didn’t know the answer to her own question.

One really couldn’t help but admire her brazenness.

“It’s the agreement, you know,” Iris continued, “between Great Britain and Russia.”

“Indeed,” Winston said helpfully. “A treaty. I believe it was signed in St. Petersburg.”

“It’s quite a relief,” Iris put in. “Don’t you think?”

“Oh, yes,” Winston answered. “We should all sleep more soundly because of it.”

“I’ve never trusted the Russians,” Daisy said with a sniff.

“Well, I don’t know if I’d go that far,” Iris said. She looked over at Richard, but he just shrugged, enjoying himself far too much to intercede.

“My sister almost married a Russian prince,” Winston said offhandedly.

“Did she?” Daisy asked, suddenly aglow.

“Well, no, not really,” Winston admitted. “But he wanted to marry her.”

“Oh, how divine,” Daisy gushed.

“You just said you don’t trust the Russians,” Iris reminded her.

“I didn’t mean royalty,” Daisy said dismissively. “Tell me,” she said to Winston, “was he terribly handsome?”

“I’m not really the best judge of that,” Winston hedged, then offered, “He was very blond, though.”

“Oh, a prince.” Daisy sighed, one fluttery hand coming to rest over her heart. Then her eyes narrowed. “Why on earth didn’t she marry him?”