“It appears we won’t have to stage an interruption,” Richard said as they closed the gap between the two couples.

“I have invited Mr. Bevelstoke to the poetry reading at the Pleinsworths’ next week,” Daisy said. “Do insist that he attend.”

Iris stared at her sister in horror before turning to Winston. “I . . . insist that you attend?”

Daisy gave a petulant snort at her sister’s lack of resolve and turned back to Winston. “You must attend, Mr. Bevelstoke. You simply must. It is sure to be uplifting. Poetry always is.”

“No,” Iris said, with a pained frown, “it’s really not.”

“Of course we will be there,” Richard announced.

Winston’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

“We wouldn’t miss it,” Richard assured Daisy.

“The Pleinsworths are our cousins,” Iris said with a pointed look. “You might recall Harriet. She played violin—”

“Second violin,” Daisy cut in.

“—in the concert last night.”

Richard swallowed. She could only be talking about the one who could not read music. Still, there was no reason to think this boded ill for a poetry reading.

“Harriet’s a bore,” Daisy said, “but her younger sisters are darling.”

“I like Harriet,” Iris said firmly. “I like her a great deal.”

“Then I am certain it will be a most pleasant evening,” Richard said.

Daisy beamed and looped her arm once again through Winston’s, leading the way back to the Cumberland Gate through which they’d entered. Richard followed with Iris, setting their pace more slowly so that they might be able to speak privately.

“If I were to call upon you tomorrow,” he asked in a quiet voice, “would you be at home?”

She did not look at him, which was a pity, because he would have liked to see her blush again.

“I would,” she whispered.

That was the moment he decided. He was going to marry Iris Smythe-Smith.

Chapter Four

Later that evening

A London ballroom

“THEY’RE NOT HERE yet,” Daisy said.

Iris pretended to smile. “I know.”

“I’ve been watching the door.”

“I know.”

Daisy fussed with the lace on her minty green dress. “I do hope Mr. Bevelstoke likes my gown.”

“I do not see how he could find it anything less than charming,” Iris said quite honestly. Daisy drove her utterly mad most of the time, and Iris did not always have kind words for her younger sister, but she was willing to give compliments when they were deserved.

Daisy was lovely. She had always been lovely, with her bright golden curls and rosebud mouth. Their coloring really wasn’t too terribly different, but what shone like gold on Daisy left Iris rather bleached and washed-out.

Her nanny had once said that Iris could vanish in a bucket of milk, and really, she wasn’t too far off the mark.

“You shouldn’t have worn that color,” Daisy said.