“She’s four years younger than I am,” Iris protested. “Surely there is time enough for her to find a gentleman of her own.” And then, in a very small voice, she said, “It’s my turn.”

She liked Sir Richard, even if she did not quite trust him. There was something so odd, so unexpected about his attentions toward her. He had quite clearly sought an introduction at the musicale; Iris could not recall the last time that had happened. And then to call upon her the very next day, and to spend so much time at her side at the Mottram ball . . . It was unprecedented.

She did not believe his intentions were less than honorable; she liked to think herself a good judge of character, and whatever his aims, her ruination was not one of them. But nor could she believe that he had been struck by a grand passion. If she were the sort of female who inspired men to fall in love at first sight, surely someone else would have done so by now.

But there could be no harm in seeing him again. He had asked her mother for permission to call upon her, and he had treated her with every courtesy. It was all very proper, and very flattering, and if she’d gone to sleep that night with a picture of him in her mind, surely there was nothing uncommon in that. He was a handsome man.

“Are you certain he does not plan to bring Mr. Bevelstoke with him?” her mother asked.

“Quite. And I shall be honest, I do not think Mr. Bevelstoke has any interest in Daisy.”

“No, I suppose not. She’s far too young for him. Very well, you may take Nettie. She did the same for your sisters on several occasions so she’ll know what to do.”

“Oh, thank you, Mama! Thank you so much!” Surprising even herself, Iris threw her arms around her mother and hugged her. It lasted but a second before they both stiffened and stepped back; theirs had never been a demonstrative relationship.

“I’m sure this will all amount to nothing,” Iris said, because it would not do to get her hopes up anywhere but in her own mind. “But it will certainly go nowhere with Daisy in attendance.”

“I do wish we knew a little more about him,” her mother said with a frown. “He hasn’t been to town for several years now.”

“Were you acquainted with him when Marigold was out?” Iris asked. “Or Rose or Lavender?”

“I believe he was in town when Rose made her debut,” her mother said, referring to Iris’s eldest sister, “but we did not move in the same circles.”

Iris wasn’t sure what to make of that.

“He was young,” her mother said with a flip of her hand. “Matrimony was not on his mind.”

In other words, Iris thought wryly, he’d been a bit wild.