“I did speak to your aunt about him, though,” her mother continued, not bothering to clarify which aunt. Iris supposed it didn’t really matter; they all tended to be equally good sources of gossip. “She said that he came into the baronetcy some years ago.”

Iris nodded. She knew as much.

“His father lived beyond his means.” Mrs. Smythe-Smith’s mouth pinched disapprovingly.

Which likely made Sir Richard a fortune hunter.

“But,” Iris’s mother mused, “that does not seem to be the case with the son.”

A well-principled fortune hunter, then. He had not accrued his own debts; he’d merely had the misfortune of inheriting them.

“He is clearly looking for a wife,” Mrs. Smythe-Smith continued. “There is no other reason a gentleman of his age would return to town after an absence of several years.”

“He has the guardianship of his two younger sisters,” Iris told her. “Perhaps he is finding it difficult without a female influence in the house.” As she said it, though, she could only think that the future Lady Kenworthy would be thrust into quite a challenging position. Hadn’t he said that one of his younger sisters was already eighteen? Old enough so that she would likely not appreciate guidance from her brother’s new wife.

“A sensible man,” Mrs. Smythe-Smith mused. “It does him credit that he can recognize when he requires help. Although one can only wonder why he did not do so years earlier.”

Iris nodded.

“We can only speculate upon the condition of his estate if his father was as much a spendthrift as rumored. I do hope he does not think you have a grand dowry.”

“Mama,” Iris said with a sigh. She didn’t want to talk about this. Not now, at least.

“He wouldn’t be the first to make that error,” Mrs. Smythe-Smith said blithely. “With all of our connections to the aristocracy—close connections, mind you—people do seem to think we have more than we do.”

Wisely, Iris held her tongue. When her mother was pontificating on a topic of social importance, it was best not to interrupt.

“We ran into this with Rose, you know. Somehow it got about that she had fifteen thousand. Can you imagine?”

Iris could not.

“Perhaps if we’d had but one daughter,” her mother said. “But with five!” She let out a little laugh, the sort that sounded of disbelief and wishful thinking. “We shall be lucky if your brother inherits anything by the time we get all of you married off.”

“I’m sure John will be very comfortable,” Iris said. Her only brother was three years younger than Daisy and still away at school.