“Please stop interrupting me,” her mother practically begged.

Iris closed her mouth instantly. Her mother never begged.

“What I am trying to say,” Mrs. Smythe-Smith said in a tight voice, “is that your husband will likely wish to lie with you a great deal. At least in the early days of your marriage.”

Iris swallowed. “I see.”

“Well,” her mother said briskly. She practically jolted to her feet. “We have much to do today.”

Iris nodded. The conversation was clearly over.

“Your sisters will wish to help you dress, I’m sure.”

Iris gave a wobbly smile. It would be nice to have them all in one place. Rose lived the farthest away, in the west of Gloucestershire, but even with only a few days’ notice, she had had plenty of time to make it to London for the wedding.

Yorkshire was so much farther away than Gloucestershire.

Her mother departed, but not five minutes later there was another knock on the door.

“Enter,” Iris called out wearily.

It was Sarah, wearing a furtive expression and her best morning frock. “Oh, thank goodness, you’re alone.”

Iris immediately perked up. “What is it?”

Sarah glanced back into the hall and then shut the door behind her. “Has your mother been in to see you?”

Iris groaned.

“So she has.”

“I would rather not talk about it.”

“No, that’s why I’m here. Well, not to talk about your mother’s advice. I’m sure I don’t want to know what she said. If it was anything like my mother . . .” Sarah shuddered, then got hold of herself. “Listen to me. Whatever your mother told you about your relations with your husband, ignore it.”

“Everything?” Iris asked doubtfully. “She can’t have been completely wrong.”

Sarah let out a little laugh and came to sit by her on the bed. “No, of course not. She does have six children. What I mean is . . . well, did she tell you it was dreadful?”

“Not in so many words, but it did sound rather awkward.”

“I’m sure it can be, if you don’t love your husband.”

“I don’t love my husband,” Iris said plainly.

Sarah sighed, and her voice lost some of its authority. “Do you at least like him?”

“Yes, of course.” Iris thought about the man who would, in just a few short hours, be her husband. She might not be able to say that she loved him, but to be fair, there was nothing really wrong with him. He had a lovely smile, and thus far, he had treated her with the utmost respect. But she hardly knew him. “I might grow to love him,” she said, wishing she spoke with more authority. “I hope I do.”

“Well, that’s a start.” Sarah pressed her lips together in thought. “He seems to like you, too.”

“I’m fairly certain he does,” Iris replied. Then, in quite a different tone, she added, “Unless he is a spectacular liar.”