“I can usually be relied upon to be coherent by eleven,” Iris returned. “Although I must say, the best part of being married is going to be having my breakfast in bed.”

“The best part?”

She blushed, and the sudden import of her words finally woke her up. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “That was thoughtless—”

“Think nothing of it,” he cut in, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Her husband was not one to take ready insult. A very good thing that was, as Iris was not always one to consider her words before she spoke them.

“Shall we go?” Richard asked.

“Yes, of course.”

He hopped down and held out his hand. “Lady Kenworthy.”

That was twice he’d called her by her new name in the same number of minutes. She knew that many gentlemen did such a thing in the early days of marriage as a sign of endearment, but it made her uncomfortable. He meant well, she knew, but it only served to remind her how very much her life had changed in the space of a week.

Still, she must try to make the best of her situation, and that started with making pleasant conversation. “Have you stayed here before?” she asked as she accepted his hand.

“Yes, I—Whoa!”

Iris wasn’t quite sure how it happened—maybe she hadn’t managed to shake all of the pins and needles from her foot—but she slipped on the carriage step, and she let out a startled cry as her stomach lurched up against her heart, which returned the favor by launching into a full sprint.

And then, before she could even try to catch her balance, she was caught by Richard, who held her securely as he set her down.

“Goodness,” she said, glad to have her feet firmly on the ground. She placed one hand on her heart, trying to calm herself.

“Are you all right?” He did not seem to notice that his hands were still on her waist.

“Quite well,” she whispered. Why was she whispering? “Thank you.”

“Good.” He gazed down at her. “I shouldn’t want . . .”

His words trailed off, and for a heavy second they stared into each other’s eyes. It was the strangest, warmest sensation, and when he stepped abruptly away, Iris felt off-balance and out of sorts.

“I shouldn’t want you to injure yourself.” He cleared his throat. “Is what I meant to say.”

“Thank you.” She glanced over at the inn, its hive of activity a stark contrast to the two of them, who were still as statues. “You were saying something,” she prompted. “About the inn?”

He stared at her with a blank expression.

“I had asked if you had stayed here before,” she reminded him.