Iris nodded, even as she returned her gaze to the window. That would have done it. Express riders were dear, but well worth it if one needed a missive to arrive quickly. She wondered what he might have written about her. How might he describe his intended bride after barely a week of acquaintance? And to his sisters, no less?

She turned back, trying to observe Richard’s face without being too obvious about it. He was quite intelligent, this much she’d known after less than a week of acquaintance. He was very good with people, too, far better than she was, that was for certain. She imagined that anything he wrote of her to his sisters would depend on them. He would know what they would wish to learn about her.

“You’ve told me almost nothing of them,” she said suddenly.

He blinked.

“Your sisters.”

“Oh. Haven’t I?”

“No.” And how strange that she was only just realizing it then. She supposed it was because she knew the most important facts—names, ages, a bit of what they looked like. But she knew absolutely nothing else, save for Fleur’s fondness for Pride and Prejudice.

“Oh,” he said again. He glanced out the window, then back to her, his movements an uncharacteristic staccato. “Well. Fleur is eighteen, Marie-Claire three years younger.”

“Yes, you’ve said as much.” Her sarcasm was subtle, and from the look on his face, it took him a few seconds to realize it.

“Fleur likes to read,” he said brightly.

“Pride and Prejudice,” Iris supplied.

“Yes, see?” He gave her a charming smile. “I’ve told you things.”

“I suppose technically that is true,” she said with a little nod in his direction. “Things being plural, and two being plural, and your having told me two things . . .”

His eyes narrowed, mostly with amusement. “Very well, what would you like to know?”

She hated when people asked questions like that. “Anything.”

“You haven’t told me anything about your siblings,” he pointed out.

“You’ve met my siblings.”

“Not your brother.”

“You’re not going to live with my brother,” she retorted.

“Point taken,” he acknowledged, “although one might say that any further information from me would be superfluous, as you’re going to meet them in about three minutes.”

“What?” Iris nearly shrieked, whipping back around to the window. Sure enough, they had left the main road and entered a long drive. The trees were thinner here than on the main road, the fields rolling gently to the horizon. It was a lovely landscape, peaceful and serene.

“It’s just over the rise.”

She could hear the self-satisfied smile in his voice.

“Just a moment now,” he murmured.

And then she saw it. Maycliffe Park. It was bigger than she’d imagined, although certainly nothing to Fensmore or Whipple Hill. But those were homes of earls. Her cousins, but still earls of the realm.