He was going to bloody well strangle her. “Nothing even to pass along?” he pressed the butler. “A verbal message?”

“Not that I am aware.”

Richard took a breath, trying to regain his equilibrium. This was not how he had anticipated their homecoming. He’d thought—Well, in truth he hadn’t really thought of much, except that his sisters would be here, and he would be able to begin the next phase of his plan.

As horrifying as that was.

“Sir Richard,” came Iris’s voice.

He turned, blinking. She’d called him sir again, something he was coming to detest. It was a gesture of respect, and if he’d done anything to earn that, it would be lost soon.

She tilted her head awkwardly toward the servants, who were still standing stiffly at attention. “Perhaps we should continue with the introductions?”

“Yes, of course.” He managed a tightly false smile before turning toward his housekeeper. “Mrs. Hopkins, will you introduce Lady Kenworthy to the maids?”

Hands clasped stiffly behind his back, Richard followed the two ladies as they greeted each maid. He did not intercede; this was Iris’s moment, and if she was to assume her proper role at Maycliffe, he could not be seen as undermining her authority.

Iris handled the introductions with aplomb. She looked slight and pale next to the hearty Mrs. Hopkins, but her posture was straight and firm, and she greeted each maid with grace and poise.

She did him proud. But then again, he’d known she would.

Cresswell took over when the ladies had finished, presenting each footman and groom. When they were done, the butler turned to Richard, and said, “Your rooms have been prepared, sir, and a light luncheon awaits at your convenience.”

Richard held out his arm to Iris but continued to speak to Cresswell. “I trust that Lady Kenworthy’s rooms have been readied?”

“To your specifications, sir.”

“Excellent.” Richard looked down at Iris. “Everything has been cleaned and aired out, but we have not redecorated. I supposed that you would wish to choose the colors and fabrics yourself.”

Iris smiled her thanks, and Richard gave a silent prayer that her tastes did not run to brocades imported from France. Maycliffe was once again profitable, but they were by no means rolling in funds. There was a reason his original plan had been to find a bride with a generous dowry. Iris had come with but two thousand pounds. Nothing to sneeze at, but also nothing that would restore the estate to its former glory.

She could redecorate her rooms, though. It was the least he could do.