Iris started with surprise. Richard was poking his head through the partially open doorway that led to the hall. “I did knock,” he said with an amused expression.

“I’m sure you did,” she said hastily. “My mind was elsewhere.”

His smile grew more sly. “Dare I ask where?”

“Home,” she lied, then realized what she’d said. “I mean London. This is my home now.”

“Yes,” he said, and he entered the room, quietly shutting the door behind him. His head tilted slightly to the side, and he stared at her for just long enough to make her fidget. “Have you done something different with your hair?”

And just like that, all of her vows to remain indifferent went out the window.

Iris nervously touched her head, just behind her right ear. He’d noticed. She had not thought he would. “One of the maids helped me to dress,” she said. “She’s rather fond of . . .”

Why was he looking at her so intently?

“Fond of . . . ?”

“Little braids,” she said in a rush. A ridiculous rush. She sounded like a ninny.

“It looks lovely.”

“Thank you.”

He gazed at her warmly. “You do have the most marvelous hair. The color is exquisite. I have never seen the like.”

Iris’s lips parted. She should say something. She should thank him. But she felt almost frozen—not cold, just frozen—and then she felt ridiculous. To be so affected by a compliment.

Richard was thankfully unaware of her torment. “I’m sorry you had to travel without a maid,” he continued. “I confess I did not even consider the issue. Typical of the males of our species, I’m sure.”

“I-it was not a problem.”

His smile deepened, and Iris wondered if it was because he knew he’d flustered her.

“Nevertheless,” he said, “I apologize.”

Iris didn’t know what to say. Which was just as well, because she wasn’t sure she remembered how to speak.

“Did Mrs. Hopkins show you your room?” Richard asked.

“Yes,” Iris said with a little bob of a nod. “She was most helpful.”

“It meets with your satisfaction?”

“Of course,” Iris said with complete honesty. It was a lovely chamber, bright and cheerful with its southern exposure. But what she really loved . . .

She looked up at Richard with bliss in her eyes. “You have no idea how delighted I am to have my own washroom.”

He chuckled. “Really? That’s what you love best?”

“After sharing one with Daisy for the last seventeen years? Absolutely.” She tipped her head toward him in what she hoped was a cheeky manner. “And the view from the window isn’t bad, either.”

His laugh deepened, and he stepped toward the window, motioning for her to join him. “What do you see?” he asked.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Iris said, carefully positioning herself so that they did not touch.