But for the first time in her life, she had begun to feel beautiful. And it was Richard who had made her feel that way, with his secret glances and warm smiles. Every now and then she would catch him watching her, and she felt special. Treasured.

But that was all a lie. Or she was a fool for seeing things that simply weren’t there.

Or maybe she was just a fool, period.

Well. She wasn’t going to take this lying down. And she certainly wasn’t going to let him see how deeply she’d felt his insult. She was going to go down to breakfast as if nothing had happened. She’d have jam on toast, and she’d read the newspaper, and when she spoke it would be with the sparkling wit for which she’d always intended to be renowned.

And really, it wasn’t even as if she was sure that she wanted to do all those things married people did in bed, no matter how lovely her cousin Sarah had said it was. But it would have been nice if he’d wanted to.

She would at least have given it a try.

The maid who had assisted her the night before must have had other duties to attend to, so Iris dressed herself. She twisted her hair into as neat a bun as she could manage on her own, jammed her feet into her slippers, and stalked out of her room.

She paused as she passed Richard’s door. Was he still abed? She took a step closer, tempted to put her ear against the wood.

Stop it!

She was behaving like a fool. Listening at his door. She had no time for this. She was hungry, and she wanted breakfast, and she had a great many things to do today, none of which concerned her husband.

She needed to find a lady’s maid, for one. And learn her way about the house. Visit the village. Meet the tenants.

Have tea.

What, she asked herself. It was important to have tea. She might as well go and become Italian, otherwise.

“I am losing my mind,” she said aloud.

“I beg your pardon, my lady?”

Iris nearly jumped a foot. A housemaid was at the far end of the hall, standing nervously with a large feather duster clasped in her hands.

“Nothing,” Iris said, trying not to look embarrassed. “I coughed.”

The maid nodded. It wasn’t the one who’d dressed her hair, Iris saw.

“Mrs. Hopkins wants to know what time you want your breakfast,” the maid said. She bobbed a little curtsy and didn’t quite meet Iris’s eyes. “We didn’t get a chance to ask you last night, and Sir Richard—”

“I’ll take my breakfast downstairs,” Iris interrupted. She didn’t want to hear what Sir Richard thought. About anything.

The maid curtsied again. “As you wish.”