“I saw a young woman hiding behind her cello,” he continued. “A young woman who actually knew how to play that cello.”

Her eyes flew to his.

“Your secret is safe with me,” he said with an indulgent smile.

“It’s not a secret.”

He shrugged.

“But you know what is?” she asked, suddenly eager to share. She wanted him to know. She wanted him to know her.

“What?”

“I hate playing the cello,” she said with great feeling. “It’s not even just that I dislike playing in the concerts, although I do. I loathe the concerts, loathe them in a way I could never begin to articulate.”

“Actually, you’re doing a fairly good job of it.”

She gave him a sheepish smile. “I really do hate playing the cello, though. You could set me down in an orchestra of the finest virtuosos—not that they’d ever allow a woman to play—and I’d still hate it.”

“Why do you do it?”

“Well, I don’t anymore. I don’t have to now that I’m married. I shall never pick up a bow again.”

“It’s good to know I’m good for something,” he quipped. “But honestly, why did you do it? And don’t say you had to. Sarah got out of it.”

“I could never be so dishonest.”

She waited for him to say something, but he only frowned, glancing to the side as if lost in thought.

“I played the cello,” she said, “because it was expected of me. And because it made my family happy. And despite what I say about them, I love them dearly.”

“You do, don’t you,” he murmured.

She looked at him earnestly. “Even after all that, I consider Sarah one of my dearest friends.”

He regarded her with a curiously steady expression. “You obviously possess a high capacity for forgiveness.”

Iris felt herself draw back as she considered this. “I never thought so,” she said.

“I hope you do,” he said quietly.

“I beg your pardon?” Surely she could not have heard that correctly.

But he had already got to his feet and was holding out his hand. “Come, the day awaits.”

Chapter Thirteen

“YOU WANT HOW many baskets?”

Richard pretended not to notice Mrs. Hopkins’s dumbfounded expression. “Just eighteen,” he said jovially.

“Eighteen?” she demanded. “Do you know how long something like that takes?”

“It would be a difficult task for anyone but you,” he demurred.

The housekeeper narrowed her eyes, but he could tell she liked the compliment.

“Don’t you think it’s an excellent idea to bring baskets to the tenants?” he said, before she could come up with another protest. He tugged Iris forward. “It was Lady Kenworthy’s idea.”

“I thought it would be a nice gesture,” Iris said.

“Lady Kenworthy is all that is generous,” Mrs. Hopkins said, “but—”

“We’ll help,” Richard suggested.

Her mouth fell open.