“Many hands make light work, isn’t that something you used to say?”

“Not to you,” the housekeeper retorted.

Iris stifled a laugh. Charming little traitor, she was. But Richard was in far too good a mood to take offense. “The dangers of having servants who’ve known you since school days,” he murmured in her ear.

“School days!” Mrs. Hopkins scoffed. “I’ve known you since you were in—”

“I know exactly how long you’ve known me,” Richard cut in. He didn’t need Mrs. Hopkins mentioning his time in nappies in front of Iris.

“I would like to help, actually,” Iris said. “I am eager to meet the tenants, and I do think that the gifts would be more meaningful if I helped to pack them myself.”

“I don’t know that we even have eighteen baskets,” Mrs. Hopkins grumbled.

“Surely they don’t need to be actual baskets,” Iris said. “Any sort of container would do. And I’m sure you will know the best things with which to fill them.”

Richard just grinned, admiring his wife’s easy handling of the housekeeper. Each day—no, each hour—he learned something new about her. And with each revelation, he realized just how lucky he was that he had chosen her. It was so strange to think that he probably would not have looked twice in her direction if he hadn’t found himself forced to find a bride so quickly.

It was difficult to recall just what he’d thought he’d wanted in a wife. A substantial dowry, of course. He’d had to give that up, but now, as he watched Iris make herself at home in Maycliffe’s kitchen, it no longer seemed so urgent. If the repairs he needed to make to the house had to wait a year or two, so be it. Iris was not the sort to complain.

He thought about the women he had considered before Iris. He could not remember much about them, just that they had always seemed to be dancing or flirting or tapping his arm with a fan. They were women who demanded attention.

Whereas Iris earned it.

With her fierce intelligence and her quiet, sly humor, she had a way of sneaking up on his thoughts. She surprised him at every turn.

Who would have thought that he’d like her so well?

Like.

Who liked a wife? In his world, wives were tolerated, indulged, and if one was very lucky, desired. But liked?

If he hadn’t married Iris, he’d want her for a friend.