“Really?” Iris murmured, her brows high.

Richard just smiled secretively. Let her make of that what she will.

They entered the house, Tommy calling ahead to his mother that Sir Richard was here with the new Lady Kenworthy. Mrs. Burnham bustled out immediately, wiping floury hands on her apron. “Sir Richard,” she said, bobbing a curtsy. “This is indeed an honor.”

“I have come to introduce my wife.”

Iris gave a pretty smile. “We’ve brought you a gift.”

“Oh, but we should be giving gifts to you,” Mrs. Burnham protested. “For your wedding.”

“Nonsense,” Iris said. “You are welcoming me into your home, onto your land.”

“It is your land now, too,” Richard reminded her, setting the box of treats on a table.

“Yes, but the Burnhams have been here a century longer than I have. I still must earn my place.”

And just like that, Iris won the everlasting loyalty of Mrs. Burnham, and by extension, all the tenants. Society was the same no matter the sphere. Mrs. Burnham was the matron of the largest of the local farms, and this made her the leader of Maycliffe society. Iris’s words would have reached the ears of every soul at Maycliffe by nightfall.

“You see why I married her,” Richard said to Mrs. Burnham. The words flowed naturally from his smiling lips, but once said, a little prick of guilt sparked in his gut. It wasn’t why he’d married her.

He wished it was why he’d married her.

“John,” Mrs. Burnham said, “you must meet the new Lady Kenworthy.”

Richard hadn’t realized that John Burnham had entered the small foyer. He was a quiet man, always had been, and he was standing near the door to the kitchen, waiting for the others to notice him.

“My lady,” John said with a little bow. “It is an honor to meet you.”

“And you,” Iris replied.

“How fares the farm?” Richard asked.

“Very well,” John replied, and the two of them spoke for a few minutes about fields and crops and irrigation while Iris made polite conversation with Mrs. Burnham.

“We must be on our way,” Richard finally said. “We’ve many more stops to make before heading back to Maycliffe.”

“It must be quiet with your sisters gone,” Mrs. Burnham said.

John turned sharply. “Your sisters are gone?”

“Just to visit our aunt. She thought we could do with some time alone.” He gave John a man-to-man sort of smile. “Sisters don’t add much to a honeymoon.”

“No,” John said, “I imagine not.”

They made their farewells, and Richard took Iris’s arm to lead her out.

“I think that went well,” she said, as he helped her up into the wagon.

“You were splendid,” he assured her.

“Truly? You would not just say that?”

“I would just say that,” he admitted, “but it is true. Mrs. Burnham adores you already.”