He sounded honestly puzzled, as if young women who struggled with French might have no instincts when it came to preserving their privacy before a potential suitor.

“You could ask them,” Iris said. “You ask them if they want to marry you. I’m sure nobody has.” Iris certainly hadn’t.

“Fine thing, when a woman is supposed to be thrilled to marry a man because three hundred years ago, his ancestor chose the winning side of some battle or endowed a cause dear to an impecunious monarch.”

Clonmere, a handsome, single, wealthy, young duke, felt invisible, precisely because he was handsome, single, wealthy, and a duke. Oh, the irony.

“I’d marry you,” Iris said. “Not because of your lucky ancestor.”

The horses stopped beneath a canopy of green. “Why would you marry me? I lack refinement, I like making wine, my siblings run roughshod over me, I have the singing voice of a drunken donkey, and I will spoil my children rotten so they can run roughshod over me as well. Any duchess with an ounce of sense will find me utterly unimpressive.”

Do you promise, about spoiling the children? “I would marry you,” Iris said, “because you are kind and honorable, you like to laugh, you enjoy being useful, and you are tolerant of fat felines. Puck’s singing voice does not recommend him, but he seldom wants for the companionship of pretty females.”

The duke fiddled with his reins, then straightened the angle of his hat. “Thomas says Lady Lily’s soprano is extraordinary.”

I lay my heart at your feet, and you bring up Lily’s warbling. “His opinion would mean a lot to her.”

“Could it be that Thomas means a lot to her? Every time I lead her from the dance floor, he seems to be her next partner.”

“And Mr. Dersham and Mr. Amherst have apparently taken an interest in Holly and Hyacinth, respectively. This is your fault, Your Grace.”

He sat straighter in the saddle. “My fault?”

“Because you show such marked interest in my sisters, they have become sought after by all. They are treated differently in the shops, when they go for an ice, when they merely tarry in the churchyard on a fine spring morning. You have caused them to be seen and appreciated for the jewels they are.”

“You say Amherst and Dersham are taken with the twins?”

“You are so busy paying court to your prospective duchesses that you aren’t minding the gossip, Your Grace. The twins have gone driving as a foursome with Misters Dersham and Amherst on three occasions.”

Leaving Iris in the sewing room with Puck, and a bad case of suitor-envy. Dersham and Amherst had, as Clonmere predicted, become best of friends, and they were well situated bachelors. Were Clonmere not in the picture, either man would have made an admirable suitor.

Though Clonmere was in the picture, and looking delectable on his grey gelding.

“I suppose if I marry Lady Lily, then the twins will be pleased to have other options. I believe Thomas has taken a fancy to Lily, though, so marrying her could be problematic. I don’t see a way forward that doesn’t leave somebody disgruntled and unhappy. Have you any advice for me, Lady Iris?”

That he was concerned for the feelings of others, especially for the feelings of Iris’s sisters, spoke well of him, and yet, Iris was annoyed.

Furious, in fact.

“My sisters are not cravat pins, to be chosen among based on your whim or fancy. They are dear young women with feelings and dreams. They didn’t ask for this ridiculous situation, and yet, they will be the ones affected.”

Blue eyes went frosty. “I didn’t ask for it either, Lady Iris.”

“But you agreed to it. You’re a duke. Papa would have had no recourse if you’d asserted your authority. He’s trading on your agreeable nature and your respect for your mama, and you have offered not one word of protest. I had best be going.”

He drew his gelding to the edge of the path. “A moment please.”

In a moment, I will cry. “I will not be your spy, Clonmere. I’ve told my sisters what little I know of you, and that is the extent to which I’m willing to participate in this farce.”

Clonmere passed over a silk handkerchief with his coat of arms embroidered onto the corner. “I beg your pardon, my lady, for having spoken cavalierly about a serious matter affecting those you care for. Your good opinion of me matters exceedingly.”

She snatched the handkerchief from him, though she wasn’t crying. Not at all. “Bother your gallantries, sir.”

“Will you spare me a waltz tonight?”

Iris was on the verge of honking into his silk handkerchief in the hope of spooking his horse. She peered at the duke.

“You seek a dance with me?”

“You are correct that I’ve allowed Falmouth to dictate the terms of this exercise. He has four daughters, not three, and I’d at least like the pleasure of a dance with you. The most difficult part of my conundrum is how to make my choice without hurting anybody’s feelings. But for that, I’d have asked Falmouth for permission to pay my addresses to one of his daughters weeks ago.”

A conscientious brother would know all about hurt feelings between sisters. Iris hadn’t thought that far ahead, though—gracious days—what of the two sisters not chosen to be Clonmere’s duchess?

“Dance with me, Lady Iris. Please.”

She ought not. He was being kind again, decent and gentlemanly, drat him. “Why dance with me?”

“Because I wish it above all things.”

That reply could have been a jest, a line of flirtatious banter. Clonmere presented his answer like a single rose, lovely and fragrant, though thorny enough to require careful handling.

“You may have my supper waltz tonight,” Iris said, “though I’d ask that you decide within the week, which of my sisters to court. For everybody’s sake.”

The sun had crested the horizon, and golden beams were slanting through the trees. Overhead robins caroled a greeting to the day while a pair of swans glided regally across the Serpentine. On his white steed, Clonmere looked like some fairytale prince, which mattered to Iris not at all. Mayfair was full of handsome lordlings who rode well. Clonmere, though, had impressed her.

He’d given her the one justification for equivocating among her sisters that she could respect: He didn’t want to hurt the feelings of those he rejected. Would that Falmouth had shown his daughters the same consideration—all of his daughters.

“Until this evening, then,” Iris said, turning Rosie back the way they’d come. “I’ll look forward to our waltz.” She was, for once, telling Clonmere the absolute truth.

“As shall I, my lady.” He doffed his hat, and smiled, as if he too, were telling the absolute truth.

CLONMERE HAD SPENT the past several weeks engaged in two deceptions. The first deception was that he intended to offer for Lady Lily, Lady Holly, or Lady Hyacinth. They were adorable, sweet, pretty, and not in love with him—thank heavens. Marriage to him would be a duty to them, albeit a tolerable duty.

The second more difficult deception was to pretend he was only cordially disposed toward Lady Iris when he was wild for her.

She had the patience of a saint, standing amid the wall flowers by the hour, smiling while her sisters twirled down the room with every eligible bachelor sober enough to dance.

She was kind, fetching punch for the dowagers, bringing them their shawls, sitting with them at supper.

She was dignified, ignoring Billings Harman’s wandering hands—Clonmere’s fist had had a short discussion with Billings’s nose thereafter—and refusing to be drawn into gossip. Thomas, Dersham, and Amherst had all assured Clonmere of that.

“Though I must tell you,” Dersham said, “I don’t think Lady Holly would suit you either.”

Clonmere occupied an alcove in the Duke of Quimbey’s ballroom. Dersham had joined him, and the violins tuning up meant that their conversation was not overheard.

“Lady Holly seems a very agreeable sort,” Clonmere said.

“She’s too agreeable for you, meaning no disrespect to the lady. You’d trample her delicate spirit inside a year.”

Clonmere consulted his watch. “Do I detect in your warning more than a champion’s chivalrous regard for the lady?” Please, please, let Dersham be as besotted as he sounded.

“Well, you can’t marry them all, Clonmere, and marrying the youngest first isn’t the done thing.”

No, it wasn’t. The eldest typically married first. “If Lady Holly is not my choice, do you intend to offer for her?”