“She heard it from Susan.”
Iris sat back. “Good Lord, we have too many cousins.”
“I know. Really. But back to the matter at hand. Marigold said that Susan said that you were practically the belle of the ball.”
“That is an exaggeration beyond compare.”
Sarah jabbed her index finger toward Iris with the speed of a practiced interrogator. “Do you deny that you danced every dance?”
“I do deny it.” She had sat out quite a few before Sir Richard had arrived.
Sarah paused, blinked, then frowned. “It’s not like Marigold to get her gossip wrong.”
“I danced more than I usually do,” Iris allowed, “but certainly not every dance.”
“Hmmm.”
Iris eyed her cousin with considerable suspicion. It never boded well when Sarah looked to be in deep thought.
“I think I know what happened,” Sarah said.
“Pray, enlighten me.”
“You danced with Sir Richard,” Sarah went on, “and then you spent an hour with him in private conversation.”
“It wasn’t an hour, and how do you know this?”
“I know things,” Sarah said flippantly. “It’s best not to inquire how. Or why.”
“How does Hugh live with you?” Iris asked to the room at large.
“He does very well, thank you.” Sarah grinned. “But back to last night. However much time you spent in the company of the exceedingly handsome Sir Richard—no, don’t interrupt, I saw him myself at the musicale, he’s quite pleasing to the eye—it left you feeling . . .”
She stopped then, and did that odd thing with her mouth she did whenever she was trying to think of something. She sort of moved her lower jaw to one side so that her teeth no longer lined up, and her lips did a funny little twist. Iris had always found it disconcerting.
Sarah frowned. “It left you feeling . . .”
“Feeling what?” Iris finally asked.
“I’m trying to think of the right word.”
Iris stood. “I’ll ring for tea.”
“Breathless!” Sarah finally exclaimed. “You felt breathless. And all aglow.”
Iris rolled her eyes as she gave the bellpull a stiff yank. “You need to find a hobby.”
“And when a woman feels all aglow, she looks all aglow,” Sarah continued.
“That sounds uncomfortable.”
“And when she looks—”
“All prickly skin and sweaty brows,” Iris plundered on. “Sounds a bit like a sun rash.”
“Will you stop being such a spoilsport?” Sarah huffed. “I declare, Iris, you are the least romantic person I know.”
Iris paused on her way back to the seating area, resting her hands on the back of the sofa. Was that true? She knew she was not sentimental, but she was not completely without feelings. She’d read Pride and Prejudice six times. That had to count for something.
But Sarah was oblivious to her distress. “As I was saying,” she went on, “when a woman feels beautiful, she has a way about her.”
It was on the tip of Iris’s tongue to say, “I wouldn’t know,” but she stopped herself.
She didn’t want to be sarcastic. Not about this.
“And when that happens,” Sarah said, “men flock to her side. There is something about a confident woman. Something . . . I don’t know . . . je ne sais quoi, as the French say.”
“I’m thinking of switching to German,” Iris heard herself say.
Sarah stared at her for a moment, her expression baffled, then carried on as if she had not even paused. “And that, my dear cousin,” she said with great flair, “is why every man in London wanted to dance with you last night.”
Iris came back around the sofa and sat down, folding her hands in her lap as she thought about what Sarah had said. She was not sure she believed it, but nor could she dismiss it without consideration.
“You’re very quiet,” Sarah remarked. “I was certain you’d argue the point.”
“I don’t know what to say,” Iris admitted.
Sarah eyed her with open curiosity. “Are you all right?”
“Perfectly. Why do you ask?”
“You seem different.”
Iris gave a little shrug. “Perhaps it is my glow, as you termed it.”
“No,” Sarah said bluntly, “that’s not it.”
“Well, that was a short-lived glow,” Iris quipped.
“Now you sound like yourself.”
Iris just smiled and shook her head. “How are you?” she asked, in a not-so-subtle attempt to change the subject.
“Very well,” Sarah said with a broad smile, and it was then that Iris noticed . . . something.
“You seem different, too,” she said, eyeing her more closely.
Sarah blushed.
Iris gasped. “Are you expecting?”
Sarah nodded. “How did you know?”
“When you tell a married woman she looks different, and she blushes . . .” Iris grinned. “It can be nothing else.”
“You really do notice everything, don’t you?”
“Almost everything,” Iris said. “But you have not allowed me to congratulate you yet. This is wonderful news. Please do tell Lord Hugh that I wish him joy. How are you feeling? Have you been ill?”
“Not at all.”
“Well, that’s fortunate. Rose threw up every morning for three months straight.”
Sarah winced in sympathy. “I feel splendid. Perhaps a little fatigued, but not terribly so.”