The Secrets of Sir Richard Kenworthy (Smythe-Smith Quartet, #4)

by Julia Quinn

“As with all things in life, the best option is to blame my sister.” Shrug. (Also, evil grin.)

It would take an accordion-playing minotaur to top Daisy on the scale of bothersome to seventh circle of hell.

“Oh yes, ripping good show. Too bad about the vicar’s house, though.”

Families didn’t get more popular or respectable than the Bridgertons, even if Hyacinth—the youngest—was known as something of a terror.

“What are you reading?” she asked, craning her neck toward Iris. “Pride and Prejudice,” Iris replied. She didn’t look up, but she did mark her spot with her finger. Just in case.

Mrs. Smythe-Smith took the book, flipped to the first page and read the first sentence, which Iris knew by heart. It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.

It was easy to be oneself when the stakes were low.

Richard had a feeling she would trade Daisy for a badger if given the option.

What? she asked herself. It was important to have tea. She might as well go and become Italian, otherwise.

“Miss Truesdale and the Silent Gentleman. It’s an old Sarah Gorely novel. Not her best, I’m afraid.”

“Far too pedestrian,” Iris scoffed. “This is the author who pecked a character to death with pigeons in another book.”

“I am about one step away from clubbing you with a cricket bat,”