The word slipped out naturally, as it had been doing more frequently these past few days.
Papa. Not His Grace or Owen, but the simple title that acknowledged what they’d all accepted.
Whatever circumstances had brought them together, they were becoming something that felt remarkably like a family.
“Perhaps she simply prefers male company,” Owen suggested while reaching out to stroke Evie’s cheek. The baby turned toward his touch and made a soft sound of contentment.
“More likely, she’s learned that you’re easier to manipulate. Those sea shanties of yours could charm birds from trees.”
“My grandfather would be pleased to know that his songs serve a useful purpose.” Owen’s expression grew thoughtful. “He used to say music was a universal language. That a pleasant tune could soothe any troubled soul.”
It was the opening Iris had been waiting for.
These past days had brought a new intimacy between them, but Owen still rarely spoke of his past. She treasured each small revelation like a precious gift.
“Tell me about him,” she said softly. “Your grandfather.”
Owen was quiet for a moment. He watched Evie finally accept her bottle with the enthusiasm she’d been withholding moments ago. When he spoke, his voice carried the warmth it always held when discussing his grandfather.
“He was everything my father wasn’t. Patient, kind, genuinely interested in other people’s happiness.” His smile was soft with memory. “He’d spend hours with me in the estate workshops, teaching me how things were made. Said a duke should understand the work his people did.”
“He sounds wonderful.”
“He was. The only person in my childhood who actually liked having me around.” The admission was matter of fact, but Iris heard the old pain beneath it. “When he died, it felt like losing the only ally I had.”
“How old were you?”
“Nine. Old enough to understand that everything good in my world had just disappeared.” He reached out unconsciously to touch Evie’s tiny hand. “Old enough to decide I’d never risk that kind of loss again.”
His careful distance suddenly made more sense. A boy who’d learned from a young age that love meant inevitable abandonment would naturally erect walls to protect himself.That he’d allowed those walls to crumble for Evie spoke to his capacity for affection.
“I had a brother,” Iris found herself saying. “Thomas. He was born when I was ten.”
Owen looked up, clearly surprised. She’d scarcely spoken of Thomas before because she’d barely allowed herself to think of him in years.
“You mentioned a brother once, but I do not recall the details you gave then.”
“He lived only four months.” The words came easier than expected, perhaps because she was cradling another baby and feeling the warm weight of life in her arms. “But those four months were the happiest of my childhood.”
“What happened?”
“A fever. It came suddenly, and the doctors could do nothing.” Iris adjusted Evie’s position. The baby now contentedly drank while watching their faces. “I’d helped care for him from the moment he was born. Fed him, changed him, sang to him when he couldn’t sleep. I thought I was his second mother.”
“You were.”
The simple acceptance in Owen’s voice made her throat tighten.
“My parents never recovered from losing him. Papa had finally had his heir, and then… nothing. Mama fell into such melancholy that she could barely look at me without remembering what we’d lost.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s why I couldn’t let anyone take Evie away, even when I thought she might be yours.” She looked down at the baby who had finished her bottle and was now studying the morning light with fascination. “The moment I held her, I remembered what it felt like to have someone depend on me completely. To be needed.”
“She does need you. We both do.”
The quiet confession made her heart skip a beat. Owen had grown so much more open these past days, sharing thoughts and feelings he’d kept locked away for months. But hearing him admit his own need still felt like a small miracle.
“I used to imagine what Thomas would have been like,” she continued. “Whether he’d have been serious like Papa or resilient like me. Whether he’d have liked books or horses or music.” She smiled down at Evie. “Now, I get to find out what kind of person she’ll become.”
