“What do you think she’ll be like?”
“Determined, obviously. She’s already shown us that.” Iris traced a finger along Evie’s cheek, marveling at the softness of baby skin. “Intelligent. She watches everything so carefully, like she’s trying to understand how the world works.”
“And beautiful. She’ll be beautiful like her mother.”
“Adele must have been lovely for Nicholas to fall so in love with her.”
Owen’s expression grew sad. “He wrote about her constantly. How she laughed, how she moved, how she made him want to be worthy of her devotion. I think she was the first person who saw past his title to the man beneath.”
“Like you were for him?”
“Nicholas didn’t need anyone to see past anything. He was genuinely good and kind. The sort of person who made everyone around him better just by being himself.” Owen’s voice grew rough. “He would have been an extraordinary father.”
“He still is, in a way. Through us. Through the care we give her.” Iris reached out to touch his hand. “She’ll know about him when she’s old enough. We’ll make sure she understands where she came from.”
“And what about us? What will we tell her about how we became a family?”
It was a question that had haunted Iris’s quieter moments. How did one explain such a complex beginning to a child who deserved simple truths?
“We’ll tell her that sometimes the best families are the ones you choose,” she said finally. “That affection isn’t always about blood, but about who shows up when you need them most.”
“And our marriage? How will we explain what we’ve become?”
Iris studied his face, noting the vulnerability in his gray eyes.
What were they becoming? Something deeper than convenience, certainly. Something warmer than duty. But naming it felt dangerous, as if speaking aloud might somehow break the spell.
“We’ll tell her the truth. That sometimes understanding takes time to grow, but when it does, it changes everything.”
They spent the rest of the morning together. Owen learned the intricacies of caring for a baby while Iris marveled at how natural he was with Evie. He changed her nappy with minimal fumbling, successfully burped her after eating, and seemed genuinely fascinated by her developing personality.
“She likes it when you talk to her,” Iris observed as Owen held Evie up to the window and pointed out birds in the garden. “Look how she follows your voice.”
“My grandfather used to say babies were the best conversationalists.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Mainly because they never interrupted or argued.”
Iris giggled. “How very astute of him.”
Owen shifted Evie to face him, smiling when she grabbed his cravat. “Though this one seems to have opinions about fashion.”
“She has excellent taste. That cravat is so hideous.”
“It was a gift from my aunt.”
“Then she has terrible taste, and Evie is doing you a favor.”
Their easy banter felt like another small miracle. After months of careful politeness, they were finally talking like the friends Iris had always hoped they might become.
We’re more than friends, she realized, as she watched Owen’s face light up when Evie smiled at him.
“I have an idea,” she announced as they settled in the drawing room after lunch with Evie playing contentedly on a blanket between them. “What would you think of inviting our friends for a picnic? Grace and Harrison, Felix, and perhaps others?”
“You want to show us off,” Owen said with amusement.
“I want to share our happiness. They’ve been so patient with us, so supportive despite all our mysteries and complications.” She reached for his hand and entwined their fingers. “I want them to see that we’re really a family now.”
