“I believe not, Your Grace.”
“I see.” He set down his cup with excessive care. “And the day before?”
Peters shifted uncomfortably. “Also in her rooms, Your Grace.”
Three days. Three days of avoided meals. It was one thing when they’d lived separately. But now they were under the same roof. Basic courtesy demanded that she join him for meals.
“Should I send up a message, Your Grace?” Peters asked carefully.
“No, that won’t be necessary.”
But by luncheon, Owen’s patience had worn thin. Another empty chair. Another meal was taken in solitary silence while his wife hid upstairs with the baby.
“Your Grace,” Peters ventured as he cleared the untouched fish course. “Cook is concerned that Her Grace hasn’t been eating properly. The trays return barely touched.”
“Has anyone actually seen her eat?”
“Mrs. Pemberton says that she takes tea sometimes while tending the baby.”
Owen pushed back from the table. “Have dinner prepared as usual. For two.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
The afternoon drug interminably. Owen tried to focus on correspondence but kept listening for sounds from above.
Footsteps. Crying. Any sign of what was happening in his home.
By dinner, his patience had run out entirely. He’d barely touched his soup when he pushed back from the table.
“Your Grace?” Peters looked concerned. “Is something amiss?”
“Have this cleared away.”
Owen took the stairs with purpose. His footsteps echoed in the quiet house. The nursery door stood open. Inside, he found Iris seated on the carpet with Evie on a blanket before her. A young maid hovered nearby, clearly overwhelmed.
“We need to talk,” he announced.
She looked up. There were dark shadows beneath her eyes. Her hair was carelessly pinned with wisps escaping to frame her face. She wore a simple day dress that had seen better days, and there was a milk stain on the shoulder.
“Now?” she asked.
“Yes.”
She sighed and turned to the maid. “Thank you, Mary. That will be all.”
The girl practically ran out of the room.
Once they were alone, Owen crossed his arms. “This is unacceptable.”
“What is?” Iris didn’t look at him, but instead focused on stopping Evie from gnawing on her own fist.
“You’ve missed every meal. It’s inappropriate.”
Her head snapped up. “Inappropriate? You want to discuss inappropriate behavior?”
“When the Duke and Duchess are in residence together?—”
“Oh,nowyou care about appearances?” She rose in one fluid motion. “Where was this concern for propriety when you abandoned me for a year?”
