“I’m the lucky one.” The words came out more honestly than Iris had intended. “She gave me a reason to stay.”
Grace’s gaze sharpened. “Iris…”
“I mean it.” Iris took Evie back, needing to feel her warm weight. “I was drowning in that empty house. Going through the motions, pretending everything was fine. She saved me as much as I’m saving her.”
“And His Grace?” Harrison asked carefully. “How is he handling fatherhood?”
Iris thought of the previous evening when the Duke appeared in the nursery doorway and watched silently as she sang Evie to sleep. In that strange moment when their eyes met over thebaby’s head, something unspoken passed between them before she left him.
“He’s trying,” she said finally. “In his own way.”
Grace and Harrison exchanged a look she couldn’t interpret.
“Well,” Grace said with forced brightness. “I’ll write to my sister today about the nursemaid. With any luck, we’ll have someone suitable within the week.”
They left soon after with promises to return and more offers of help. Iris walked them to the door with Evie still in her arms.
“Thank you,” she said. “For understanding. For not judging.”
“There’s nothing to judge.” Grace kissed her cheek. “You’re doing a wonderful thing. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”
When they were gone, Iris stood in the entrance hall, feeling oddly bereft.
The house seemed too quiet and large. Even with Evie’s warm presence, loneliness crept back in.
“Your Grace?” Mrs. Pemberton appeared on the kitchen stairs. “The little one might be hungry. Shall I prepare a bottle?”
“Yes, thank you.” Iris followed the elderly woman into the kitchen, Evie bundled in her arms, grateful for the steady rhythm of Mrs. Pemberton’s steps.
“Mrs. Pemberton, may I ask you something?”
“Of course, Your Grace.”
“His Grace. Was he… What was he like as a child?”
The housekeeper paused as she measured out the formula. “Oh…”
“I realize it might be awkward to ask, but…”
“Not at all.” Mrs. Pemberton’s weathered face softened. “He was a serious little boy. Always watching, always thinking. His grandfather doted on him when he visited. The old Duke… he was a man who knew how to laugh.”
“And my husband’s parents?”
The softness vanished. “The less said about them, the better. They did that boy no favors with their carrying on.”
“Carrying on?”
Mrs. Pemberton pressed her lips together as if she’d said too much. “Not my place to gossip about the dead. Just know thatHis Grace learned from a young age not to dream of happiness. Makes it hard for a man to give what he never received.”
Before Iris could ask more, a soft knock interrupted them. A young maid peered around the kitchen door.
“Begging your pardon, Mrs. Pemberton, but Cook needs to know about tomorrow’s menu.”
“Come in, Mary,” the housekeeper said, pouring warm milk into a clean bottle. She tested the temperature against her wrist, then turned to the girl. “Would you feed the baby while I speak with Cook?”
Mary’s face lit up with shy eagerness. “Yes, ma’am.”
Mrs. Pemberton took Evie gently from Iris and passed her into Mary’s arms with practiced ease. “You should rest now, Your Grace. Tomorrow will bring its own challenges.”
