Iris nodded, though her mind churned with questions about Owen’s childhood and the shadows that had shaped him into the distant man she’d married.
As Mrs. Pemberton quietly departed with the maid, Iris found herself alone with the weight of new understanding.
Perhaps her husband’s coldness wasn’t cruelty after all, but armor worn so long he’d forgotten how to remove it.
Owen arrived home as the sun set, painting the sky in shades of amber and rose.
The day’s meetings had been productive. Two new investment opportunities were being explored, both with promising substantial returns. This kind of steady progress would refill the duchy’s coffers in a few years rather than decades.
He handed his coat to Peters, already anticipating a quiet dinner where he could review the contracts in peace.
“Has Her Grace come down?” he asked.
“Not yet, Your Grace. Shall I inquire?”
“No need.”
Owen entered the dining room to find his place set, as always. The chair across from him remained conspicuously empty. Again.
He waited precisely ten minutes before his patience snapped. This was becoming a pattern, one that needed breaking. They were keeping up a charade now. That required certain standards of behavior.
The nursery door stood ajar when he reached it. Inside, Iris sat in the rocking chair with Evie in her arms. A young maid hovered nearby with a bottle.
“Thank you. I can manage from here,” Iris was saying.
“Dinner is served,” Owen announced from the doorway.
Iris didn’t look up. “I’ll take a tray later.”
“No. You’ll come downstairs now.”
That got her attention.
Her head snapped up and Owen did not miss the way her eyes flashed. “I’m clearly busy.”
“Sally can finish feeding her.” He nodded to the maid. “Take the baby.”
“Your Grace?—”
“Now, Sally.”
The maid bobbed a nervous curtsey and reached for Evie.
Iris tightened her arms around the baby. “She prefers me to do it,” she said. “She fusses with others.”
“Then she’ll get used to it.” His voice came out colder than he intended. “We have standards to maintain.”
“Standards?” Iris’s laugh held no humor. “Why must we adhere to societal standards now when we ignored them before?”
The reminder of their year apart hit its mark.
Owen stiffened. “Circumstances have changed. We’re presenting ourselves as a family. That requires certain appearances.”
“Appearances.” She made the word sound like profanity. “Of course. Heaven forbid we let reality interfere with appearances.”
They stared at each other across the dimly lit nursery.
Finally, with movements sharp with suppressed anger, Iris transferred the baby to Sally’s waiting arms. “I’ll return shortly.”
