“Doesn’t it?” He met her gaze squarely. “Tell me, Iris. What did you expect when you agreed to marry me?”
The question caught her off guard. “I… I thought…”
“You thought what? That I’d suddenly transform into a doting husband? That we’d build a happy home filled with laughter and children?”
Each word was a small wound. Because yes, foolishly, she had hoped for something like that. Not immediately, but eventually. She’d thought perhaps they could grow to care for each other and build something real out of their arrangement.
“I thought you’d at least try,” she whispered. “I thought we might become friends, if nothing else.”
“Friends.” He murmured the word as if it were foreign. “Is that what you want from me? Friendship?”
“I want something. Anything. More than this horrible silence where we pretend the other doesn’t exist.”
“We’re not pretending now.”
“No. Now we’re arguing. Which is marginally better than nothing, but hardly ideal.”
Peters entered carrying the next course. He set down plates of roasted fowl with practiced efficiency.
The interruption gave her a moment to study the Duke without his notice. The candlelight cast shadows beneath his cheekbones, making his gray eyes seem darker.
He looked tired, she realized. As tired as she felt.
“You’ve changed things,” she said once Peters left. “Not just the mines. Felix mentioned you’ve been modernizing the tenant farms. Installing new drainage systems. Building schools.”
The Duke’s hand stilled on his wine glass. “The estate needs to be profitable.”
“Schools don’t generate profit.”
“Educated tenants are more productive.”
She tilted her head, studying him. “Is that what you believe? That it's only about efficiency?”
He glanced away. “Better conditions benefit everyone. Happy tenants don’t rebel or abandon their leases.”
“And the schoolbooks? The slates and pencils? Do those keep people from leaving, too?”
His jaw tightened. “Education serves practical purposes.”
“I suppose it does.” She paused, then added gently, “So does kindness.”
His eyes flicked toward her, then away again. The faintest crease appeared between his brows, but his expression remained unreadable.
“You don't have to explain yourself,” she said quietly. “Not to me. But if you’re doing good,truly good, I don’t think you have to pretend it’s only for the ledgers.”
A long silence stretched between them. She could see the flicker of something—surprise, maybe—in his eyes.
“I don’t understand you,” she said softly. “But I’d like to.”
The mask slipped just slightly. He looked at her, really looked at her, and for a heartbeat something unguarded passed between them.
Then he picked up his glass. “There’s not much to understand.”
“I grew up lonely, too,” she said. “After my brother died, my parents could barely look at me. I was a reminder of what they’d lost. But I never stopped hoping that someday, someone would see me. Really see me. Not as a disappointment or a duty, but as myself.”
She stood, abruptly, the weight of her confession settling heavy in her chest. She hadn’t meant to say so much. Her throat ached with it. Her heart did, too.
She turned to leave, but Owen rose quickly, his hand catching her wrist.
