She wasn’t sure why he was telling her this. They didn’t usually discuss his business.
They sat in companionable silence as the light continued to fade. Iris gently rocked Evie in her arms.
Iris stole glances at her husband, trying to reconcile this quiet man with the one who’d kissed her so desperately last night. He seemed softer in the dying light and less guarded.
Her arms were aching from holding Evie, and she must have shifted unconsciously because the Duke noticed.
“You should put her down,” he said. “Rest your arms.”
“In a moment.”
But the moment stretched on, and Iris found her eyelids growing heavy. The warmth of Evie against her chest, the quiet of the room, the surprising comfort of the Duke’s presence… it all combined to make her drowsy.
“Duchess.” His voice sounded far away. “You’re falling asleep.”
“I’m not,” she protested, even as her head nodded forward.
She heard him move and felt him come closer but couldn’t quite open her eyes. Then, gentle hands adjusted her position. He propped her more comfortably against the wall.
A moment later, something soft and warm settled around her shoulders. A blanket that smelled of sandalwood and brandy.
“Sleep,” he murmured. “I’ll watch over you both.”
She wanted to protest that she wasn’t tired, that she didn’t need to be watched. But the words wouldn’t come.
Instead, she let herself drift off, Evie safe in her arms and her husband standing guard.
When she woke up, the room was dark except for a single lamp. The Duke was gone, but the shawl remained around her shoulders. Evie was stirring in the cradle, making those small sounds that usually preceded her wails.
“There you are,” Iris murmured as she struggled to her feet. “Patient girl, letting me sleep.”
As she rang for a bottle to be prepared, she caught sight of herself in the mirror. Her hair was mussed, her dress wrinkled, but there was color in her cheeks that hadn’t been there this morning. The blankets—one of her husband’s, she realized—made her look softer somehow. Protected.
She touched the fine wool and remembered the gentleness in his voice.
I’ll watch over you both, he’d said.
For a moment, she’d felt cared for and safe.
Dangerous feelings, those. As dangerous as the warmth she felt for Evie.
“He’s not your husband,” she told her reflection firmly. “Not really. Not in any way that matters.”
But as she settled into the rocking chair to feed Evie, the Duke’s blanket still around her shoulders, she couldn’t quite make herself believe it.
The next morning brought a new challenge in the form of Miss Prudence Hartley, the nursemaid Grace’s sister had recommended. She arrived precisely at ten, dressed in severe gray that matched her expression.
“Your Grace.” Her curtsey was perfect, and her tone was clipped. “I understand you require a nurse for your daughter.”
“Yes. Please, sit.” Iris gestured to the chair across from her in the morning room. “Tell me about your experience.”
Miss Hartley launched into a recitation of her credentials. Five years with the Marquess of Bambridge’s family. Three yearsbefore that, with Lord Ashton’s twins. Excellent references. Traditional methods.
“Traditional methods?” Iris echoed.
“Structure, Your Grace. Routine. Children thrive on discipline.” Miss Hartley pressed her thin lips together. “I understand the infant has been sleeping in a makeshift crib near your room?”
“The nursery is being prepared?—”
