“Kindness had nothing to do with it.” But his voice was softer than the words. “You’re no good to Evie if you exhaust yourself.”
Always practical. Always focused on duty rather than emotion. But she’d felt his gentleness last night. There had been care in his touch. Whatever he claimed, there was kindness in him. Tenderness, even.
She just didn’t know if he’d ever show it again.
CHAPTER 12
“Your Grace, the Dowager Duchess of Richmond has arrived.”
Owen looked up from his morning correspondence before setting down his quill with careful precision.
He’d been expecting this visit. He’d had known it was only a matter of time before word of Evie reached Nicholas’s grandmother.
“Show her to the parlor. And inform Her Grace that we have a visitor.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Owen straightened his cravat and jacket and prepared himself for what was sure to be an uncomfortable conversation.
He’d always found the Dowager Duchess excessively perceptive, and she was far too inclined to push past the limits he’d set. She was among the select few Nicholas had genuinely cared for, and Owen had vowed to watch over her.
That promise felt heavier now with Nicholas’s daughter sleeping upstairs.
He entered the parlor to find the Dowager Duchess already sitting on the sofa. Her gray hair was perfectly arranged beneath an elegant purple turban. At seventy, she remained formidable, and her dark eyes were as sharp as ever.
“Owen.” She rose with surprising grace and moved toward him with outstretched arms. “Come here, you sweet boy.”
His hands hung stiffly by his sides as she hugged him with unexpected strength. When she pulled back, she patted his cheek with a familiarity that would have earned anyone else a cold rebuke.
“You look tired,” she remarked. “And thin. When did you last eat a proper meal?”
“I eat regularly, Duchess.”
“Hmph. And when were you planning to tell me about your daughter?” Her voice rose dramatically. “I had to hear it from Lady Ashford, of all people. At the modiste’s! Can you imagine my mortification?”
“I apologize for the oversight.”
“Oversight?” She drew herself up to her full height, which brought her to his shoulders. “My grandson’s oldest friend has a child, and I’m the very last to know. Is that an oversight?”
The mention of Nicholas sent a familiar pang through Owen’s chest. “We preferred to keep the matter private. My wife’s health was delicate.”
“Delicate enough to keep it from family?” She shook her head and sent her turban feathers dancing. “Nicholas would be appalled at your manners.”
Before Owen could respond, Iris appeared in the doorway. She’d changed into a morning dress of soft blue that brought out her eyes, and her hair was neatly arranged. She looked lovely and slightly bewildered at the scene before her.
“Duchess,” she greeted while dropping into a curtsey.
“None of that.” The Dowager Duchess swept toward her and studied her with sharp interest. “We met at your wedding, though I doubt you remember. Too many faces, too much champagne. Let me look at you properly.”
Iris submitted to the inspection with good grace as a faint blush stained her cheeks.
Owen watched the Dowager Duchess’s expression soften.
“Pretty as ever,” she declared. “And you’ve given this impossible man a daughter. Well done, my dear.”
“Thank you, Duchess.”
“Beatrice. Family doesn’t stand on ceremony.” She turned back to Owen with renewed purpose. “Now, where is this baby you’ve been hiding?”
