“March—” Iris said.
“February,” Owen spoke at the same time.
The Dowager Duchess’s eyebrows rose. “Which is it?”
“Late February,” Owen corrected smoothly. “The twenty-eighth.”
“A leap year baby, almost. How special.” She sipped her tea. “And the birth itself? Was it very difficult?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
This time, the look in the Dowager Duchess’s eyes was decidedly suspicious. “My dears, one would think you’d remember such details.”
“It was long,” Iris explained quickly. “But not dangerously so. Just… exhausting.”
“Fourteen hours,” Owen added, pulling the number from thin air.
“Fifteen,” Iris corrected, then caught herself. “Or thereabouts. It was all rather blurry.”
“I imagine so,” the Dowager Duchess said dryly. “And you recovered well? No lasting effects?”
“None at all. I was quite fortunate.”
“Indeed. Though one wonders why you kept such joyous news a secret. Thetondoes so love a baby.”
“We valued our privacy,” Owen declared firmly.
“Privacy is all well and good, but secrets have a way of growing teeth.” The Dowager Duchess set down her cup with a decisive click. “I assume you’ve heard the rumors?”
Iris leaned forward. “Rumors?”
“Oh, my dear. Such nonsense. Some say the baby is deformed, which is why you’re hiding her. Others claim you were damaged during the birth and are now an invalid.” The Dowager Duchess paused briefly. “And there are whispers that Evie is Owen’s but not yours.”
Owen’s hands clenched involuntarily. “Gossip,” he growled.
“Of course it is. But unchecked gossip becomes accepted truth.” The Dowager Duchess’s expression was sympathetic but firm. “You need to be seen. Take the baby to Hyde Park. Attend a few events together. Show the world your perfect little family.”
“We don’t live our lives for theton’s entertainment,” Owen said coldly.
“No, but you live in their world. Like it or not, their opinion matters.” She reached over to pat his hand. “I know you hate it, dear boy. But sometimes we must play their games to protect what matters.”
She was right, and Owen hated that she was right. The thought of parading Evie around Hyde Park like a prize made his skin crawl. But if it would protect her from worse speculation, he would do it.
“We’ll consider it,” he relented.
“Good.” The Dowager Duchess rose and gathered her reticule. “I should go. But I’ll expect regular reports on my honorary great-granddaughter.”
The casual term sent another spike of guilt through Owen.
Your actual great-granddaughter.
He managed to maintain his composure as they saw her to the door, but he could feel the weight of the secret pressing down on him.
On the threshold, the Dowager Duchess paused and took Iris’s hands. “Be patient with him, my dear.”
“Duchess?” Iris blinked in surprise.
