By the time they were ready to leave, Iris felt like her entire body was on fire.
As they neared the park, she could see crowds of people enjoying the afternoon sunshine. Her stomach clenched.
“Ready?” Owen asked as the carriage slowed.
“No.” She adjusted Evie’s bonnet with trembling fingers. “But I suppose that doesn’t matter.”
Something in his expression softened. “You’ll do fine. Just remember, we control the narrative. Short responses, pleasant smiles, keep moving.”
The footman opened the door, and Owen stepped down first before turning to help her. His hands were steady on her waist as he lifted her down, Evie secure in her arms.
For a moment, they stood close enough that she could smell his cologne and see the faint lines around his eyes.
Then, the moment broke. Owen turned to supervise the pram’s removal from the carriage before Iris settled Evie into the cushioned interior.
Around them, she could feel the shift in attention. Heads turned. Conversations paused.
They were on stage.
“Shall we?” Owen offered his arm with formal courtesy.
Iris placed her hand on his sleeve, feeling the solid warmth of him through the fabric. Together, they began pushing the pram along the path and their steps fell into a rhythm.
The first few minutes were almost peaceful. The summer air was crisp but pleasant, and Evie seemed content to watch the sky through half-closed eyes. Other couples strolled past. Some nodded in acknowledgment. Iris relaxed slightly.
Then, Lady Garrison appeared, resplendent in emerald green.
“Your Graces! What a delightful surprise.” Her eyes flicked immediately to the pram. “And this must be little Lady Evangeline. May I?”
Iris nodded, and Lady Garrison peered into the pram with the avid interest of a collector examining a rare specimen.
“Oh, she’s precious. Such dark hair! She favors you, Your Grace,” she said to Iris. “The shape of the face, definitely. Though perhaps she has His Grace’s coloring?”
“We think she has my eyes,” Iris offered, remembering their rehearsed responses.
“Indeed! And so alert for one so young. When did you say she was born?”
“February,” Owen replied smoothly. “The twenty-eighth.”
“A winter baby! They’re always the strongest.” Lady Garrison straightened. “We missed you during your confinement, Your Grace. Such a shame you had to miss the entire Season.”
“My health required peace and quiet,” Iris said. “But we’re grateful to be out now.”
“Of course. Country air does wonders for recovery.” The implication that Iris had been hiding something shameful hung in the air. “You must attend the ball I’m hosting next week. Everyone is dying to meet your little treasure.”
They made appropriate noises of agreement and moved on, but Iris could feel more eyes on them now. The news would spread quickly. The reclusive Duke and Duchess had emerged with their mysterious baby.
Lord and Lady Ashford were next, followed by Lady Milton and her daughter.
Each encounter followed the same pattern. Excessive interest in Evie, probing questions disguised as concern, and invitations that felt more like summons.
“She’s quite small,” Lady Downs observed. “Was she early?”
“Not at all,” Owen said. “The physician assured us she’s perfectly healthy.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean to imply… That is, she’s lovely. Just petite. Like her mother.”
Iris maintained her smile, even as her cheeks ached from the effort. Beside her, Owen remained outwardly calm, but she could feel the tension radiating from him.
