“I should help?—”
“No.” He moved toward the cradle. “When did you last eat? When did you last sit down without her in your arms?”
“I… I don’t remember.”
“Then go. Bathe. Eat. Sleep.” He tucked Evie into her cradle all while maintaining the gentle swaying motion. “I’ll stay with her.”
“You don’t have to?—”
“Go, Iris.”
Iris hesitated in the doorway. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. This is what I should have been doing all along.”
After she left, Owen stood there, watching Evie sleep.
She was such a small thing but had managed to disrupt their lives so completely.
But standing there in the quiet nursery, he realized the disruption went deeper than crying babies and sleepless nights.
Iris was right. He’d been so focused on protecting them from external threats that he’d failed to simply be present.
Felix was right, too. What good was hunting for Adele if it meant leaving Iris to struggle alone?
Evie stirred, and he hummed the shanty again.
His grandfather would have laughed to see him now. He was the Duke of Carridan, the man who’d sworn off family, singing lullabies in the dark.
As Evie settled back into sleep, Owen thought maybe that was the point. Maybe some promises were meant to be broken.
Tomorrow, he’d tell Iris about Crocker and the lead on Adele. Tomorrow, they’d find a proper nurse, someone warm and capable who understood that babies needed love as much as milk.
Tonight, he’d simply stand guard over this small life they’d claimed and try to remember all the lyrics of his grandfather’s songs.
CHAPTER 17
“You look magnificent.”
Iris paused at the top of the stairs with her hand gripping the banister. Owen stood in the entrance hall below, resplendent in evening black. His gray eyes fixed on her with an intensity that made her breath catch in her throat.
The gown was new, a creation of deep sapphire silk that caught the light with every movement. The modiste had insisted it brought out her eyes, but Iris had worried it was too much. Too bold for a woman who’d been hidden away for over a year.
“Thank you.” She descended slowly, aware of his gaze tracking her movement. “You look well yourself.”
That was an understatement. The severe black of his coat suited him perfectly. The cut of the garment emphasized his broad shoulders and lean height.
He offered his arm when she reached the bottom. “Ready?”
“No.” She placed her hand on his sleeve, feeling the warmth of him through the fabric. “But I suppose that doesn’t matter.”
“You’ll be wonderful.” His voice was softer than usual. “Just remember: we control the narrative. Short answers, move on quickly if someone presses the issue.”
“And if they ask about Evie?”
“We tell them she’s thriving. That you’re both well. Nothing more.”
The carriage ride passed too quickly. Through the window, Iris could see other carriages arriving at Lord Morrison’s townhouse. There were ladies in jewels and gentlemen in evening dress emerging into the gaslight. Her stomach churned.
