“Thank you, Mary. That will be all.”
The maid curtseyed and withdrew, leaving Iris alone with her mounting suspicions.
She set down her brush and moved to the window, gazing out at the garden where morning light painted everything in soft gold.
Somewhere in the house, Evie would wake up soon and be ready for her morning feeding. The familiar routine would begin again. It was the careful dance of caring for a child.
A soft sound from the nursery caught her ear. Iris crossed the room and pressed her hand against the adjoining door, listening.
Owen’s voice came through, quiet and low. “There’s my girl. Did you sleep well?”
She eased the door open just enough to see inside. He was in the rocking chair—the one she’d grown used to thinking of as hers—with Evie lying on his chest. His evening coat was gone, but he still wore his shirt and trousers, unchanged from whatever had kept him out so late.
“You’re getting so big,” he whispered. “Soon you’ll be sitting up. Then crawling. Then I’ll be chasing you around the house.”
The gentleness in his voice caught her off guard. This was the man she sometimes glimpsed when no one else was around. The one who sang lullabies and spoke to their daughter like she understood every word.
But Iris knew too well how quickly that softness vanished when she stepped into the room.
“Your mama’s still sleeping,” he said while brushing a hand over Evie’s hair. “She takes such good care of you. We’re lucky to have her.”
The words should have warmed her. Instead, they landed like something spoken from a distance. His compliments seemed more like conveying an observation than affection.
Evie let out a small, impatient sound, and Owen smiled.
“Hungry again? Let’s see if I remember how to do this.”
He stood up, moved to the side table, and picked up a bottle with a calm familiarity that surprised Iris. She watched him test the milk on his wrist, shift Evie into a better position, and settle back into the chair as she fed.
It was an ordinary moment, quiet and domestic. And it made her chest ache.
If only he looked at her that way.
Before he could sense her presence, Iris stepped back and closed the door. Watching him with Evie always left her with the same tangle of feelings. She was relieved that he loved their daughter, but it also hurt that there was so little of that tenderness left for her.
She glanced at the soft green morning gown she wore, which suited her complexion. Tonight, they were attending the charity ball for St. Catherine’s Orphanage. It would be another night of smiles and small talk and of pretending everything between them was just as it should be.
But first, she would try again.
An hour later, she found him in his study, bent over a stack of letters. He didn’t notice her at first. When he did, he looked up with the same guarded expression he always wore. There were dark circles under his eyes.
Neither of them spoke right away.
“Good morning,” she greeted, eventually before settling into the chair across from his desk. “You’re up early.”
“I had correspondence to address.” He set down his quill, giving her his attention with the same courtesy he might show any visitor. “Did you need something?”
The polite question stung. It was almost as if they were strangers who were forced to interact with one another.
“I thought we might discuss tonight’s event.”
“Of course.” He reached for another paper and scanned it briefly. “Lord Morrison will be attending, as will the Ashfords. Both have deep pockets when properly motivated.”
“And your plans before the event? Will you be dining at home?”
Something flickered in his expression. “I have a meeting at the club. Nothing that should delay my return.”
“Another meeting.” She kept her tone light and conversational. “You’ve been quite busy lately. These new investments must be demanding.”
