“Business often is.”
“Of course. Though I confess I’m curious about these ventures. They seem to draw you away at such unusual hours.”
Owen’s hand stilled on the papers. “What are you asking, Iris?”
“Nothing specific. I am simply wondering if there’s anything I should know. As your wife, I mean. If these obligations might affect our social calendar or living arrangements.”
“They won’t.”
The flat dismissal ended the conversation as effectively as a door slamming shut.
Iris rose. Pride kept her spine straight despite the sting of his indifference. “Well then, I’ll leave you to your correspondence.”
She was nearly at the door when his voice stopped her. “Iris.”
She turned and hope fluttered in her chest.
“Wear the blue silk dress tonight. The one with the pearl trim.”
“Why?”
“Because it brings out your eyes.” His gaze met hers for a moment before dropping back to his papers. “You look beautiful in blue.”
The compliment was unexpected, almost reluctant. It should have pleased her. Instead, she felt defeated.
He might acknowledge her appearance, but her heart remained untouched.
Hours later, Iris stood in front of her mirror, wearing the requested blue silk dress, watching Mary tuck pearl combs in her hair. The gown was one of her finest, its deep sapphire shade making her skin glow and her eyes appear almost luminous.
She looked every inch the Duchess of Carridan.
But beneath the elegant facade, questions multiplied like shadows. Where did he go on these late nights? What kept him away from home until dawn? And why did the not knowing hurt worse than any truth might?
The ballroom at Halliwell House glittered with London’s elite who were all gathered to support the worthy cause of housing orphaned children.
Iris moved through the crowd on Owen’s arm, playing her part with practiced grace while watching for signs of what kept her husband’s attention so thoroughly occupied.
“Your Graces! How wonderful to see you.”
The Dowager Duchess of Richmond approached them near the refreshments table. She looked magnificent in purple silk with her signature feathered turban. Despite the circumstances of their relationship, Iris had grown quite fond of the older woman.
“Duchess.” She curtseyed then noted how Owen’s brow softened with genuine affection.
“You both look splendid. Though I must scold you again for keeping that precious baby hidden away. When am I to have another visit with the little angel?”
“Soon,” Owen said, before Iris could respond. “Perhaps next week, if your schedule permits.”
“My schedule?” The Dowager Duchess laughed. “My dear boy, at my age, my schedule is entirely at the discretion of my knees and the weather. But I shall make time for that sweet child, regardless of my aches and pains.”
“She’s growing up so quickly,” Iris offered. “Already trying to sit up on her own.”
“Clever girl. She gets that from both sides, I’m sure.” The Dowager Duchess’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “Although I hope she inherits Owen’s good sense and your warm heart, my dear. That combination would produce an enchanting child, indeed.”
Before either could respond, another voice interrupted. “Your Graces. What a lovely picture you make.”
The Duke of Richmond materialized beside them with that unsettling smile that never reached his eyes. Iris felt Owen tense. His hand tightened almost imperceptibly on her arm.
“Richmond,” he replied with careful neutrality.
