Lady Morrison’s bright voice shattered the moment like glass. She approached with obvious delight, oblivious to the tension crackling between them.
“Such a lovely couple. Though you both look rather serious for such a festive occasion.”
“We were discussing our donation,” Iris managed, though her body still hummed with awareness of her husband.
“How generous. Though I must say, Your Grace, you’ve garnered quite a few admiring looks tonight.” Lady Morrison’s eyes gleamed with malice. “Several gentlemen have commented on your beauty.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Iris saw Owen’s jaw clench. The possessive response sent another thrill through her, even as she wondered what right he had to be jealous when he spent his nights away from home.
The rest of the evening passed in a haze of carefully managed appearances. But beneath the surface, tension simmered like a pot about to boil over.
Iris felt Owen’s attention like a physical touch every time another man approached her. She watched other women flutter around him and tasted the sharp bitterness of jealousy on her tongue.
Whatever secrets he kept, whatever drew him away from home night after night, the attraction between them burned as fierce as ever. The question was whether that fire would consume them both or mold them into something stronger.
She’d heard the raw desire in his voice tonight and seen the jealousy flare when other men paid her attention. She felt the careful control that kept his hands from lingering when he touched her.
The time for patience was ending. Whatever game they were playing, whatever careful dance they’d constructed around their mutual attraction, she was tired of being a passive participant.
CHAPTER 24
“I’m afraid your methods are entirely unsuitable for a child of Lady Evangeline’s station.” Miss Hagarty stood in the morning room with the rigid posture of a woman accustomed to being obeyed. Her pale blue eyes scanned Iris with obvious disapproval.
The interview had begun promisingly enough, with excellent references and a calm demeanor that suggested competence. But within minutes, the woman’s true nature had emerged.
“In what way?” Iris kept her voice level, though irritation simmered beneath her skin.
“The child is clearly spoiled beyond redemption. She’s being held constantly, fed on demand rather than schedule, and allowed to sleep close to the family quarters.” Miss Hagarty pursed her thin lips with distaste. “Such indulgence creates willful, demanding children who will only grow into insufferable adults.”
“Lady Evangeline is five months old.”
“Old enough to begin proper training. Children learn from birth, Your Grace. Every time you respond to crying, you teach them that tears bring a reward. Every time you hold them unnecessarily, you foster dependence.” The woman’s voice carried the certainty of someone whose methods had never been questioned. “I would begin immediately with scheduled feedings, isolated sleep periods, and limited physical contact. The child would adjust within a week.”
The idea of surrendering the intimate connection she had with Evie, of becoming merely a supervisor rather than a mother, filled her with unexpected resistance.
“And if she becomes distressed during this adjustment?”
“Distress builds character. Children who learn early on that the world will not bend to their whims become stronger adults.” Miss Hagarty straightened her already-perfect posture. “I have successfully trained dozens of children using these methods. All grew into well-behaved, productive members of society.”
“I see.” Iris rose. “Thank you for your time, Miss Hagarty. We’ll be in touch.”
“Surely you wish to discuss my routines? My philosophy regarding discipline and education?” Miss Hagarty’s confidence faltered slightly.
“That won’t be necessary.” Iris moved toward the door, making her dismissal clear.
Miss Hagarty gathered her reticule with stiff movements. “Well, then, good day, Your Grace.”
The door closed behind her with satisfying finality.
Iris sank back into her chair, exhaustion pulling at her bones. That made the fifth interview this month, and the fifth nurse whose methods she couldn’t stomach.
Was she being too particular? Too protective of a child who wasn’t even truly hers?
A soft knock interrupted her brooding.
“Your Grace?” Peters appeared in the doorway. “Lady Brentwell has arrived for your appointment.”
Grace swept into the room moments later, bringing sunshine and the faint scent of roses. “Please tell me that dreadful woman I passed in the hall wasn’t another candidate.”
