Page 1 of The Duke’s Untouched Bride (Regency Second Chances #3)

“ Y ou can’t expect a man to leave a woman like you all alone and not cause trouble, Your Grace.” Lord Bradford stood too close. His breath carried the sweet stench of port.

Iris kept her smile steady even as her stomach churned. The corner of Felix’s drawing room suddenly felt like a trap.

“You’ve mistaken me for someone interesting, My Lord.” She tried to step sideways, but Bradford braced his hand on the wall, right beside her head.

“Oh, I think not.” He leaned in close. His eyes roamed over her face with an appreciation that made her skin crawl. “The elusive Duchess of Carridan, finally gracing us with her presence. Your husband must be very… busy to leave such a treasure unguarded.”

The word ‘busy’ dripped with suggestion.

Iris felt heat rise in her cheeks, but she kept her voice cool. “The Duke’s affairs are his own concern.”

“Affairs, yes.” Bradford’s smile widened. “One wonders what keeps a man in London when his wife waits in the country. All these wolves circling, and no protector in sight.”

Each word struck like a small knife.

A year.

The Duke had left her alone for an entire year, abandoning her on their wedding night without an explanation.

Still, she’d die before she let this leering fool see how deeply that cut.

“I require no protection if the gentlemen in this room still understand propriety.” She lifted her chin. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I believe I see Lady Whitmore beckoning.”

She ducked under his arm before he could respond, and her heart hammered against her ribs. The lie about Lady Whitmore didn’t matter. She just needed to put distance between herself and Bradford’s wandering eyes.

But escape proved short-lived.

Three women materialized in her path like vultures descending on carrion. Lady Grossmont led the pack. Her thin lips were already curling into a false smile.

“Your Grace! How wonderful to finally see you in Society.” The emphasis on ‘finally’ rang clear as a bell. “We were thinking you’d taken holy orders.”

“Or perhaps you’ve been busy with other matters?” Lady Ashford suggested, her gaze dropping meaningfully to Iris’s waist. “Though one would expect happy news by now, after a full year of marriage.”

The third woman, Lady Downfield, tittered behind her fan. “How modern of the Duke, maintaining separate households. They say he’s terribly devoted to his… business interests in London.”

Iris’s smile felt like glass, ready to shatter at the slightest pressure. “How kind of you all to take such interest in my life. I’m sure your own families benefit from such devoted attention.”

Lady Grossmont’s eyes narrowed. “One simply worries when a new bride is so often alone. People talk.”

“About the Duke’s absence?” Lady Ashford asked. “Or about what might be keeping him away?”

They circled her like hungry cats. Each word was calculated to wound.

Iris had attended enough gatherings to recognize the game. They wanted tears. They wanted her to crumble, to admit that her husband had abandoned her and that her marriage was a sham.

She would give them nothing.

“Ah, Your Grace! There you are.” Felix’s voice cut through their interrogation like sunshine through storm clouds. “I’ve been searching all evening for someone better than me to stand next to.”

The ladies immediately softened. They fluttered their fans and simpered at the Marquess of Halston.

Felix cut a dashing figure in his midnight blue coat. His dark hair was artfully tousled. More importantly, he was unmarried, titled, and owner of a grand fortune.

“Lord Halston,” Lady Grossmont purred. “How delightful. We were just getting reacquainted with Her Grace.”

“Reacquainted? How fascinating.” Felix’s smile was charming, but Iris caught the sharp edge beneath his tone. “Though I can’t imagine what you’d need to reacquaint yourselves with. Surely nothing’s changed since this morning when you were gossiping about her at the milliner’s shop?”

Lady Ashford’s face pinked. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“No? My mistake, then. I could have sworn I heard something about the Duchess while I was selecting ribbons for my cousin. Dreadful acoustics in that shop. One hears the most ridiculous tales.” He paused and his smile never wavered.

“Why, someone even suggested that Lord Ashford had lost a thousand pounds at cards last week. Utter nonsense, of course.”

Lady Ashford’s face drained of color. The truth of her husband’s gambling addiction was apparently not as secret as she’d hoped.

Felix offered Iris his arm. “Your Grace, I believe you promised me a tour of the conservatory. Ladies, you’ll excuse us?”

He whisked her away before they could respond, guiding her through the crowd with practiced ease. Iris focused on breathing steadily, on keeping her spine straight and her expression serene. Only when they reached the relative quiet of the hallway did she allow her shoulders to drop.

“Harpies,” Felix muttered. “The whole lot of them. Bradford, too. I saw him cornering you.”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“You shouldn’t have to handle it.” He stopped walking and turned to face her fully. His usual humor had vanished. It was replaced by something more serious. “Iris, I’m sorry.”

“For what? You rescued me quite nicely.”

“Not for that.” He ran a hand through his hair, disturbing its careful arrangement. “For before. For not fighting harder when your father arranged this marriage. I should have done something.”

The words hit unexpectedly hard.

Iris had to look away and feigned studying an ugly portrait on the wall. “You couldn’t have changed his mind. No one could once he’d decided.”

“I could have tried harder. Found you someone else, someone who would have…” He paused. “Someone who would have stayed.”

There it was. The truth they both danced around.

Her husband had abandoned her, left her to face the gossips and the Bradfords of the world alone. A year of an empty house and emptier promises.

“What’s done is done,” she said, her voice low. “I prefer to focus on the present.”

Felix studied her for a long moment. Then, he offered his arm again. “Then let’s find you a better present. I believe Grace threatened to assault anyone who looked at you sideways tonight.”

Despite everything, Iris felt her lips twitch. “She didn’t.”

“She did. Harrison had to physically restrain her when Bradford approached you. She was reaching for the fire poker.”

They found their friends in the card room, though neither was playing. Grace spotted them first and immediately rushed over. Her green silk gown rustled in her haste.

“Iris! Finally!” She pulled Iris into a fierce hug. “I’ve been plotting violence all evening. That horrible Bradford creature and those witches who surrounded you. Just say the word, and I’ll ‘accidentally’ spill wine on all of them.”

“Absolutely not,” Harrison said while coming up behind his wife.

The Earl of Brentwell was tall and lean with kind eyes that crinkled when he smiled.

“If we’re going to take revenge, we’ll be subtle about it. A little salt in their drinks, perhaps. Or we could loosen the heel of Lady Ashford’s shoe.”

Grace turned to beam at her husband. “Oh, I do love your devious mind.”

“It’s one of my better qualities,” Harrison agreed as he dropped a kiss on her temple.

Felix made a retching sound. “Please, I’ve just eaten.”

“You’re simply jealous because no one wants to kiss you,” Grace shot back.

“On the contrary, many people want to kiss me. I’m extremely kissable. Tell them, Iris.”

“I refuse to be drawn into this,” Iris said, but she was smiling.

This was why she came to these gatherings, for these moments with the people who cared about her.

Still, when she saw Harrison’s hand find the small of Grace’s back and noticed the way they moved in perfect sync, she felt that familiar ache in her chest. They had what she’d once dreamed of. A marriage built on love and laughter, not contracts and abandonment.

The evening wore on with more of the same. Felix kept the worst of the gossips at bay with his sharp wit and sharper tongue. Grace and Harrison provided a buffer of warmth and genuine friendship. But Iris felt the weight of every stare and whispered comments that followed in her wake.

The Duchess of Carridan. Abandoned bride. Utterly hopeless.

By the time she called for her carriage, exhaustion pulled at her bones. The ride to Carridan Hall passed in blessed silence, just the clip-clop of horses hooves and the creak of wheels. She let her head fall back against the velvet squabs and closed her eyes.

One more day survived. One more day of smiles, deflecting, and pretending her heart wasn’t slowly turning to stone.

The carriage rolled to a stop, and she composed herself for the short walk to the house. Carridan Hall loomed in the darkness, all Gothic towers and empty windows. The manor was her prison and refuge all at once.

“Welcome back, Your Grace.” Jeffers, the butler, met her at the door. His usually composed face showed signs of strain. “I trust you had a pleasant evening?”

“Pleasant enough.” She handed him her cloak and frowned at his expression. “Is something the matter, Jeffers?”

“Well, Your Grace, there’s been a rather unusual…” He paused as a thin wail cut through the air.

Iris froze. “What is that?”

The wail came again, high and desperate.

A baby’s cry.

Without waiting for an answer, she pushed past Jeffers into the drawing room. There, near the dying fire, sat a woven basket she’d never seen before. The cries were coming from within.

“It was left on the front step, Your Grace,” Jeffers said from behind her. “Perhaps two hours ago. No carriage that anyone saw. No one spotted who left it.”

Iris approached the basket slowly, as if it might disappear. Inside, wrapped in a worn blanket, was a baby. Tiny fists waved in the air. The little face was red with distress.

“There was a note,” Jeffers added quietly.

With trembling fingers, Iris took the folded paper he offered. The writing was feminine but hurried.

Her name is Evie. She is all that remains. Please protect her.

The paper slipped from Iris’s numb fingers. She stared at the crying infant while her mind raced to a single, devastating conclusion.

The Duke of Carridan had a child.

Her husband, who couldn’t even be bothered to stay one night with her had found comfort elsewhere. And now his mistress had left the evidence on their doorstep.

All that remains .

What did that mean? Had the woman died? Run away?

The baby’s cries softened to whimpers. Despite everything, despite the betrayal burning in her chest, Iris reached into the basket. The moment her hands touched the warm bundle, Evie quieted, and blinked up at her with unfocused eyes.

“Your Grace?” Jeffers ventured. “Shall I send for the constable?”

“No.” The word came out sharper than intended. She softened her voice. “No, that won’t be necessary.”

“But surely His Grace should be informed immediately?”

His Grace. Her husband. The stranger who’d stood beside her at the altar, spoke vows he had no intention of keeping, and vanished into the night like smoke.

Now she knew why.

“I’ll handle it,” she said quietly. “Please have Mrs. Morrison prepare the blue bedroom. The one with good light. And send someone to the village for a wet nurse. The baby needs to eat.”

If Jeffers found her instructions odd, he didn’t show it. “Of course, Your Grace. Shall I prepare a carriage for London? To fetch His Grace?”

Iris looked down at the baby in her arms. Evie had fallen asleep with one tiny fist curled against her cheek. She was innocent of the circumstances that brought her here. Innocent of everything.

“Yes,” she said softly. “But not tonight. Tomorrow will be soon enough.”

Tomorrow, she would face her husband. Tomorrow, she would demand answers.

Tonight, she had a baby to tend to. This child deserved better than to be abandoned on a doorstep with nothing but a cryptic note and a mother’s desperation just like Iris had deserved better than a husband who couldn’t even pretend to want her.

She settled into the chair by the fire and adjusted Evie’s position in her arms. The house felt different somehow. Fuller.

For the first time in a year, she wasn’t alone at Carridan Hall.

Even if the company came courtesy of her husband’s betrayal.