Page 15 of The Duke’s Untouched Bride (Regency Second Chances #3)
“ S he’s finally settling, Your Grace.”
Iris looked up from where she sat on the nursery floor with Evie cradled in her lap. Mrs. Pemberton stood in the doorway. There was a knowing smile on her weathered face.
“She likes it when I hum,” Iris said as she traced a finger along Evie’s tiny fist. “Though I’m not sure my voice is anything to boast about.”
“Babies don’t care about perfect pitch. They care about the feeling behind it.” The housekeeper moved into the room and lowered herself into the chair by the window. “You’re a natural.”
“I’m learning.” Iris adjusted Evie’s blanket, marveling at how small she was. How perfect. “May I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“When babies this young cry, how do you know what they need? Sometimes she’s hungry, sometimes she needs changing, but other times…”
“Other times she just wants to be held,” Mrs. Pemberton finished. “Babies are like the rest of us that way. They need to know that someone’s there.”
“But how do you tell the difference?”
“Experience, mostly. But you’re already learning her cries. The hungry one’s more insistent—starts soft and builds. The uncomfortable cry is sharper, more sudden.” Mrs. Pemberton leaned forward. “You’ve noticed that already, haven’t you?”
Iris nodded. She had noticed and that made her feel oddly proud. In such a short time, she’d begun to understand Evie’s different sounds, preferences, and rhythms.
“She doesn’t like to be swaddled too tightly,” she noted. “And she prefers to face the window when she’s awake. She’s fascinated by the light.”
“See? You’re already her mother in all the ways that matter.”
The words hit like cold water. “I’m not her mother.”
“Aren’t you?” Mrs. Pemberton’s gaze was steady. “Who else does she have?”
“That’s not… I’m just caring for her until we find a proper nurse.”
“If you say so, Your Grace.”
But as Mrs. Pemberton left, Iris studied Evie’s peaceful face. The baby’s dark lashes fanned against her cheeks and her rosebud mouth made small sucking motions in sleep.
Evie stirred slightly, and Iris automatically began humming again. She recalled a lullaby her own mother had sung, back when there had been music in their home before her brother died and took the joy with him.
She was so lost in the melody and memories that she didn’t notice the afternoon slipping away. The light through the window shifted from bright to orange and cast long shadows on the floor. Evie slept soundly for nearly an hour, but Iris couldn’t bring herself to put her down.
“You’re going to spoil her.”
The soft voice from the doorway made her look up. Mary stood there with a tea tray.
“Mrs. Pemberton thought you might need refreshment, Your Grace. You’ve been here all afternoon.”
“Have I?” Iris glanced at the window, surprised by how low the sun had gotten. “I lost track of time.”
“Should I take her so you can have your tea?”
“No.” The refusal came out sharper than she had intended. She softened her voice. “That is, she’s sleeping so well. I don’t want to disturb her.”
Mary set the tray on the side table. Her expression showed her understanding. “She’s lucky to have you, Your Grace. Whatever her circumstances.”
After Mary left, Iris thought about those circumstances again.
Who was Evie’s mother? Where was she now? Did she think about her baby? Did she wonder if she was safe and loved?
“I hope she knows,” Iris told the sleeping infant. “I hope wherever she is, she knows you’re protected. That you’ll never want for anything.”
She caught herself smiling down at Evie and felt that familiar warmth spreading through her chest. It should have frightened her, this growing attachment. Instead, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.
“You’re safe now,” she whispered while adjusting the blanket. “Whatever brought you to us, you’re safe.”
The baby stirred slightly and her tiny fist curled against Iris’s finger. It was such a small gesture, but it felt like trust. Like acceptance.
For the first time, Iris felt truly needed. She was not just a Duchess who fulfilled social obligations but was someone who mattered to this precious life. Iris’s presence made a difference to Evie.
The nursery door opened again, but this time no footsteps announced the visitor.
Iris looked up to find the Duke standing there. He still wore his day clothes but had loosened his cravat. He looked tired. The shadows under his eyes seemed deeper than they had been this morning.
“I didn’t hear you come in,” she whispered.
“I didn’t want to wake her.” He moved into the room with surprising stealth for such a large man. “Or you. You looked peaceful.”
“Just thinking.” She shifted slightly because her legs were beginning to cramp from sitting on the floor for so long. “What time is it?”
“Nearly seven. You missed tea.”
“I didn’t notice.” She looked down at Evie again. “She’s been sleeping so well, I didn’t want to move.”
“You’ll hurt your back, sitting on the floor like that.”
“Probably.” But she made no move to get up.
He was quiet for a moment, and she could feel him watching them.
It should have made her self-conscious, but there was something oddly comforting about his presence. It was as if the three of them existed in a bubble outside of time and complications.
“Has she eaten?” he asked finally.
“About two hours ago. She’ll wake up hungry soon.”
“And you? Have you eaten?” he said, gesturing to the tray of untouched food.
The question surprised her. “I… no. I forgot.”
“You forget too often.”
Before she could respond, he moved to the chair Mrs. Pemberton had vacated. For a moment, she thought he would lecture her again about proper meals. Instead, he simply sat, stretching his long legs out in front of him.
“The investment meeting went well,” he said after a moment. “The railway venture looks promising.”
“That’s good.”
She wasn’t sure why he was telling her this. They didn’t usually discuss his business.
They sat in companionable silence as the light continued to fade. Iris gently rocked Evie in her arms.
Iris stole glances at her husband, trying to reconcile this quiet man with the one who’d kissed her so desperately last night. He seemed softer in the dying light and less guarded.
Her arms were aching from holding Evie, and she must have shifted unconsciously because the Duke noticed.
“You should put her down,” he said. “Rest your arms.”
“In a moment.”
But the moment stretched on, and Iris found her eyelids growing heavy. The warmth of Evie against her chest, the quiet of the room, the surprising comfort of the Duke’s presence… it all combined to make her drowsy.
“Duchess.” His voice sounded far away. “You’re falling asleep.”
“I’m not,” she protested, even as her head nodded forward.
She heard him move and felt him come closer but couldn’t quite open her eyes. Then, gentle hands adjusted her position. He propped her more comfortably against the wall.
A moment later, something soft and warm settled around her shoulders. A blanket that smelled of sandalwood and brandy.
“Sleep,” he murmured. “I’ll watch over you both.”
She wanted to protest that she wasn’t tired, that she didn’t need to be watched. But the words wouldn’t come.
Instead, she let herself drift off, Evie safe in her arms and her husband standing guard.
When she woke up, the room was dark except for a single lamp. The Duke was gone, but the shawl remained around her shoulders. Evie was stirring in the cradle, making those small sounds that usually preceded her wails.
“There you are,” Iris murmured as she struggled to her feet. “Patient girl, letting me sleep.”
As she rang for a bottle to be prepared, she caught sight of herself in the mirror. Her hair was mussed, her dress wrinkled, but there was color in her cheeks that hadn’t been there this morning. The blankets—one of her husband’s, she realized—made her look softer somehow. Protected.
She touched the fine wool and remembered the gentleness in his voice.
I’ll watch over you both , he’d said.
For a moment, she’d felt cared for and safe.
Dangerous feelings, those. As dangerous as the warmth she felt for Evie.
“He’s not your husband,” she told her reflection firmly. “Not really. Not in any way that matters.”
But as she settled into the rocking chair to feed Evie, the Duke’s blanket still around her shoulders, she couldn’t quite make herself believe it.
The next morning brought a new challenge in the form of Miss Prudence Hartley, the nursemaid Grace’s sister had recommended. She arrived precisely at ten, dressed in severe gray that matched her expression.
“Your Grace.” Her curtsey was perfect, and her tone was clipped. “I understand you require a nurse for your daughter.”
“Yes. Please, sit.” Iris gestured to the chair across from her in the morning room. “Tell me about your experience.”
Miss Hartley launched into a recitation of her credentials. Five years with the Marquess of Bambridge’s family. Three years before that, with Lord Ashton’s twins. Excellent references. Traditional methods.
“Traditional methods?” Iris echoed.
“Structure, Your Grace. Routine. Children thrive on discipline.” Miss Hartley pressed her thin lips together. “I understand the infant has been sleeping in a makeshift crib near your room?”
“The nursery is being prepared?—”
“Unfortunate. Children should learn independence from birth. Coddling creates weakness.”
Iris’s smile faltered. “She’s barely four months old.”
“Old enough to begin proper training. Crying strengthens the lungs. Immediate response to tears creates demanding children.” Miss Hartley’s blue eyes swept over her, clearly finding her wanting. “I assume you’ll want to wean her from night feedings immediately. Unnecessary after two months.”
“The wet nurse said?—”
“Country wisdom, no doubt.” The dismissal was clear. “I follow Dr. Churton’s methods. Scientific. Proven. The child will cry for a few nights, but she’ll learn.”
“Learn what, exactly?”
“That tears bring no reward. Self-soothing is essential for proper development.”