Page 29 of The Duke’s Untouched Bride (Regency Second Chances #3)
“ H is Grace seemed disappointed you’d already taken breakfast up here, Your Grace.” Mary’s nimble fingers did not pause as she styled Iris’s hair.
Iris looked at Mary’s reflection in the mirror, noting the careful way with which she phrased her observation.
Owen had been making efforts lately. He appeared for dinner promptly, lingered in the nursery during evening feedings, and even attempted to have awkward conversations about their days.
“Did he?” she asked, keeping her tone neutral.
“Yes, Your Grace. He asked Cook to prepare something special for this morning, thinking you might join him in the breakfast room.” Mary finished her hair, then busied herself with arranging fresh linens, but Iris caught the hopeful note in her voice.
“Perhaps he was planning an outing? The weather’s been lovely. ”
The suggestion hung in the air between them.
Owen’s recent attempts at closeness hadn’t gone unnoticed by the household staff who seemed cautiously optimistic about the gradual changes in their employers’ behavior.
But Iris found herself hesitant to trust these small overtures because she was afraid they might disappear as suddenly as they’d appeared.
She’d spent too many months learning to expect nothing from her husband to suddenly embrace the possibility that he genuinely wanted her company. What if this newfound attention was merely another performance, designed to maintain appearances now that they had Evie to consider?
“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.”
“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.
“I was just telling Lady Ashford how devoted you’ve become to family life. Such a leap from your bachelor days.” Richmond’s calculating gaze darted between them. “Fatherhood suits you remarkably well.”
“Thank you,” Iris said when Owen remained silent.
“I confess I am surprised by how quickly you adapted. Most men find the change to domestic responsibility rather difficult.” Richmond paused delicately. “Of course, some find creative ways to maintain their previous freedoms while appearing thoroughly domesticated.”
The implication hung in the air like poison. Iris felt heat flooding her cheeks and she was uncertain whether she ought to feel embarrassment or anger.
“If you’ll excuse us,” Owen said coldly, “I promised my wife the next dance.”
“Naturally. Do enjoy yourselves.”
As Owen led her onto the dance floor, Iris caught sight of Lady Pembridge whispering behind her fan to Lady Ashford. Both women watched Owen with obvious appreciation. The sight sent an unexpected spike of jealousy through her chest.
“What did Richmond mean about creative freedoms?” she asked as they took their positions for the waltz.