Page 31 of The Duke’s Untouched Bride (Regency Second Chances #3)

“ 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.”

“The very one. And equally dreadful as the previous candidate.” Iris gestured to the chair Miss Hagarty had vacated. “She wanted to put Evie on a rigid feeding schedule and eliminate all unnecessary physical contact.”

“Unnecessary physical contact?” Grace’s voice rose with indignation. “She’s a baby, not a soldier.”

“Apparently, affection breeds weakness. Or so Miss Hagarty told me.”

“Good God. Where do these people train? The Tower of London?” Grace settled herself with characteristic elegance. “You look rather tired. Are these interviews wearing on you?”

They were, although not for the reasons Grace might think. Each failed candidate reinforced Iris’s growing certainty that she didn’t want to hand Evie’s care to someone else. The baby had become too precious, too much a part of her heart.

“Perhaps I should abandon the search,” she said carefully. “None of the candidates feels right.”

“Or perhaps,” Grace suggested with a knowing smile, “you’ve discovered you don’t actually want a nurse.”

The observation hit closer to home than Iris cared to admit. “Don’t be ridiculous. Every family of our station employs proper nursemaids.”

“Every family doesn’t have what you have with that little one. I’ve seen you together, remember. The way she settles when you hold her, how she watches your face.” Grace leaned forward conspiratorially. “It’s exhausting, caring for a baby yourself, but it’s also wonderful, isn’t it?”

“She’s not truly mine,” Iris said quietly, though the words felt like lies on her tongue.

“Isn’t she? Blood doesn’t make a mother, my dear. Love does. And that child loves you as surely as you love her.”

The truth of it made Iris’s chest ache. Somewhere in the sleepless nights and tender moments, Evie had stopped being Owen’s responsibility and had become her daughter.

The fierce protectiveness she felt, the way her day revolved around the baby’s needs and moods, and the simple joy of watching her discover the world…

it all felt as real as if she’d carried the child herself.

“The weather’s lovely,” she noted, changing the subject before Grace could press further. “Shall we take Evie for a walk? She enjoys the fresh air.”

They made their way to the nursery, where Evie lay in her cradle, batting at a small rattle with increasing coordination. At the sight of Iris, her face lit up with recognition and delight.

“There’s my sweet girl.” Iris lifted her carefully, noting how much heavier she’d gotten. “Ready for an adventure?”

The process of preparing for their outing took longer than expected. Evie needed a fresh nappy, a warmer dress for the cool air, and the small blanket she seemed to prefer. Grace watched with amusement as Iris fussed over every detail.

“You realize you’re behaving exactly like a besotted new mother?”

“I’m being careful.”

“You’re being maternal . There’s a difference.” Grace helped arrange Evie in the elegant pram Owen had commissioned. “And it suits you beautifully.”

As they made their way through the quiet streets near the townhouse, Evie contentedly watched the world pass by from her cushioned perch. The warmth of the afternoon sun briefly chased away the unusually chilly summer breeze, allowing Iris to savor the peaceful domesticity of the moment.

“I keep thinking about what you said, Grace,” she admitted as they paused to adjust Evie’s bonnet. “About none of the candidates feeling right. Perhaps the truth is simpler than I want to admit.”

“Which is?”

“That I don’t want to share her with anyone else. Selfish as that might be.”

“It’s not selfish to want to raise your own child.”

“She’s not?—”

“She is.” Grace’s voice was firm but gentle. “In every way that matters, she’s yours. The sooner you accept that, the happier you’ll all be.”

They were discussing the merits of different feeding schedules when three women approached from the opposite direction.

Iris recognized them immediately: Lady Tremblay, Lady Thornbury, and the particularly venomous Lady Downs. All were wives of prominent members of the ton , and each possessed of tongues sharper than their wit.

“Your Grace!” Lady Tremblay’s voice carried false sweetness. “What a lovely surprise. And this must be the mysterious little Lady Evangeline we’ve heard so much about.”

“Ladies.” Iris inclined her head politely, though every instinct urged her to retreat.

“She looks remarkably healthy for one who was born during such a difficult time. I do hope your recovery has been complete, my dear.”

“Quite complete, thank you,” Iris replied evenly.

“Of course, of course. Though one does wonder about the wisdom of such extended seclusion.” Lady Downs moved closer. Her tone carried subtle criticism. “My physician always insisted that fresh air and gentle society were essential during confinement. Complete isolation can be so unhealthy.”

The implication hung between them like smoke. These women were probing for weaknesses in their story, searching for inconsistencies that might feed the gossip mills.

“Every situation is unique,” Iris said with cool dignity. “My physician felt privacy was essential given the delicate nature of my condition.”

“Indeed,” Lady Thornbury murmured, though her eyes remained calculating. “How fortunate that all ended so well.”

“Of course, of course. Though one notices she seems rather advanced in her development.” Lady Downs moved closer. Her sharp gaze catalogued every detail. “My sister’s youngest was positively limp at four months. Barely able to hold up her head.”

“Children develop at different rates,” Grace interjected smoothly.

“Yes, they do. But sometimes rapid development suggests… a miscalculation regarding dates.” Lady Tremblay’s smile could have cut glass. “Easy enough to happen when one values privacy over accuracy.”

Heat flooded Iris’s cheeks as the women’s meaning became clear. They were suggesting that Evie was older than she claimed, which would make her conception predate the marriage by an uncomfortable margin.

“Lady Evangeline was born precisely at the date we mentioned,” she said firmly.

“Naturally. Though the resemblance to His Grace is quite striking, isn’t it? Particularly the eyes.” Lady Downs leaned closer to Evie, who had begun to fuss at the attention. “One might almost think she inherited nothing from her mother.”

“Children often favor one parent initially,” Grace interjected, her voice carrying a warning.

“True, true. Though it does make one wonder about the circumstances.” Lady Tremblay straightened with obvious satisfaction.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand your meaning,” Iris said. Her voice sounded strained even to her own ears.

“Oh, nothing untoward, I’m sure. Simply observing that the child seems quite… established for one supposedly born after such a brief marriage.” Lady Thornbury’s laugh tinkled like breaking glass. “Though I suppose stranger things have happened.”

“Indeed,” Lady Downs agreed. “Why, just last week, Lady Morrison was saying how remarkable it was that His Grace settled into fatherhood so naturally. Almost as if he’d had previous experience with infant care.”