Page 36 of The Duke’s Untouched Bride (Regency Second Chances #3)

“ I still say we should have brought a proper table.”

Owen looked up from arranging the picnic blankets to find Felix standing with his hands on his hips, surveying their preparations with theatrical dismay.

The July afternoon air was crisp but pleasant. Hyde Park was painted in the colors of the rainbow, with violets, roses, lilies, and large, lush trees adorning it, making everything seem touched by magic.

“It’s called a picnic for a reason,” Grace called out from where she was helping Iris settle Evie in the pram. “The whole point is to eat on the ground.”

“Speak for yourself. I have standards.” Felix brushed an imaginary speck of dust from his immaculate jacket. “What if my valet discovers I’ve been sitting on grass? He’ll resign in horror.”

“Your valet has seen you crawl home at dawn, covered in significantly worse than grass stains,” Harrison pointed out mildly while setting down the basket Cook had packed with enough food to feed a small army. “I hardly think a picnic will scandalize him.”

Owen watched the familiar banter with growing contentment.

This had been Iris’s idea, this gathering of their closest friends to celebrate the changes in their lives.

But as he observed the easy camaraderie between people who genuinely cared for each other, he realized how much he’d needed this as well.

For too long, he’d held back from the warmth of friendship because he was convinced that distance equaled safety. But watching Iris laugh at something Grace had whispered and seeing Felix’s genuine delight when Evie grabbed his proffered finger, he understood what he’d been missing.

“She’s grown so much since we last saw her,” Grace said while stroking Evie’s dark hair with gentle fingers. “And so alert. Look how she follows voices.”

“She’s becoming quite the little person,” Iris agreed. Pride was evident in her voice. “Yesterday, she rolled from her back to her side. Owen nearly had apoplexy, thinking she might roll right off the blanket.”

“Sensible concern,” Harrison said while sitting beside his wife. “Helena did that once. Grace screamed so loudly that I thought someone was being murdered.”

“I did not scream,” Grace protested. “I expressed concern in a slightly elevated tone.”

“The servants thought we were under attack.”

Owen smiled at their playful argument, noting how naturally Iris fit into the group. She’d worried that their friends might find their sudden domestic bliss suspicious, but if anything, they seemed delighted by the change.

“Oh!” Grace looked up suddenly, waving at someone in the distance. “Selina! Over here!”

Owen turned to see an elegant woman approaching with a tall, dark-haired man and what appeared to be their baby. He recognized them vaguely from various social functions, though he’d never been formally introduced.

“I hope you don’t mind the intrusion,” the woman called Selina said as they drew near. “Grace mentioned you were having a picnic, and Catherine has been impossibly fussy all morning. I thought the fresh air might help.”

“Of course not,” Harrison said warmly. “Please, join. This is Owen Sencler, Duke of Carridan, and his wife Iris, the Duchess of Carridan,” then he turned to Owen and Iris, “This is Rowan and Selina Blackmore, Duke and Duchess of Aldermere.”

“Duke, Duchess. A pleasure,” Iris offered politely, and Owen bowed.

“The pleasure is ours. And this demanding little creature is Catherine.” She shifted the baby in her arms with the practiced ease of experience. “She has decided that sleep is completely optional today.”

“How old is she?” Iris asked, immediately moving to make room on the blanket.

“Just over five months. Same as your little one, I believe?” Selina settled gratefully, clearly relieved to have somewhere comfortable to sit. “The timing is perfect. They can be cranky together.”

But Evie seemed anything but cranky. She gazed around at the new faces with obvious fascination and made soft sounds that might have been attempts at conversation. When Catherine fussed, Evie turned toward the sound with such intense concentration that the adults laughed.

“She’s trying to figure out what that noise is,” Rowan observed. His voice carried a slight accent that Owen couldn’t quite place. “Catherine, meet your new friend, Evie.”

“Do you think they can see each other at this age?” Felix asked as he settled cross-legged on the blanket, with complete disregard for his expensive trousers. “They seem to be having some sort of conversation.”

“Babies are more aware than people think,” Selina said while rocking her baby gently. “Catherine definitely recognizes familiar voices now. And she has very strong opinions about who gets to hold her.”

“Evie’s the same,” Owen said. “She has a completely different cry for when she wants Iris specifically versus when she’s simply hungry or tired.”

The words came out naturally, and he realized with surprise that he’d become quite fluent in baby behavior. When had that happened? When had Evie’s needs and preferences become as familiar to him as his own?

“It’s remarkable how quickly you learn their language,” Rowan spoke up. “I never expected to become an expert in infant facial expressions, but here we are.”

“The first few weeks are overwhelming,” Selina added as she gave Iris a sympathetic look. “I kept thinking that I was doing everything wrong. That someone more qualified should handle such a big responsibility.”

“Yes!” Iris’s relief at finding someone who understood her was palpable. “Everyone talks about maternal instinct as if it should be automatic, but I felt like I was fumbling through every interaction.”

“Anyone who claims parenting comes naturally is lying or delusional,” Selina stated firmly. “It’s learned through trial and error, just like everything else important in life.”

Owen watched the conversation with a growing appreciation for Selina’s directness.

Iris had been carrying unnecessary guilt about her early struggles with Evie and comparing herself to some impossible standard of natural maternal perfection. Hearing another mother admit to the same doubts seemed to ease something inside her.

“What about feeding schedules?” Grace asked. “I’ve heard conflicting advice about whether babies should eat on demand or at set times. I believe in on demand.”

“Catherine makes her own schedule,” Rowan said with amusement. “We tried imposing structure for about three days before admitting defeat.”

“Evie’s the same,” Owen snorted. “She has preferences about everything. When she wants to eat, how she wants to be held, which songs will soothe her to sleep.”

“The songs are important,” Selina agreed. “Catherine has very specific musical tastes. Rowan’s lullabies work perfectly, but if I try the same songs, she looks at me like I’m torturing her.”

“Owen sings old sea shanties,” Iris said, her voice warm with affection. “His grandfather taught them to him. They work like magic.”

“Sea shanties?” Felix perked up. “How wonderfully eccentric. You must teach me some. I’m determined to be the sort of godfather who can calm crying babies with obscure musical knowledge.”

“Godfather?” Owen raised an eyebrow.

“Well, honorary godfather. I’m claiming the title, whether you approve or not.” Felix reached over to stroke Evie’s cheek. He grinned when she gripped his finger. “Someone needs to teach this child about fashion and provide a properly scandalous influence.”

“Over my dead body,” Owen said, though his tone was fond rather than threatening.

“You can’t protect her from everything,” Grace pointed out. “Besides, a little scandal builds character. Look how well it worked for me.”

“When were you ever scandalous, my darling?” Harrison asked.

“I married you, didn’t I? My mother still hasn’t recovered from the shock.”

The easy laughter that followed felt like acceptance and belonging.

Owen realized with surprise that he was genuinely enjoying himself, not just tolerating social interaction for Iris’s sake.

These people had become important to him without him noticing.

Their approval and friendship were something he valued.

“We should do this more often,” he suggested. “When the weather permits it.”

“Absolutely,” Selina agreed. “Catherine could use more friends her age. And I could use more friends who understand why I sometimes put salt in my tea instead of sugar.”

“Sleep deprivation,” Rowan explained to the group. “It does terrible things to basic cognitive function.”

The shared laughter was comfortable and understanding.

Owen watched as Iris relax completely. Her natural warmth shone through now that she felt truly accepted.

As the afternoon progressed, they fell into easy conversation about everything from child-rearing to politics to the latest theatrical productions. The babies provided further entertainment. Catherine and Evie seemed to study each other with the serious concentration of scholars comparing notes.

“I have an idea,” Grace announced as they were packing up the leftovers. “The charity gala next week. We should all attend together. Make it a proper group outing.”

“Charity gala?” Selina looked interested. “Which one?”

“The Society for the Relief of Distressed Gentlewomen. Lady Fenster is organizing it, so it’s sure to be over the top.” Grace glanced at Owen and Iris. “You’re planning to attend, aren’t you?”

Owen felt Iris tense slightly beside him. They’d avoided most social events during their difficult months, and even their recent appearances had been carefully managed. A large gala would mean sustained public attention and scrutiny that made them both nervous.

“We haven’t decided,” Iris replied quietly.

“Oh, you must come,” Selina urged. “Safety in numbers. Besides, it’s time to show the ton that you’re thoroughly settled into domestic bliss. Nothing silences gossips like obvious happiness.”

“She’s right,” Harrison piped up. “The best way to end speculation is to give people something boring to observe. A devoted couple surrounded by respectable friends. Deadly dull.”

Owen considered the suggestion. They’d been so focused on protecting their privacy that they might have made themselves more interesting to the gossips. Perhaps it was time to be aggressively normal in public.

“What do you think?” he asked Iris.

“I think our friends are right. We can’t hide forever.” She smiled, though he could see the nervousness in her eyes.

“Then it’s settled,” Felix declared. “Group attendance at Lady Fenster’s gala. I’ll arrange for us all to arrive together. Nothing says ‘perfectly respectable’ like traveling with a group of well-dressed friends.”

The gala turned out to be glittering with London’s social elite. But arriving with their friends made all the difference. Instead of feeling exposed and isolated, Owen and Iris moved through the ballroom as part of a larger group, deflecting attention through sheer numbers.

“Brilliant strategy,” Owen murmured to Felix as they observed the crowd’s reaction. “No one wants to approach when they’d have to get through all of you first.”

“Elementary social warfare,” Felix replied airily. “Though I must say, you two look remarkably natural tonight. Quite the transformation from this time last year.”

It was true. Owen could feel the difference in how he and Iris moved together. There was a new harmony that spoke of genuine partnership rather than careful performance. When they danced, it felt effortless. When they spoke to other guests, their responses complemented each other naturally.

“The Duke and Duchess of Carridan,” he heard someone murmur as they passed. “Such a devoted couple. And their baby is absolutely precious.”

“I heard they were quite reclusive during her pregnancy,” another voice added. “But you can see why now. Look how happy they are. Sometimes, discretion is the best choice.”

Owen caught Iris’s eye and saw his satisfaction reflected there. The ton was rewriting their story by transforming their early difficulties into romantic devotion and their reclusiveness into admirable discretion.

“It’s working,” Iris whispered as they moved toward the refreshments table. “They’re buying the whole reformed rake and patient wife narrative.”

“Is that what we are? A reformed rake and a patient wife?”

“Among other things.” Her smile was radiant and genuine. “Though I prefer a devoted husband and a completely besotted wife.”

The easy affection in her voice made his heart swell. They’d come so far from the awkward strangers who’d stood together at the altar over a year ago.

“Your Grace!” Lady Morrison materialized beside them with characteristic enthusiasm. “How wonderful to see you both looking so well. And how is dear little Lady Evangeline?”

“Thriving,” Owen replied smoothly. “Growing more charming by the day.”

“I’m sure she is. Babies always reflect their parents’ happiness, don’t they?” Lady Morrison’s smile was calculating, but her tone held none of its previous bite. “It’s lovely to see you both so settled. Marriage agrees with you.”

“Thank you,” Iris said. “We’re very fortunate.”

“Indeed, you are. Young love is such a beautiful thing to witness.”

As Lady Morrison moved on to her next target, Owen reflected on her words.

Young love. Was that what they had? It felt both more and less complex than such a simple phrase suggested.

What they’d built together transcended conventional romance, encompassing friendship, partnership, shared purpose, and yes, growing affection.

“What are you thinking about?” Iris asked as they found a quieter corner to observe the festivities.

“How different this feels from our last public appearance. How much has changed.”

“Everything’s changed. But gradually, so we didn’t notice it happening.” She glanced around the ballroom, noting the easy acceptance of people’s expressions when they looked their way. “They believe in us now.”

“Do you? Believe in us, I mean.”

She turned to study his face and her expression grew serious. “I believe in what we’re building together. I believe in the family we’ve created. I believe in the man you’ve chosen to become.”

“And what man is that?”

“Someone brave enough to love without guarantees. Someone who puts family first, even when it’s frightening.” Her smile was soft and private. “Someone worth waiting for.”

The words settled into his chest like a benediction.

Worth waiting for.

After years of believing himself unworthy of love and building walls to protect others from his supposed capacity for damage, hearing such simple acceptance felt revolutionary.

“We should go home,” he whispered. “To our daughter.”

“Yes. Let’s go home.”