Page 37 of The Duke’s Untouched Bride (Regency Second Chances #3)
“ Y ou have marmalade on your chin.”
Owen looked up from his newspaper to find Iris watching him with undisguised amusement.
Her blue eyes sparkled in the morning sunlight that came streaming through the breakfast room windows. Evie sat contentedly in the highchair between them, babbling at a piece of toast she’d somehow grabbed from a nearby plate.
“Do I?” He set down the paper and reached for his napkin.
“Here.” Iris leaned over the small table and brushed her thumb over the corner of his mouth with gentle precision. The simple touch sent warmth through him, as it had every morning for the past two weeks. “There.”
But she didn’t pull away immediately. Instead, her hand lingered on his cheek.
Her expression grew soft with the affection that still caught him off guard.
How had he convinced himself for so long that keeping his distance would protect them?
This closeness and this simple domestic intimacy felt like the most natural thing in the world.
“Better?” he asked, although he made no move to lean back.
“Much.” Her smile was radiant. It transformed her face into ways that made his chest tight with emotion he still struggled to name. “But I have to say that watching the Duke of Carridan lose a battle with preserves is rather charming.”
“Charming?” He caught her hand before she could withdraw it and pressed a kiss to her palm. “I’ll have you know that dukes are not supposed to be charming. We’re supposed to be intimidating and aloof.”
“You’re terrible at being aloof.”
“Am I? I spent years perfecting the art.”
“Perhaps with other people. But with us?” She glanced meaningfully at Evie, who had abandoned her toast in favor of trying to grab Owen’s coffee cup. “You’re completely hopeless. She has you wrapped around her little finger, and you know it.”
Owen looked at his daughter, noting how her face lit up when she caught his attention. It was true. One smile from Evie could derail his most important meetings. One cry could send him rushing upstairs, regardless of whatever business he’d been conducting.
The transformation still amazed him.
“She’s persuasive,” he admitted while gently moving his cup out of her reach. “I believe she gets that from her adoptive mother.”
“I prefer to think of it as a natural gift.” Iris rose to retrieve Evie’s fallen toast. The movement brought her close enough that Owen caught her scent. Honey and something warmer, something that was purely her. “Don’t I, sweetheart? We’re not manipulative. We’re simply irresistible.”
Evie responded with a delighted gurgle. She waved her arms as if agreeing enthusiastically.
Owen felt that familiar tightness in his throat that came whenever he watched them together.
He admired the love in Iris’s voice when she spoke to Evie.
There was a natural ease to the way she’d claimed the role of mother.
And it was plain to see the way the baby turned to her instinctively for comfort and care.
“What are you thinking about?” Iris asked as she settled back into her chair with Evie now on her lap.
“How perfect this is.” The words slipped out before he could consider them. “This morning, this moment. How I never imagined I could have something like this.”
“Like what?”
“A family. A real one, built on something more than duty or obligation.” He reached across the table to cover her free hand with his. “People who actually choose to be here with me.”
Iris’s expression grew soft, understanding. “You have us, Owen.”
“Forever, then.”
“Forever.”
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment with their hands linked on the table while Evie played with the ribbon on Iris’s morning dress.
Outside, London was waking up to another day, but here in their small sanctuary, time seemed suspended. Everything was perfect and peaceful and exactly as it should be.
A knock at the door shattered the moment like glass.
“Your Grace?” Peters appeared in the doorway. His usually composed expression showed signs of strain. “A Mr. Cranston to see you. He says it’s urgent.”
Owen’s stomach clenched.
Cranston was one of his most trusted contacts, a man who handled delicate inquiries without asking uncomfortable questions. Since he came here instead of sending a discreet message, that meant the news was significant.
“Show him to my study. I’ll be there shortly.”
“Of course, Your Grace.”
As Peters scurried away, Owen turned back to find Iris watching him with concern. The easy contentment of moments ago had evaporated and was replaced by the familiar tension that accompanied any reminder of the world beyond their walls.
“Business?” she asked.
“Possibly. I should see what he wants.” He rose, then paused beside her chair to press a kiss to the top of her head. “I’ll be back shortly.”
“You’d better,” she said. “Even if you’re just in the study, I’ll miss you.”
He squeezed her fingers and gave her a look that said he felt the same. It was ridiculous, maybe, how reluctant he was to step away, but he wouldn’t trade it for anything.
He found Cranston waiting in his study, hat in hand and travel dust on his clothes. The man looked like he’d ridden hard to get here, which only ratcheted up Owen’s apprehension.
“What have you learned?” Owen asked without preamble while gesturing for him to take a seat.
“Found her, Your Grace. Or rather, found what became of her.” Cranston’s weathered face was grim. “A woman matching Adele Martel’s description died three days ago at a boarding house in Dover. Consumption, by the look of it.”
The bluntness of the words took Owen by surprise.
Dead. Adele was dead, and he’d been too late to help her. Too late to offer protection or help, or even kindness in her last days.
“You’re certain it’s her?”
“As certain as we can be without family to confirm. French accent, right age, dark hair. And this.” Cranston produced a small object from his pocket. “The landlord found it among her belongings.”
Owen’s breath caught. It was a locket, silver and tarnished, with an inscription in French on the back. Inside was a miniature portrait of a man with familiar features. Nicholas, painted years ago when they were both young and foolish and convinced the world was theirs for the taking.
“She kept his picture,” he said quietly, his voice rough with emotion.
“Aye. Clutched it when she died, according to the woman who tended her. Called out his name at the end.” Cranston shifted uncomfortably. “I’m sorry, Your Grace. I wish I had better news to share.”
Owen stared at the locket, seeing in its worn surface a story of love and loss and desperation. Adele had carried Nicholas’s image across countries and through God knew what hardships, clinging to the memory of happiness even as illness consumed her.
“What of the arrangements?” he asked.
“None made. The body’s at the parish, waiting for someone to claim it. If no one does by the week’s end, it’ll be a pauper’s grave.”
The thought of Adele being buried in an unmarked grave, forgotten and without the proper mourning rites, was unbearable. She deserved better. Nicholas would have wanted better for the woman he’d loved.
“I’ll handle the arrangements. A proper burial, quietly done. And Cranston?” Owen looked up to meet the man’s eyes. “This information goes no further. As far as anyone knows, you never found her.”
“Understood, Your Grace. What about the records at the boarding house?”
“Buy them. All of them. I want every trace of her stay destroyed.” Owen’s voice hardened. “Do whatever it takes. Adele Martel was never there.”
After Cranston left, Owen remained in his study, staring at the locket in his palm. The weight of failure pressed down on him like a physical thing. He’d promised Nicholas he’d look after the people he cared about. Had sworn on their friendship that he’d protect what mattered to his friend.
And he’d failed. Completely, utterly failed.
While he had been playing house, learning to change nappies and singing lullabies, Adele had been dying alone in a squalid boarding house. She’d been sick and frightened, with no one to comfort her in her final moments except a stranger who barely knew her name.
“Owen?” Iris’s voice came from the doorway. It was soft with concern. “Cranston looked rather grim when he left. What did he want?”
Owen closed his fist around the locket, not ready to share this burden. He was not ready to see the pain in her eyes when she learned the truth.
“Nothing important. Just a business matter that required attention.”
“Are you sure? You look…” She stepped into the room and closed the door behind herself. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
How astute she was. He had indeed seen a ghost—the ghost of his inadequacy and his failure to protect the people who mattered most.
“Where’s Evie?” he asked, deflecting her concern.
“Napping in the nursery. Owen, what’s wrong? You’re frightening me.”
He couldn’t lie to her. Not anymore, not after everything they’d shared.
But he also couldn’t bring himself to speak the words aloud.
he could not admit that while they’d been building their perfect little family, a woman had died alone because he’d been too slow, too careful, and too focused on his happiness to save her.
“Adele is dead.”
The simple statement fell into silence like a stone into still water. Iris went very pale as she sank into the chair across from his desk.
“Dead? When? How?”
“Three days ago. Consumption, in a boarding house in Dover.” Owen’s voice sounded hollow to his own ears. “She was alone. Sick and alone and calling out for Nicholas in her final moments.”
“Oh, Owen.” Iris’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m so sorry.”
“I should have found her sooner. Should have looked harder, searched more thoroughly. If I’d acted faster, if I’d been less concerned with protecting our secrets and more focused on actually helping her…”
“You did everything you could.”
“Did I? Because it doesn’t feel that way. It feels like I failed her. Failed Nicholas. Failed everyone who trusted me to do better.” He opened his fist, revealing the locket. “She kept his picture. Carried it with her even when she had nothing else left.”
Iris rose from her chair and moved around the desk to stand beside him. Her hand settled on his shoulder. It was warm and steady. “This isn’t your fault.”
“Isn’t it? I have resources, connections, and ways of finding people that she didn’t. I could have helped her if I’d tried harder.”
“You tried. You searched for weeks and even hired people to investigate. You did more than most would have done for a stranger.”
“She wasn’t a stranger. She was Nicholas’s love. The mother of his child. That made her family, and I let her die alone.” Owen’s voice cracked slightly. “What kind of man does that make me?”
“Human.” Iris’s hand moved to cup his cheek, and she forced him to meet her eyes. “Fallible and human and doing the best you could under impossible circumstances.”
“It wasn’t enough.”
“It was all you had to give. And Owen, you found her. Maybe not in time to save her, but in time to make sure that she has a proper burial. In time to make sure her sacrifice for Evie means something.”
“Her sacrifice?”
“She gave up everything for her daughter. Left her with people who could provide safety and love and a future she couldn’t offer. That wasn’t abandonment; that was the most profound act of motherly love imaginable.”
Her words illuminated the situation for him. He’d been so focused on his failures that he’d missed the heroism in Adele’s choice. She’d been dying, probably knew it, and had used her remaining strength to secure Evie’s future rather than clinging to a child she couldn’t protect.
“Evie will never know her,” he said quietly.
“Evie will know she was loved. That both her parents loved her enough to sacrifice everything for her safety and happiness.” Iris’s thumb brushed away a tear he hadn’t realized had fallen. “That’s what matters. That’s what Adele would want.”
Owen leaned into her touch. He drew strength from her steady presence. How had he ever convinced himself that facing difficulties alone was preferable to this? Her comfort didn’t diminish his grief, but it made it bearable.
“I need to arrange the burial,” he said eventually. “Something proper but discreet. And I need to ensure the records are sealed, so Evie’s future remains protected.”
“We’ll arrange it. Together.” She pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. “And Owen? When Evie’s old enough to ask about her mother, we’ll tell her the truth. That Adele loved her so much that she gave her a better life, even though it broke her heart to leave her.”
“And Nicholas?”
“That he would have been a wonderful father. That he loved Adele completely and would have cherished them both if fate had allowed it.” Her voice grew firm with conviction. “She comes from love, even if that love was brief.”
For the first time since Cranston’s arrival, Owen felt something other than crushing guilt. Purpose, perhaps. Or simply the comfort of knowing that he wouldn’t face this burden alone.
They arranged Adele’s burial the following day.
It was a simple ceremony at a quiet churchyard outside London.
Owen stood beside the modest headstone with Iris at his side, while a priest spoke words of comfort over a woman he’d never known.
The inscription was simple: Adele Martel. Beloved mother. She gave all for love.
As they walked away from the fresh grave, Owen felt the weight of his failures beginning to transform into something else.
Not absolution but understanding. Adele’s story hadn’t ended in that squalid boarding house.
It lived on in Evie’s laughter, in the family they’d built, and in the love that surrounded the daughter she’d sought to protect.
“Thank you,” he said quietly as their carriage took them home.
“For what?”
“For helping me see past my guilt. For reminding me that love sometimes requires letting go.”
Iris’s hand found his in the dim light. “That’s what families do. They help each other see clearly when grief makes everything cloudy.”
Family. Yes, that was what they were. Not because of blood or law or even the child that connected them, but because they’d chosen each other. Day after day, moment by moment, they’d chosen to build something beautiful from the most unlikely foundation.
And perhaps that was what Nicholas and Adele would have wanted, most of all. Not perfect protection from sorrow, but the assurance that their daughter would know what it meant to be truly loved.