Page 4 of The Duke’s Untouched Bride (Regency Second Chances #3)

“I have my suspicions, yes.” The flat statement offered no details or elaboration. “But I could be wrong about the identity of her father.”

There was weight in that pause, years of history compressed into silence that he clearly had no intention of sharing.

“And the mother?”

“Perhaps she is dead, missing, or unable to care for her. Why else would she abandon her child like this?” His voice had grown rough, but he offered nothing more specific.

Iris felt her frustration mounting. “You’re being deliberately evasive. If you expect me to help raise this child, don’t I deserve to know the truth?”

“You deserve to know what’s necessary for her care and protection. Nothing more.” He turned to stare at the fire. His posture was rigid with finality. “I suspect that the details of her parentage are complicated. Better left buried with the dead.”

“Complicated how?”

“In ways that could destroy us all if they became public knowledge.” He faced her again with a hard expression turning down the corners of his lips. “That’s all you need to understand.”

The calculated coldness should have appalled her. Instead, she thought of Evie’s future. The security they could provide versus the dangers that clearly lurked in whatever truth Owen was determined to keep hidden.

“You’re asking me to trust you blindly.”

“I’m asking you to be practical. We’re the Duke and Duchess of Carridan. We can give her everything: legitimacy, education, protection. Whatever alternative exists would be far worse.”

She wanted to argue and demand the full truth. But the baby’s welfare hung in the balance, and Owen’s grim certainty suggested horrors she might not want to know. “God help me, you’re right.”

“Then we’re agreed?”

Iris looked down at the baby in her arms. So small. So helpless. Already, the fierce protectiveness that had been building over the past two days inside her was solidifying into something permanent.

“Yes,” she said. “We’re agreed.”

He called for Peters then and issued rapid instructions about establishing a nursery, sending for a wet nurse, and notifying the household. Throughout it all, Iris stood quietly, holding Evie and wondering what she’d just committed to.

When Peters left, the Duke turned back to her. “You’ll need rest. The journey from Carridan must have been exhausting.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re swaying on your feet.”

Was she? Iris hadn’t noticed, but now that he mentioned it, the room seemed to be tilting slightly.

“When did you last eat?” he pressed.

She tried to remember. Yesterday? The day before? Everything had blurred together in a haze of baby cries and frantic travel preparations.

“That’s what I thought.” He moved toward her, and for one wild moment, she thought he would touch her. Instead, he gestured to the sofa. “Sit. I’ll have Peters bring food.”

“I should get Evie settled first?—”

“The staff will handle everything.” His tone carried the same cool dismissal she was quickly becoming accustomed to once more. “You need food and rest, in that order.”

“I can manage?—”

“Can you? Because from where I stand, you look ready to collapse.” He studied her with clinical detachment, as if she were a problem requiring efficient solution. “This arrangement benefits no one if you make yourself ill.”

Peters appeared with remarkable speed, followed by a parade of servants bearing trays and an older woman in crisp black who could only be the housekeeper.

“Mrs. Pemberton,” the Duke said without preamble. “The Duchess requires immediate accommodation. The blue suite should suffice.”

“Of course, Your Grace.” The housekeeper’s voice carried warmth that her employer’s lacked. “Shall I begin inquiries tonight?”

“Immediately.” He was already moving toward the door. “I want proper arrangements in place by morning.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Iris interjected quickly as her arms tightened around Evie. “I’ve been managing her care myself.”

The Duke paused and turned back to give her that same calculating look. “For how long? The journey alone must have been exhausting. You need help.”

“I need to care for the baby myself.” The possessive tone came out fiercer than intended.

“Your exhaustion suggests otherwise.” His voice remained coolly practical. “A wet nurse will ensure proper feeding schedules and allow you necessary rest.”

Mrs. Pemberton stepped forward diplomatically. “Perhaps we might start with additional support, Your Grace? A nursery maid to assist during the night watches?”

The Duke nodded curtly. “Whatever ensures the child’s welfare and the Duchess’s recovery.”

He was treating this like any other household arrangement, Iris realized. Efficient delegation of responsibilities with no emotional investment required.

“Owen.” The name slipped out before she could stop it. “Will you be here tomorrow? We need to discuss?—”

“We’ll discuss everything that requires our attention in due course.” His voice remained carefully neutral. “For now, rest.”

And then he was gone, leaving her alone with the servants and the echo of his dismissal.

Mrs. Pemberton stepped forward with practiced warmth. “Come along, Your Grace. Let’s get you settled properly.”

Iris followed her upstairs while Evie stirred restlessly in her arms. The blue suite proved elegant and comfortable, with large windows overlooking the square. The adjoining room had already been transformed into a makeshift nursery, complete with a hastily assembled crib.

“Now then,” Mrs. Pemberton said while closing the door behind the departing servants. “His Grace mentioned arranging a wet nurse, but I can see you have your own preferences about the child’s care.”

“She’s been with me since birth. I don’t want to disrupt her routine unnecessarily.”

“Understandable. Though you look as if you haven’t slept properly in weeks.” Mrs. Pemberton approached with the confidence of someone who’d handled countless domestic crises. “May I?”

Iris hesitated, then carefully transferred Evie to the housekeeper’s experienced arms. Mrs. Pemberton handled her with natural ease and examined her with gentle efficiency.

“Beautiful child,” she murmured. “Those eyes will break hearts someday. She’s been well cared for.”

“She’s particular about her routine, from what little I’ve experienced so far,” Iris admitted. “And she doesn’t settle easily for strangers.”

“Intelligent child then. She knows who she can trust.” Mrs. Pemberton settled into the rocking chair. “Though I suspect she’s been keeping you awake more often than not.”

The kindness in her tone nearly undid Iris completely. After months of careful isolation, having someone acknowledge her efforts felt like balm on wounds she’d forgotten she carried.

“It’s been challenging,” she managed.

“I’m sure it has.” Mrs. Pemberton continued rocking gently while Evie remained content in her arms. “The country air at Carridan is excellent for little ones.”

“Yes, though I felt it was time to come to London.” Iris chose her words carefully, aware that the household staff would have their own understanding of the situation.

“Of course, Your Grace. There are advantages to both.” There was something knowing in the housekeeper’s voice, a discretion that spoke of years managing delicate situations. “I imagine the quiet was peaceful.”

Iris sank into the chair beside the fire. She suddenly felt boneless with exhaustion. “Very peaceful.”

“His Grace has been quite occupied with estate matters,” Mrs. Pemberton said diplomatically. “Important business that requires his attention.”

The staff knew. They understood the distance in this marriage and the separate lives lived under one name. But they would never speak of it directly.

“Yes, he works very hard,” Iris agreed, playing her part in the careful dance.

“Indeed. Though I suspect he’ll find new priorities now.” Mrs. Pemberton shifted Evie to her shoulder. She rubbed the baby’s shoulders with a gentle patting motion. “Children have a way of changing perspectives.”

“You think so?”

“I’ve been managing this household for over thirty years, Your Grace. I’ve observed how circumstances can alter even the most established patterns.” She smiled softly. “This little one will bring changes, I’m certain.”

The prediction felt both hopeful and distant. How could Owen change when he seemed so determined to maintain his careful walls?

“For now,” Mrs. Pemberton continued, “you need proper food and rest. I’ll stay with her while you eat. It’s been far too long since we’ve had such a precious addition to this house. I’ve missed it more than I realized.”

Iris found herself blinking back tears at the simple kindness.

“Thank you.”

“Think nothing of it. And don’t worry about His Grace’s arrangements for additional staff. We’ll ensure everything suits your preferences.”

As Mrs. Pemberton outlined plans for additional support while respecting Iris’s desire to maintain primary care of Evie, some of the weight lifted from her shoulders.

It wasn’t the homecoming she’d dreamed of during those early days of marriage. But it was something. A foundation, perhaps, on which to build whatever came next.

Outside her windows, London settled into evening, and somewhere in this vast house, her husband continued his careful avoidance of anything resembling emotional investment.

But Evie was safe, warm, and wanted and Iris was free to close her eyes and get a good night’s sleep. For now, that would have to be enough.