Page 40 of The Duke’s Untouched Bride (Regency Second Chances #3)

“ I couldn’t believe it when I received your message.”

Grace swept into the morning room like a gust of wind.

Her cheeks were flushed from the walk and her eyes scanned the room with quick, practiced intensity.

She paused for only a moment in the doorway, taking everything in—the tension, the silence—then crossed the room with the sharp focus that had made her an indispensable friend.

Iris was curled up in the window seat, still wearing yesterday’s dress. Her hair escaped its pins in ways that suggested she’d run her fingers through it several times. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, and the breakfast tray beside her remained untouched despite the late hour.

“You look dreadful,” Grace said with her characteristic honesty before settling beside her without ceremony. “When did you last sleep? Or eat, for that matter?”

“I don’t remember.” Iris’s voice was hoarse from crying. “Yesterday feels like a lifetime ago.”

Grace took her hands. “Tell me everything. Your note mentioned Evie’s French relatives, but surely there is a mistake.”

“No mistake.” Iris pulled one hand free to gesture toward the papers scattered on the small table nearby. “A solicitor arrived yesterday with documents. Adele’s cousin in Lyon is demanding Evie’s return. The handwriting matches the original note perfectly.”

Grace picked up the papers and studied them. “The timing seems rather convenient. Adele dies, and within days, a relative appears with legal claims.”

“That’s what I thought. But Owen says the evidence is compelling.”

“And what does Owen propose to do about it?”

Iris laughed, but the sound held no humor. “Give Evie up. Fake her death to avoid awkward questions.”

“He said that?”

“He offered to give me children of my own. Real children , he called them. As if Evie were less real because I didn’t carry her.” Fresh tears rolled down Iris’s cheeks.

Grace muttered something under her breath that would have scandalized her former governess. “That man has as much empathy as a turnip! Did you explain that you don’t want just any child? That you want the family you’ve already built?”

“I tried. But he’s convinced himself that what we had was temporary and meaningless. That caring for her was nothing more than duty until better arrangements could be made.”

“And you believe that?”

“I don’t know what to believe anymore.” Iris wiped her eyes with a handkerchief that was already sodden beyond usefulness. “He seemed so different these past weeks. Open, warm, genuinely happy. I thought we were building something real together.”

“You were. Anyone with eyes could see it.”

“Then why was he so quick to throw it away? Why choose legal convenience over fighting for our family?”

Grace was quiet for a moment as her expression grew thoughtful. “Fear, I suspect. Men like Owen spend so much time protecting themselves from pain that they forget how to recognize happiness when they find it.”

“He said love destroyed his parents.”

“Love didn’t destroy them. Their inability to love properly destroyed them.” Grace’s voice was firm with absolute conviction. “What you and Owen have built with Evie is nothing like the toxic obsession his parents called love.”

“Try telling him that. He’s convinced that caring too much inevitably leads to destruction.”

“Then we’ll have to convince him otherwise.”

Something in Grace’s tone made Iris look up sharply. “We?”

“I may have sent Felix to have words with your husband last night. A rather pointed discussion about the difference between protecting one’s family and abandoning them.”

“Grace, you didn’t.”

“I most certainly did. Someone needed to point out that he’s being an idiot.” Grace’s expression softened with sympathy. “Though from your tone, I gather Felix’s intervention wasn’t entirely successful.”

“Owen didn’t come home until the early hours, and when he did, I could hear him moving about his study. Drinking, from the sounds of it.” Iris pressed her fingers to her temples where a headache had been building since dawn. “We haven’t spoken since yesterday afternoon.”

“Avoiding each other won’t solve anything.”

“What is there to solve? He’s made his position clear. Evie goes to France, and we return to being polite strangers who share a name.”

“Is that what you want?”

“Of course not. I want to fight for her. I want Owen to fight for her. I want us to tell this solicitor that Evie belongs with the people who’ve raised her, who love her, and who can’t imagine life without her.” Iris’s voice broke. “But I can’t do it alone. And Owen won’t help me.”

“Won’t, or doesn’t know how to?”

“What’s the difference?”

“The difference is hope.” Grace moved to ring for tea. Her movements were brisk with purpose. “ Won’t suggests a deliberate choice. Doesn’t know how suggests an ignorance that can be corrected.”

“You think there’s still a chance?”

“I think your husband is terrified out of his mind and making terrible decisions. But terrified people can be taught courage, given the right motivation.”

A soft knock interrupted their conversation.

Sally appeared with a tea tray. Her young face was creased with worry.

“Begging your pardon, Your Grace, but Cook’s asking about luncheon. Will His Grace be dining in today?”

“I have no idea.” The admission stung. Iris had no idea about her husband’s schedule. They were strangers again. “Prepare whatever Cook thinks best.”

“Yes, Your Grace. And the little lady? She’s been fussing something dreadful. Mrs. Pemberton thinks she might be coming down with something.”

Iris was on her feet immediately, maternal instinct overriding her misery. “I’ll go to her at once.”

She found Evie in the nursery, red-faced and distressed in Mrs. Pemberton’s capable arms. The elderly housekeeper looked nearly as frazzled as the baby.

“She won’t settle, Your Grace. Been crying on and off since dawn. I’ve tried feeding her, changing her, and even singing that little song she likes.”

Iris took Evie immediately, noting how the baby’s cries softened. “There now, sweetheart. Mama’s here.”

The word slipped out naturally, as it had been doing for weeks.

Mama. Such a simple word, but it carried the weight of her entire heart. Soon, some stranger in France would claim that title and would hold this precious child and call her their daughter.

“She knows something’s wrong,” Grace observed from the doorway. “Babies are more perceptive than people give them credit for. She can sense the distress in the household.”

“How can I explain to her that the people she loves are about to disappear from her life? How do I make her understand that we’re not abandoning her by choice?”

“You don’t. You fight to make sure it doesn’t happen.”

“I told you; I can’t do it alone.”

“You’re not alone. You have me, Harrison, and Felix. We’ll challenge this claim.”

“On what grounds? The documents appeared legitimate.”

“ Appeared being the operative word.” Grace moved closer and studied Evie’s tear-streaked face. “Something about this whole situation feels fishy. The timing, the appearance of a relative no one knew existed, and the surfacing of such documents only after Adele’s death.”

“You think it’s fraudulent?”

“I think it’s worth investigating. But that will take time, and resources, and the connections your husband possesses.”

“So, we’re back to needing Owen’s cooperation.”

“We’re back to making him see that some things are worth fighting for, even if the outcome isn’t guaranteed.”

Iris rocked Evie gently, feeling the tension in her gradually ease. How many more times would she hold this warm weight in her arms? How many more lullabies could she sing before silence replaced the gentle sounds of infant life?

“He offered me other children,” she said quietly. “As if they could replace her. As if love were interchangeable.”

“Men sometimes think in practical terms when emotion overwhelms them. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t understand the depth of your attachment.”

“Doesn’t it? Because his solution to losing Evie is to simply produce another child and pretend this one never existed.”

“His solution is panic disguised as pragmatism. Fear makes people say terrible things they don’t mean.”

Iris wanted to believe that. She wanted to think that Owen’s cruel words yesterday had been born of desperation rather than genuine indifference.

But the man who’d spoken of faking Evie’s death had seemed genuinely cold and calculating.

That person was nothing like the tender father who sang lullabies in the quiet hours before dawn.

“What if you’re wrong? What if he doesn’t care as much as I thought?”

“Then we fight without him. But I don’t think I’m wrong.” Grace’s voice carried quiet confidence. “I’ve seen how he looks at both of you when he thinks no one is watching. That’s not indifference, Iris. That’s love so deep it terrifies him.”

“Love shouldn’t be terrifying.”

“Shouldn’t it? The deepest love always carries the greatest risks. That’s what makes it worth having.”

They spent the remainder of the morning in the nursery. Grace helped to soothe Evie while Iris tried to imagine a world without her daughter in it.

The baby eventually settled into an uneasy sleep, but her small face remained creased with distress even in dreams.

“She knows,” Iris whispered while smoothing a curl from Evie’s forehead. “Somehow she knows that her life is about to change again.”

“Then we make sure it doesn’t change. We find a way to keep your family together.”

“And if we can’t?”

Grace was quiet for a long time. She studied the sleeping child with fierce determination. “Then we make sure she knows that she was loved deeply, if only for a little while. That she has parents who would move heaven and earth to keep her safe.”

“Had. Past tense.”

“ Has . Present tense. Because until that child is gone, she still has parents who love her. And sometimes love is enough to work miracles.”

Iris clung to that hope as the afternoon stretched into evening and as the house remained divided between Owen’s study and the nursery, where she kept vigil.

Somewhere in the silence between them lay the future of their family. It was fragile and uncertain but not yet lost.