Wild Star (Star Quartet 3)

“You, sir, are the angel,” she said. Michelle was deeply asleep, her chubby legs drawn up, her tiny fist in her mouth.

“She looks quite healthy,” Saint said quietly. “Who was your doctor in Sacramento?”

“Chambers is his name.”

“Don’t know him,” Saint said. “Are you breastfeeding her?”

“I—that is, yes, of course.”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to pry or embarrass you. A beautiful baby. She indeed has the look of the Butlers. Does she have your green eyes or Ira’s blue?”

“They’re blue.”

“Ah.”

“She’s still sleeping, isn’t she? You haven’t awakened her?”

Both Byrony and Saint turned at the sound of Irene’s sharp voice.

“Not at all,” Saint said easily. “If a baby could snore, she would. Shall we leave her to her dreams?”

Irene looked undecided, then shrugged. “Certainly. The guests are beginning to leave, Byrony. You must come downstairs. You go ahead, I’ll make sure she’s well tucked in.”

Byrony nodded and walked past her sister-in-law.

“I imagine,” Saint said as they walked down the wide staircase, “that it is difficult for a lady who isn’t married to readily accept changes. You are lucky, I think, that she cares for the child. It could have gone the other way, I imagine.”

Byrony wanted to laugh at his very kind but utterly mistaken observation. “Indeed,” she said.

Chauncey Saxton took her hands. “You must visit me soon, Byrony. Are you free for lunch tomorrow?”

Chauncey was surprised to see Byrony look briefly toward her husband before she answered. Ira gave a benevolent nod, and Byrony said, “I would much enjoy that, Chauncey.”

“Good. Bring Michelle. I should like to make her acquaintance. Saint stole my opportunity tonight.”

Byrony dressed with great care the following morning, then went to the dining room. Ira was already breakfasting.

“I can’t believe everything is back to normal,” she said, looking about the pristine dining room. “Naomi is a treasure, isn’t she?”

“Indeed,” Ira said, rising until Byrony seated herself on his right.

“No,” she said, seeing his brief frown, “I don’t want to sit at the foot of the table. I don’t relish shouting to you to be heard. I do hope Irene isn’t still upset about what happened.”

“Why should I be? After all, aren’t you the little wife with all the privileges?”

The woman walked like a cat, Byrony thought, forcing a smile to her lips as she turned to face Irene.

“Please, Irene,” Ira said.

“Good morning,” Byrony said, her voice neutral. She’d hoped Irene’s recent behavior was a passing thing, but she was beginning to wonder. What had happened to the gentle, very quiet woman she’d spent so many months with? “Did you sleep well?”

“No. Michelle was colicky.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t even hear her crying.”

“Why should you? You aren’t her mother.”

“Irene,” Ira said, his quiet voice holding a touch of warning. “You will please remember the servants.”