Page 11 of A Baby to Seal the Duke’s Fate

Gideon did not answer.

She took a step closer. “Who, Father?”

He drew himself up a fraction, as though he meant to remind her of his authority by posture alone. “This conversation is over.”

“Where did you send her?”

He looked at her with faint impatience now, and that impatience was worse than anger. “You may thank me later.”

Honora stared at him.

He gave her one last unyielding look and then said, “You will understand in time why this is better. You are to stop this foolishness and behave as a woman of your station should.”

“A woman of my station,” Honora repeated, very quietly. “You mean the daughter of a wealthy businessman who does not even possess a title.”

“You are a proper lady, nonetheless.”

Honora seethed.

“A woman of my station, as you say, does not have the child she has cared for taken from her without warning.”

Gideon’s voice sharpened. “A woman of your station does not bring scandal on the family either, but here we are.”

Honora felt the insult like a slap.

He turned before she could answer and started down the corridor.

“Father.”

He stopped but did not turn.

Honora’s voice had gone tight. “If you have harmed her—”

“She is not harmed.”

“You do not know that.”

He faced her at last, and there was something in his expression now that made her stomach clench. Not guilt. Never guilt. Something like certainty.

“She is better off where she is.”

Then he turned and went down the stairs to his study.

Honora stood in the nursery doorway long after he had gone.

The room was empty around her. Too tidy. Too bare. The air still held a faint trace of milk and soap and the baby powder she used sparingly because Cecily sneezed if she used too much. Her eyes moved over the stripped room one unbearable inch at a time.

Blanket gone.

Rattle gone.

Shawl gone.

Cecily gone.

She shut her eyes once, hard.

When she opened them again, her father’s voice was still in her ears.