Page 150 of A Baby to Seal the Duke’s Fate

“That is usually alarming.”

“It has been known to be.” He glanced sideways at her. “Martha also told me that Cecily stood for eleven seconds this morning.”

“Twelve,” Honora corrected.

“You counted.”

“Of course I counted.” Honora stepped over a root in the path. “Martha counted as well. We disagreed, and Martha refuses to concede.”

“What does she claim it was, if not twelve?”

“Eleven. She insists Cecily wobbled twice before she truly stood, and that wobbling does not count toward the total.”

“That seems an arbitrary distinction.”

“I said as much myself. She was unmoved by the argument.”

“Martha refuses to concede anything.”

“She conceded once. About the way she made tea.”

“She let you believe she conceded,” Leopold said. “There is a difference, and she has been quietly making tea her own way ever since.”

“You have known her longer than I have. Does she ever simply admit she is wrong?”

“Once. Three years ago, over a matter concerning the linen order.”

“What happened?”

“I have honestly forgotten the details by now. What I remember is that it took her four days to say it, and she has never let anyone else forget it happened at all.”

Honora laughed, and the sound carried out over the darkening field. She noticed that he watched her when she did it and made no attempt to pretend otherwise.

The path underfoot she already knew well, having seen it from the nursery window many times, usually in the mornings when Cecily was fed and drowsy and the house had not yet started making demands. She had never once followed it all the way to the end, though, until right then.

At that end stood a little stone chapel, low and square, its slate roof gone green at the edges with age.

“Come,” Leopold said, opening the door for her.

Honora stepped inside slowly. The chapel was empty and cool, and the evening sun came through the west window in bands of colored light that spilled across the stone floor, red and gold and a deep blue pooling near the front pew.

“It is beautiful,” Honora said, stopping where she stood.

“My parents were married here,” Leopold said, closing the door behind them.

“And you?” she asked, turning to face him.

Leopold laughed, the rich baritone bouncing off the cool walls. “Yes. I was married here once. I believe I was twelve or thirteen…”

“That is not what I meant,” she said, trying and failing to glare at him.

Leopold chuckled again before nodding. “I was christened here. And Cecily will be registered here as a Belgrave next week.”

Honora smiled and found she had to catch her breath as an unexpected bout of butterflies swarmed in her stomach.

“I wanted you to see it before that happened,” Leopold said, walking farther down the aisle.

“The paperwork?” she asked, following him.