Page 24 of A Baby to Seal the Duke’s Fate

Cecily gave a little squeal and batted his finger. Honora could see that the grip she had was fierce as the tip of his finger began to turn purple. Yet he paid no mind, as though she could squeeze the finger until it fell off and he would simply continue gazing at her with fond curiousness.

It was as if she was watching a completely different man as he interacted with the infant. And the man before her was one that made her original intentions for going to his home all the more difficult.

He crouched for one last moment, let Cecily pat his cheek with an open hand, and then rose to his full height. Honora had the strange impression that she had just witnessed something private.

The duke looked at her again, his expression cool and professional once more. “Mrs. Pritchard will expect you in the kitchen after this. She has a list of supplies.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

He gave a small nod and moved toward the door.

As he passed, the narrow space between them forced him to brush her arm lightly in the doorway. It was accidental. It was nothing. Yet Honora still felt it like a spark. He paused just beyond her shoulder, only long enough to allow the contact to end, then went on into the corridor without another word. The door shut behind him.

Honora remained where she stood with Cecily warm against her chest and stared at the closed door long after the sound of his footsteps had faded. Then she realized she was listening for those footsteps to return.

Honora looked down at Cecily at once. “Do not look at me like that,” she whispered.

Cecily blinked solemnly.

“I am not thinking about him.”

The denial sounded foolish as soon as she spoke it. She had thought about the way he crouched to meet Cecily’s gaze, about the patience in his voice, about how careful he had been not to startle her. She had thought, too, about the brush of his sleeve against her arm, though that was exactly the sort of detail she had no business remembering.

Honora drew in a slow breath.

She was here for Cecily.

Only Cecily.

If she had to remind herself twice, it was because she was tired. Nothing more.

***

That evening, after Cecily had been fed and settled in the nursery, with the lamp lit low, Honora put the baby to bed and stood beside the crib until her little chest rose and fell in slow sleep. The house was quiet.

Too quiet again. She went to her room, sure of what she must do. She needed to take Cecily and leave before things could become even more complicated. Before Cecily could grow attached to people who were not her family. She hurried to her quarters, thinking over every idea she had had of escape ever since she had learned where Cecily had ended up.

Her room was small but comfortable. The bed was made. The fire had been lit. A jug of water waited on the table beside a clean towel. Honora shut the door and stared at her bag, which was packed on a chair by the door.

Cecily is warm and fed and safe. And she hardly seems to be an inconvenience. Even when she is fussy. She had imagined many horrible things during her journey to find her niece. But what she had found was far more, far better than she could have ever dared to hope. For the first time since she arrived, Honora wondered whether taking Cecily away would be saving her or punishing her for being loved by the wrong people.

With a shaky sigh, she lay down on the bed without undressing, one arm over her eyes, and tried to run through every version of leaving.

She knew the service stair, the side door with the sticking latch, the hour when the kitchen changed over. She could take Cecily, wrap her in a blanket, and move quietly enough.

The bag was packed. She knew where Cecily’s things were in the duke’s manor now, and she was confident she could pack enough quickly to last for a few days until she figured out what to do next.

She imagined the packed bag in her hand, Cecily on her hip, the service gate just within her line of sight, and no one around to give them a second glance. It should have been a simple choice. Especially since she knew that if anyone learned she had lied about her identity, she and Cecily might be expelled from the only safety they had right then.

She whispered the plan once, just to hear how foolish it sounded aloud.

“Down the service stair. Through the side door. Across the kitchen yard.”

Cecily slept on, unconcerned.

“You need not look so doubtful,” Honora murmured, though the baby had given no opinion at all. “It is a perfectly sensible plan.”

The sleeping child sighed.