Page 3 of A Baby to Seal the Duke’s Fate

Wilfred shook his head.

“I do nothing until I receive word from you.”

When Leopold gave him a quizzical look, he cleared his throat.

“Had you been terribly occupied and not come at once, I would have brought it in and given it to Mrs. Pritchard.”

Leopold glanced down again, because apparently his life had become the sort in which he now had to verify the baby’s existence with his own eyes. There was a second layer of blanket in the basket, and tucked into the lining near the child’s feet was a pair of tiny, knitted booties.

He crouched, took one careful bootie between his fingers, and turned it over.

On the sole, in neat embroidery, was a name.

Cecily.

Leopold read it twice.

“Cecily,” he said.

The baby, hearing her name or hearing his voice, gave a little kick and made a sound somewhere between a hum and a protest.

Leopold looked at Wilfred. “Someone named her.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Before leaving her here.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Leopold held the bootie for a moment longer, then set it back in the basket.

The shawl was next. He touched the edge of it and found the weave finer than ordinary wool, old in a way that was not obvious at first glance but became clear once handled. The corners were embroidered with the Belgrave emblem.

His fingers stopped on the edge of the shawl.

Behind him, Wilfred said nothing.

Leopold stood, slowly, and looked at the child again. The baby had one fist curled in the shawl and was studying him with grave interest. She did not appear afraid. If anything, she appeared as though she expected him to sort matters out.

Leopold’s first instinct was absurdly practical. Someone had made a mistake. Someone would come. Someone had dropped the child here by accident, and he would be forced to hand her over to a nurse, a constable, a parish clerk, or any other person better suited to the task.

That was what he told himself.

Then the baby sneezed.

It was a tiny, sharp sound. Her eyes blinked once. She looked briefly offended by the experience and then resumed staring at him.

Leopold reached down before he made the conscious choice to do so.

He lifted her from the basket.

She was warmer than he expected. Smaller, too, though not fragile. She made a little noise as he brought her against his chest and immediately seized the lapel of his coat with both fists.

Leopold stopped breathing for one second.

The child held on with the confidence of someone who had made a judgment and found it sound.

“Did she just,” Leopold said, “grab me?”