Chapter 10
Honora had found a routine. It was not the life she had intended to build, and she reminded herself of that often enough to feel almost honest.
She was still there by accident, under a false name, and because she had said yes at the gate before she realized what she was doing.
None of that had changed. And yet when she should have been executing her plan of fleeing with Cecily, or at least racked with nerves at the thought of doing so, the days had started to arrange themselves with alarming ease.
Mornings were always spent in the nursery. Breakfast was brought up by Mrs. Pritchard. There was at least a half hour of toys, a book, a bath, and whatever small battle Cecily had decided to wage with her own hands that day.
Afternoons were usually spent in the garden when the weather allowed.
Naps after luncheon, more reading, more walking, more of Cecily attempting to chew anything she could manage to get near her mouth.
The baby had discovered the furniture and treated it as if it were an invention meant specifically for her advancement in life.
Honora told herself every day it was temporary. Especially when she sat on the nursery floor and watched Cecily pull herself along the side of the chair with a determination that made her look much older than she was.
She was silently repeating her plan to leave the day after Mrs. Pritchard had sent her to bed to ease her megrim. Cecily was practicing balancing on her unsteady feet and taking steps with the assistance of the furniture. One hand went up, one knee followed, then another.
Cecily made a pleased, grunting sound, and shoved herself forward another inch. Honora held her breath, thinking the toddler would try to take a step toward her. But the child seemed content to bounce in place and smack the chair.
Honora laughed softly. “You are very pleased with yourself.”
Cecily looked over one shoulder at her as though to say that the matter was obvious. Then, she reached up, caught the curtain, and yanked.
Half the curtain came down at once.
Honora closed her eyes for a second.
“No.”
Cecily, undeterred, tugged again.
The curtain slipped farther.
Honora stood, grabbed the curtain, and refastened it with practiced hands. She had barely stepped back when Cecily returned to the spot, reached up with grave concentration, and brought the whole thing down again.
Honora stared at her. Cecily stared back. Then, the baby gave a tiny, breathy squeal that sounded suspiciously like delight.
Honora could not help it. She laughed, despite the helplessness of the situation, and crouched to gather the curtain up again.
“You are impossible,” she said.
Cecily batted at the fabric with both hands, trying to grip it again.
Honora shook her head and tied it back a second time. “If I had known you would become so precocious, I might have chosen to be a governess instead.”
The baby made a sound of utter satisfaction and crawled toward the rug as though the matter had been settled in her favor.
Honora stood and looked at the room. It had become comfortable in a way she did not want. The blanket by the fire, the basket of toys, the low chair by the crib, the corner where the morning light was the brightest were all reassuring and routine.
The ordinariness of it all made her uneasy because it meant she had begun to live as though she belonged in the house. She knew she did not, and she knew it had to remain that way. And yet each day, she continued to stay. And every day, she enjoyed staying a little bit more.
Especially the times when His Grace came to the nursery.
She was almost good at telling herself it was because she was glad that he was so interested in Cecily’s wellbeing.
But she could not lie to herself when she found herself thinking about his deep baritone laugh, the slight dimple when he smiled, or the way his eyes lit up when he gave her a genuine smile.
By midmorning, the weather was pleasant enough for a walk. Honora decided to take Cecily to the gardens. The child stayed in her arms for a little while, then she wanted to sit in the grass with both hands busy in the dirt.
Honora spread out the blanket near the edge of the lawn, sat with her legs tucked to one side, and let herself breathe.
For all her trouble, for all the worry and the lies and the fear of being discovered, there were moments like that one that gave her genuine joy.
The moments were brief, but they refreshed Honora in a way nothing else could.
Cecily crawled toward the blanket edge, found a flower stem, and tried to eat it.
Honora gently removed the flower from her fist. “You cannot eat that, darling.”
The baby frowned, then banged the ground twice in protest.
Honora smiled and reached for the cloth she had brought to wipe her hands.
Cecily’s attention shifted almost at once. She turned toward the stream, made a determined little sound, and began pulling herself forward again.
“Cecily,” Honora said, already reaching for her, “no, stay where you are.”
The baby did not stop.
Honora rose, one hand already extended, and followed her toward the edge of the lawn. The bank near the stream had looked firm from the path, but up close she could see the water had softened the ground in patches, the mud near the slope dark and slick from recent rain.
She stopped short. Cecily, too distracted to notice, patted Honora’s sleeve with both hands and looked extremely pleased that Honora had followed her. Honora crouched to lift the child, but the wet soil made her movements unpredictable.
Her foot slipped, and for one terrifying second, the world tilted.
Honora felt the mud give under her heel and her balance go with it.
Her arms tightened instinctively around Cecily.
The baby gave a surprised babble, unaware of the impact they were about to take when they met the ground.
Honora’s other hand shot out for the bank, but there was nothing firm enough to catch.
I will fall on Cecily, she realized with horror. I cannot turn enough to fall under her now. My weight will injure her terribly…
Then, a hand closed around her wrist. She looked up just in time to gasp sharply at the face.
Leopold.
It seemed that he had come from the path above the stream so quietly that she had not heard him until he was already there. One hand held her steady at the elbow. The other reached for Cecily. Honora saw that he had already bent to take the baby from her arms with calm efficiency.
“Steady,” he said. “It is all right. I have you both.” His voice was low and calm but reassuring.
Cecily, instead of protesting, gave a delighted little squeal and clung at once to his coat as though the rescue had been part of some plan of hers.
Honora was still half crouched on the muddy bank, her heart beating hard enough to leave her dizzy, when Leopold braced her with one hand and lifted the child with the other.
They stood like that for a moment longer than the rescue required.
Honora’s dress was already mud-splashed at the hem. Her hands were shaking.
Leopold’s palm remained at her arm, firm enough to keep her upright but not so tight as to feel like a restraint. He looked at her face once, quickly, then at her footing.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
Honora blinked. “I did not fall.”
He searched her expression for a moment. “That was not what I asked.”
She let out a breath she had not realized she was holding. “I am fine, Your Grace.”
Cecily babbled through the whole exchange as though she were delighted by the fuss and entirely unconcerned by the fact that everyone else had nearly fallen into the stream.
Leopold adjusted his grip on her. “You are muddy.”
Honora looked down at herself. “Yes.”
“And shaken.”
She lifted her eyes back to him.
He was not looking at her dress, but at her face, and there was nothing amused in it now. Only concern.
“I am fine,” she repeated, more quietly. “I had a fright for Cecily’s safety, but all is well now.”
Leopold’s hand left her arm only after he seemed satisfied that she was not about to slide further down the bank. “You can go and change.”
Honora stared at him. “Cecily.”
“I will watch her.”
She hesitated, looking from his face to the child on his hip. Cecily had already settled there as though she belonged. One small hand was fisted in Leopold’s coat. Her cheek was pressed to his shoulder.
The baby had gone perfectly still in his arms, not unlike the way she did with Honora.
Perhaps calmer. She thought about Mrs. Pritchard telling her about how the duke had taken Cecily for a walk in the gardens himself while she rested the day before.
She did not understand the duke’s fondness for Cecily, but she found that she appreciated it.
She looked down at her muddy skirt again and then back up.
“Thank you.”
Leopold gave a small nod as if thanks were unnecessary but accepted. “Go before you catch cold.”
Honora did not argue. She climbed carefully back up the bank, her hem heavy with mud, and went at once to the house. By the time she had changed into a dry dress and pinned her hair up again, her hands had stopped trembling.
She went to the window of her room before returning downstairs. From there, she could see the rear gardens and the stream beyond the trees.
Leopold was still there with Cecily on his hip, walking slowly along the path while the baby reached for his collar and then settled again, content to be carried.
The sight of them together gave Honora an unexpected, deep tenderness.
It came so suddenly that she had to put one hand to the window frame.
Leopold stopped once to shift the child higher and then went on. Cecily’s head was tucked against his shoulder. Honora watched them for a long moment.