Chapter 18
Honora woke with a blanket over her shoulders and her cheek resting against the edge of the crib. For a moment, she did not remember falling asleep, or how she had ended up back in the nursery.
Then, the events of the night returned all at once: Cecily, the fever, Leopold on the nursery floor, the physician’s instructions, the long hours of walking and waiting, and Leopold taking turns trying to soothe Cecily.
She had thought little of it in the moment, as she had been unable to think of anything other than Cecily. But right then, the memory of Leopold’s kindness and worry made her pause.
Had she imagined the warmth and concern he had shown for her, as well as Cecily? Had he been worried about her, as well, or was she reading too much into his concern for the baby?
Honora pushed herself upright, blinking against the pale morning light. Cecily was awake, and, judging by the way she was kicking both legs against the mattress, entirely recovered from the night’s drama.
Honora stared at her. “You are determined to frighten me to death.” Leopold and I both, she added silently with a soft smile at the memory of the two of them caring for the ailing baby together.
Her next thought was dismissed before it could fully form. But for a second, she wildly imagined the three of them as a family, with Leopold and her soothing Cecily through an illness as a mother and father figure.
Cecily answered with a delighted noise and reached for the nearest blanket. Honora laughed softly, the sound mostly relief. She leaned over the crib and touched the baby’s forehead, though she already knew what to expect.
Cool. She checked again, because she had spent the night frightened enough to distrust anything that looked too easy. Still cool.
Cecily caught her finger and held it. Honora closed her eyes briefly. “Thank God.” She had not meant to say it aloud.
Cecily let go of her finger and immediately tried to pull herself upright.
Honora caught her around the waist. “No. You have done enough.”
Cecily objected. Honora smiled despite herself. The blanket around her shoulders slipped, and she caught it before it fell.
Someone had covered her. She remembered sitting against the crib but not the moment the blanket had been placed around her, and she suspected she knew who had done it; the thought alone making her heart skip oddly.
It could have been Mrs. Pritchard, sometime after Leopold had gone.
Since she did not know how long he had stayed, she was prepared to assume that was the case.
But again, she thought about the way he had looked at her: tired, but worried, and with completely unguarded warmth and affection. Surely, that had only been for Cecily. Had it not?
Honora’s hand rested on the crib rail. She thought about his shoulder beneath her cheek, about the way he had stayed, not because he had been required to, but because he had wanted to make certain Cecily was safe.
The memory made her chest ache. Even if his worry had only been for the baby, his actions had still been selfless and compassionate, and they filled her with strange longing. She pushed the thoughts away and turned back to the baby.
“Breakfast first,” she said.
Cecily babbled as she began gnawing on the fabric in her hands.
“Yes, I know. A terrible idea. You would much rather eat the blanket.”
The child gave her another muffled babble and a laugh. Honora laughed again, as well.
As she was preparing to pull the cord to call for breakfast for Cecily, the nursery door opened. Honora straightened. Leopold stood there.
He looked tired. Not as tired as he had hours ago, but enough that she could see the night had left its mark.
His hair was untidy, and there was a faint shadow beneath his eyes.
He wore a dark coat, already dressed for the day, though the knot of his cravat looked as if it had been done without much attention.
His gaze went immediately to Cecily. “How is she?”
Honora looked down at the baby. “She is perfect.”
“Her fever?”
“Gone.”
Leopold stepped into the room but stopped at the doorway. For a moment, he simply looked at them. Honora became aware of everything at once: the blanket falling from around her shoulders, the chair, the quiet, the memory of his shoulder.
She picked up Cecily and adjusted the child against her hip. Cecily, having seen Leopold, promptly dropped the blanket so it draped over the side of the crib, and cooed loudly, giving her own testimony regarding her health.
“Cecily has been awake for a while,” Honora said, reaching out to grab Cecily’s flailing fist. “Entirely untroubled by what she put us through.”
Leopold’s mouth twitched. “That sounds like her.”
“She wants breakfast.”
“Of course.” His eyes returned to the child. “Is she ready to eat?”
Honora nodded.
“We will start slow. Though in my experience, it is best to let the child let us know how much they are ready to eat and when.”
Leopold’s face stilled, his eyes firmly on Honora. He seemed to be thinking intently about something, with such intensity that it made Honora nervous. Then, he waved to Cecily and smiled, the hard expression dissolving.
“She does look better.”
“Much.”
He nodded, glancing at her again. And again came the cautious, thoughtful look he had given her a moment before. There was something different in the way he looked at Honora that morning. It was as if he was suspicious.
And it was in that instant that she remembered. He had asked her the night before how she knew about the compresses, and he had done so because she had made a slip. In response, she had lied again. He had let it go, but he wore the same expression he was giving her right then before he did so.
She realized that he had not let it go because he believed her. He had let it go because he had decided it was a matter to settle later. She desperately wanted to think she was being paranoid. But Leopold had never looked at her so warily.
He took another step into the nursery. “Did you sleep?”
She glanced at the blanket. “A little.”
“Did you sleep enough?”
“No.” The answer slipped out before she could embellish it.
Leopold looked at her, and warmth and amusement briefly softened his expression. “I thought not.”
“I am well enough to take care of Cecily today, I assure you,” Honora said.
Leopold’s eyes told her he clearly did not believe her. But he did not object. Honora lowered her eyes to Cecily.
Leopold was quiet for another moment. “I am glad she is better,” he said at last.
Honora nodded. “So am I.”
He hesitated, and Honora thought he was going to say something else. He did not.
“Have a good day, Miss Redmond.”
“You too, Your Grace.”
He turned. At the door, he paused again. For one second, he looked back, his gaze meeting hers. She held her breath, certain he would bring up the compress remark again. But then, he left.
Honora listened to his footsteps disappearing down the corridor. Only when she could no longer hear them did she breathe. Something had changed. The night had altered something between them. Not in any direct or obvious way, but enough that going back to the way things had been felt impossible.
Honora sat on the edge of the chair with Cecily in her lap, breakfast momentarily forgotten. The baby played with a ribbon on Honora’s sleeve and babbled softly to herself, as if she sensed that her aunt needed a moment to think. Honora watched her.
Northumberland came to mind. It always did when she became anxious about Cecily’s and her life there.
The route north she had planned during her first week at Belgrave, the roads, her aunt’s house, the possibility of shelter, the bag beneath her bed.
She knew every part of the journey and had rehearsed it in her mind even before she had arrived at Belgrave.
And now she knew something else. She was not going.
Honora closed her eyes. She was not going. The certainty was painful because it had been there for longer than she wanted to admit.
Perhaps she had known it when she first saw Leopold kneeling beside Cecily, or when he sat on the nursery floor and listened to her babble, or at the stream when he caught her before she fell. Or perhaps she had known it last night, when he stayed awake until dawn with a baby who was not his.
Whatever the moment had been, the decision was made. She could not take Cecily away. Not from a man who clearly loved her almost as much as Honora herself did.
A man who seems to be rather fond of me, as well, she thought.
But would he remain fond of her if he happened to find out she had been lying to him?
Honora looked down at the child. Cecily had begun chewing on the ribbon.
Honora lowered her head and pressed a kiss against Cecily’s hair. “I am going to tell him.”
The baby made a happy noise.
Honora looked at her. “Not that you have any say in the matter. Or even understand what the matter is.”
Cecily immediately grabbed her collar and grunted with the beginnings of impatience. Honora laughed quietly. “I know. I have not forgotten about your breakfast.” She sighed. “Though I suppose I almost did there for a moment.”
Cecily smacked her shoulder and furrowed her brow, as if she had understood Honora.
“I know, darling,” she said again. “Let us go get it, instead of waiting for it to be brought to us.”
Cecily made a burbling sound with her lips, causing a bubble of saliva. Honora quickly wiped it with the blanket. Then, she carried the baby toward the kitchen.
Barnaby fell into step beside her before she reached the end of the corridor.
Honora looked up. “Lord Dunsmere.”
“Miss Redmond.”
His tone was perfectly pleasant. His expression, however, was strange.
It was a combination of amusement and accusation.
They walked several steps in silence, and she started admonishing herself for her thought.
I am getting jumpy because of my own guilt, she thought.
But when Barnaby spoke, her stomach turned to ice.
“I know you are not Miss Redmond.”