Chapter 26 #2
“The dowager’s face, that first day Cecily arrived.
” Martha’s gaze went distant. “She was whiter than the linens when His Grace held up that shawl tucked around the baby. Wilfred too, standing in the corridor not saying a word about it, when Wilfred always has something to say.” She shook her head slowly.
“And about fifteen other things I have been turning over for weeks and could never make fit together.”
“You suspected something.”
“I suspected a great deal and understood nothing.” Martha’s mouth curved, though there was no real humor in it. “Now it fits.”
Honora looked down at the record again. “Did you know her? Celestine?”
“No.” Martha’s voice gentled. “I came here after. Whatever they did, they did it before my time, and nobody in this house has ever once mentioned it.” She paused. “That is its own kind of deception, is it not? Almost thirty years, and not one word from anyone.”
Honora had not thought of it that way. A secret was one thing. Thirty years of an entire household agreeing to keep it was something else entirely.
Martha studied her for a moment. “How are you?”
Honora opened her mouth to answer and found she had nothing ready. “I do not know yet.”
Martha nodded, as if that were the exact answer she had expected. “I believe that is perfectly reasonable.”
Honora gave her a weak, grateful smile. “Thank you for caring.”
“Someone must care for the one who cares for everyone else.”
Honora looked at Martha, stunned. But the cook simply shrugged, as if she had said the most logical thing in the world and did not need a response. That was just as well, because Honora had none.
***
That afternoon, once Cecily had taken a little milk and gone back to sleep, Honora sat at the small writing table in her room with a fresh sheet of paper.
She had written to Celestine many times since the accident, each letter filled with things she could not say aloud to anyone living and things she could no longer say to the sister she had loved so fiercely. But that letter felt different before she had written a single word.
The last of them, she thought, understanding it was true as soon as she thought it.
Celestine,
I know who you were now. Not who I thought you were. Who you actually were.
You were born at Belgrave. Your mother is the duchess, your father the late duke. They sent you away when you were three days old because of the way you looked, and Mother and Father raised you as though none of that had ever happened, and neither of us ever knew.
I am so sorry I did not know sooner. But it does not change anything.
You were my sister before I read the birth record, and you are my sister after it.
Nothing in that paper changes the fact that you taught me to braid hair in the garden and laughed at everything I said, even when it was not funny.
You were the best mother I have ever seen, and I think it will always break my heart that you will not get to watch Cecily grow up.
Cecily is a Belgrave. She has your family’s name whether anyone writes it down or not. I think you would have found that funny, in the end. All the secrets, and here she is anyway, being loved exactly the way you always said she deserved to be.
I miss you every day and will keep missing you, no matter what happens next. And I still love you for as many reasons as there are stars in the sky.
Forever and always your sister,
Honora
She read it through once, folded it carefully, and set it on the table rather than tucking it into the lining of her bag with the others.
If Leopold wanted to read it, he could. There was no need to keep her sister a secret any longer.
In fact, perhaps it was time that he read for himself how dear Celestine was to her, so he could truly understand why she had lied to him.
***
Cecily awoke that evening with a series of short coughs. Honora took her from the crib and soothed her gently against her chest. The child rubbed her eyes and grunted softly, coughing only three times as she did so.
“Are you hungry, darling?” Honora asked, brushing the child’s hair off her clammy forehead.
The baby chewed on her fist, but offered no other reply as her head lolled back onto Honora’s neck, as though she had figured out that vocalization made her cough again.
Honora took the broth and soft, fresh bread that was brought to the nursery moments after Cecily woke up and fed the child slowly, pausing when she started coughing and offering water to soothe what Honora was sure must be an irritated throat.
When Cecily began waving the food away with a weak fist and rubbing her eyes with the other, Honora gave her more of her medicine and then rocked her to sleep.
Cecily fell asleep again within minutes, and Honora hoped that with a full belly and the aid of her medicine, the child would sleep more peacefully than she had the previous night.
Honora, however, was far too wakeful to try to sleep.
She tucked the baby into her crib and slipped from the room, leaving the door cracked so she could hear Cecily if she woke up distressed or coughing.
She had not planned on speaking to anyone when she went downstairs. She only meant to wander and allow her thoughts to settle and try to understand everything she had learned in the previous days.
But when she passed by the drawing room door and saw the dowager duchess sitting inside, staring at the wall with a resigned expression that was so unlike her usual cold composure, she paused.
The dowager did not look as though she had moved in some time.
On impulse, Honora decided to step inside the room.
The dowager looked up. Her eyes were red at the rims, and she made no attempt to hide it, which was both disconcerting and relieving to Honora. She did not look like she wanted to harshly dismiss Honora. She looked very much like she needed to talk.
For a moment, neither woman spoke. Honora thought of everything she might say, and none of it seemed adequate, so she said something that surprised her.
“I have questions about Celestine.”
The dowager’s expression did not change, but her posture eased, as though she had been waiting for that precise moment. “I suspect that you do.”
Her voice was soft but raspy, confirming that she had been crying.
“I would like honest answers,” Honora said, her voice softening at the vulnerability in the dowager’s demeanor. “Whatever they are.”
She meant it, and the silence that followed frightened her a little. There would be no unhearing whatever came next.
The dowager held her gaze for a moment, but she did not look angry or defensive. She only looked tired, and more than a little wistful.
“Of course,” she said. “Please. Come sit down.”