Chapter 9 #2
“I know how you dislike being disrupted from your duties,” he said, knowing they both knew it was a paper-thin excuse. “I can sit with the baby until Miss Redmond is awake.”
The housekeeper stared at him for more than a full minute, looking bemused and thoughtful. Then, she nodded and walked to the door, glancing back only once before leaving without a word.
Before he knew it, he was lifting the baby, who clutched at his coat with obvious delight. She patted his face with one small open hand, then seized his nose with such concentration that he could not help laughing.
“Why do we not go find some far prettier things for you to pick and grab?” he asked.
The child, who could not possibly have understood his words, cooed again happily, as if she knew just what he meant.
As silently as he could manage with the gurgling child, he slipped through the corridors, down the stairs, and out the back door that led to the short maze just ahead of his true destination.
The day was cool but clear, and the path was dry underfoot.
He had just reached the entrance to the gardens when Cecily leaned over and grabbed a fistful of leaves from a willow tree with great solemnity.
After careful examination, she held it out to him.
Leopold looked at the grass, then at her, then accepted it with equal gravity.
He held the grass carefully in one hand. “Thank you.”
She kicked once, satisfied.
Leopold looked at her. “Do you intend to make a career of this?”
Cecily babbled in what sounded like agreement.
He went on walking, carrying her along the side of the garden. “I suppose you have questions.”
The baby blinked at him.
“Yes,” he said. “You may as well. Where did you come from? Who brought you? Why were you left on my doorstep in a basket, as though I were some manner of charitable institution?” He paused. “Or perhaps I am the only one with questions.”
Cecily reached for his collar and patted it. It was difficult for Leopold not to take the gesture as one of comfort.
Leopold glanced at her. “That is a very calm response.”
She grinned at him.
He huffed out a quiet breath, a brilliant smile stretching his face unfamiliarly before he could stop it. “You are no help at all.”
The baby gurgled at him again.
“And what of your nursemaid?” he asked. “Why does she behave as though she has known you your entire life?”
The child’s brows furrowed, insofar as such a young child’s brows could, as though she were considering the matter deeply.
“Ahnana,” she said, kicking both her feet so hard he nearly dropped her. “A ahnana.”
Leopold’s eyes widened.
“Are you trying to speak?” he asked, alarmed because he did not know what to do and absurdly pleased because she had chosen him as her audience.
“A ahnana,” she said, though he had no idea what the girl meant to say.
The girl squealed and bounced in his arms, and he was thankful he had tightened his grip after her first fierce kick. Whatever those syllables meant to the child clearly made her happier than he had ever seen her.
He made a note to tell Miss Redmond when he saw her next. Perhaps she would know what it meant, or if it was just something all young children said when learning to speak.
He had almost reached the lower boundary of the lawn when Barnaby fell into step beside him. There was a long silence, during which Barnaby asked many questions with his eyes while his lips twitched with sheer amusement, as though there was much he was forcing them to not say.
“How are things going with the nursemaid?” Barnaby finally asked.
Leopold kept walking. “She is good with Cecily.”
Barnaby nodded once. “Then why are you out here with the child instead of her?”
Leopold thought it over. It was not his place to speak on Miss Redmond, even if it was something as simple as a megrim.
“She is resting,” he said. “Cecily saw me when I went to check in on them around lunch and would not settle until I went to her. I thought fresh air might do her good.”
Barnaby nodded, the expression on his face almost as knowing and telling as that on Mrs. Pritchard’s had been.
Barnaby nodded, but said nothing else on the subject, which Leopold appreciated more than he intended to show.
Leopold blushed. “I only mean to do a kindness for a servant.”
“And a baby that is not yours.”
“Not mine, no, but in my charge.”
Barnaby nodded slowly, not with agreement but with sarcastic belief.
“Well, I am glad that the nursemaid is working out well.”
Leopold nodded, his mind drifting even as he tried to keep his expression neutral.
“The entire household has been calmer since she arrived.”
Barnaby looked at him. “That is good.”
They walked on in companionable silence for a while before Barnaby said, “I have been going through your father’s financial records as you asked.”
Leopold’s attention sharpened immediately. “And?”
Barnaby’s tone stayed light, but his expression had changed. “There is something odd.”
Leopold stopped walking.
“Odd how?”
Barnaby halted beside him and adjusted his weight. “I found a private account. Separate from the estate. Regular payments going out for more than twenty years.”
Leopold frowned. “To whom?”
“I am still tracing it.”
Leopold’s jaw tightened. “Your wording suggests you think it matters.”
“I do think it matters.”
“Why?”
Barnaby looked at him for a beat. “Because the account closed the day your father died.”
Leopold stared at him dumbly. It sounded like Barnaby was implying that his father was sending money to someone, and doing so secretly. But to whom? And why?
“Are you certain the payments stopped then?” Leopold asked.
Barnaby nodded.
“There are no recent withdrawals after that. Whatever the payments were for, they stopped with him. And unless I can find more information, the destination for those payments may have gone with him to his grave.”
Leopold looked down at Cecily, who had gone quiet against his shoulder, then back at Barnaby. “Keep looking.”
Barnaby inclined his head. “I intend to.”
Leopold resumed walking, though his mind had turned over at once. A private account. Twenty years of payments, all ending on the day his father died.
It should have felt disconnected from the rest of his life—from the estate, from Cecily, from the strange new order of his household. Instead, it tugged at the edges of everything, and that was what unsettled him.
Barnaby changed the subject as they crossed back toward the house. “There is also the matter of the Montrose boundary dispute.”
Leopold gave a quiet groan. “Do not say the name as though it is a curse.”
Barnaby’s mouth twitched. “It nearly is.”
Leopold looked toward the estate wall. “What now?”
“Sabina sent another letter about the survey maps.”
Leopold raised an eyebrow. “Did she?”
Barnaby’s tone became dry. “She has opinions, and a remarkable talent for sharing them without apology.”
Leopold glanced at him. “Would you like to handle the correspondence yourself?”
Barnaby shot him a look. “That will not be necessary.”
“Pity.”
Barnaby’s expression became more pointed. “You are only saying that because you know I dislike the task.”
Leopold smirked.
“I thought you might relish a reason to correspond with the lovely lady.”
Barnaby snorted once and looked ahead again, not denying Leopold’s remark. “In any case, I will continue with the maps.”
Leopold nodded. “Good.”
Barnaby was silent for a while, then said, “You do look better when you are not trapped in the study.”
Leopold turned his head slightly. “Was that intended as a compliment?”
“It was intended as an observation.”
“That sounds suspiciously like your version of flattery.”
Barnaby smiled faintly. “Do not be vain. It does not suit you.”
Leopold carried Cecily up to the house. “You are one to lecture anyone on vanity.”
Barnaby’s reply was immediate. “I suit myself.”
Leopold laughed, surprised at how light and honest it sounded. It sounded like Miss Redmond’s did when she allowed herself to relax, even a little, and Leopold marveled at his own comparison.
***
That evening, after dinner and after the house had settled, Leopold delayed retiring longer than usual. On his way upstairs, he passed the nursery corridor and saw the door standing open.
The room beyond was lit only by the lamp near the window. Phoebe sat there in the dark with Cecily asleep in her arms, singing something low and soft. He caught no words, only the tune—a quiet thread of sound so gentle he noticed it only after it had already drawn him in.
Leopold stopped in the corridor. Phoebe did not look up at first. Her head was bent toward Cecily, and one hand moved over the baby’s back in a slow, absent rhythm. Then the floorboard beneath his boot gave the faintest creak. Phoebe lifted her head at once. The song stopped.
“I am sorry. I did not mean to interrupt. I just came to see how you were feeling after this afternoon.”
For a second, she did not answer. She only looked at him.
Then, with nothing more than a small smile and nod, she turned her face back to Cecily and resumed the song from the place she had stopped.
Leopold stood where he was as her voice drifted through the room again. He was not offended by her silence. Her expression had answered him well enough: tired, but otherwise content, and unwilling to wake the child. Still, he could not make himself leave at once.
He remained in the corridor longer than he should have, listening to the low song and Cecily’s quiet breathing, until at last, he moved on. Even after he had gone upstairs, he could still hear the melody in his head.