Chapter 21
The house was wrong. Leopold knew it the moment he stepped into the nursery. The room was exactly as it had been the first night Cecily arrived at Belgrave. The crib was empty, with the little blanket Cecily had kicked away countless times folded neatly at the foot.
There was no baby, no woman sitting beside the crib, no soft voice, no small hand reaching for whatever happened to be nearest.
Leopold entered the room slowly, his heart aching with every step. He crossed to the wardrobe he had set up for Cecily on her first night, and his heart fell further. All the items he had purchased for her remained.
Honora had not taken any of them. Nor had she taken any of the toys, which he noticed when he went to the toybox. Everything he had ever bought for the baby remained in that room. Even the bottles sat atop the small vanity beside an empty water pitcher.
This is what I wanted, he thought. Honora is gone, the child is gone, and the house will be quiet again.
He should have felt relieved. Instead, the silent emptiness left in their wake seemed to press against him from every direction, threatening to crush him.
He turned and went to Honora’s room. The bed was made, the drawers empty, the chair beside the window unused, the room looking as though nobody had ever lived there except for one faint impression in the pillow that had already begun to disappear.
Leopold stood in the center of it. He had told her to leave. She had obeyed. This was what he had wanted. So why did the emptiness feel like punishment?
He returned to the study, where he did not read or work. He only sat at the desk and stared at the closed ledger in front of him until a knock came at the door.
Barnaby entered without waiting for an answer. He took one look at Leopold and closed the door behind him.
“You need to sit down.”
Leopold was already sitting. He started to snap at his friend with a remark stating such, but Barnaby did not appear to be trying to be funny.
In fact, he looked frazzled, as if he did not even realize Leopold had already been seated until he spoke the words.
Any previous irritation dissolved, replaced with concern.
“What is it?” Leopold asked.
Barnaby crossed the room and stopped on the other side of the desk. “I found something.”
“What?”
“About Honora Bellamy.”
Leopold sighed.
“If you have come to tell me that she used me, that has been made perfectly clear, I assure you.”
Barnaby shook his head. “I know what you were told. But she is not the woman Isolde described.”
Leopold’s fingers tightened on the edge of the desk. “What do you mean?”
Barnaby locked his gaze firmly on Leopold.
“Honora Bellamy is indeed her name. But she is not what Isolde said she is.”
“You said that already,” he said. “But if the name is correct, how does that change anything?”
Barnaby nodded, somewhere between impatient and frantic, and completely out of his usual character.
“She is not the opportunist Isolde claimed she was.”
Leopold’s heart managed to simultaneously rise and fall.
“Go on,” he said, his mind already reeling.
Barnaby nodded.
“Her sister was named Celestine. Celestine Bellamy before her marriage to Tobias Ainsworth.”
Leopold nodded, though nothing his friend said made sense yet.
“And Celestine and Tobias Ainsworth have something to do with this?”
Barnaby nodded. “Celestine and Tobias died a few months ago. They left behind a young infant daughter. Honora Bellamy’s niece.”
The room seemed to lose some of its air. Leopold looked down at the desk.
“Do you mean…”
Barnaby nodded.
“Your Cecily is actually Cecily Ainsworth. Honora Bellamy’s niece.”
Leopold felt suspended in a room that was silently exploding around him.
“Honora’s niece,” he repeated.
Barnaby nodded again. “Honora raised Cecily after her sister died. She cared for the child herself until her father, Gideon Bellamy, sent the baby away.”
Leopold looked up. “Gideon Bellamy sent Cecily here?”
“Yes. And it seems that Honora tracked her here, to Belgrave.”
Leopold exhaled slowly, trying to calm a pulse that was well beyond his control.
“Honora came after her because she found out she had been sent here.” Not because she meant to use me, but because she wanted to be with her niece. He exhaled again, regret becoming as suffocating as the silence in the nursery and Honora’s room had been.
“Yes.” Barnaby’s voice softened. “She came to Belgrave because she wanted to be with her niece. She did not want anything from you. Least of all, your money or your bed.”
Leopold leaned back in his chair. He thought of the first day, her standing in the entrance hall, the look on her face when she saw Cecily, the way the baby had reached for her, the way Honora had never unpacked her bag, the way she had watched every door and every path, the way she had looked at Cecily as though losing her would be unbearable.
Barnaby’s version of Honora’s tale made so much sense that, in hindsight, Leopold did not understand how he had not figured it out sooner. Or how I jumped to believing the worst of her, just because Isolde told me her wild tale, he thought, burdened with guilt.
“She only ever really lied about her name,” Barnaby said.
Leopold closed his eyes briefly. “Yes. How did it come to pass that she had the name of an agency nursemaid?”
Barnaby gave him a weak smile.
“You gave her the only opportunity she truly took,” he said.
“She said she was Miss Redmond because the real Miss Redmond was expected. You called her Phoebe Redmond the day she arrived. I can assume she agreed without thinking out of fear that she would lose access to Cecily, when she was so close to a reunion with her.”
Leopold opened his eyes. “And everything after that?” he asked, even though he already knew the answer.
Barnaby’s gaze stayed on him. “Everything after that was a woman trying to stay close to the only family she had left.”
Leopold looked away. The words were almost unbearable.
He thought of the night of the fever, the cold compresses, her exhaustion, her head against his shoulder, her hand on Cecily, and the affectionate way she had begun looking at him.
And he had called her a liar and told her there was nothing she could say that he was willing to hear.
He had been wrong. Very wrong.
Leopold looked back at Barnaby. “Why did you not tell me sooner?”
Barnaby did not flinch. “I confirmed it two days ago. The shawl and your father’s private account had already sent me through old household records.
When the agency’s account failed to agree with Miss Redmond’s arrival, I followed that discrepancy to Wiltshire.
One inquiry led to the Bellamys, and the deaths of Celestine and Tobias Ainsworth supplied the rest.”
“And you said nothing.”
“You were in London.”
“I came back last night.”
“Yes.” Barnaby’s jaw tightened. “By the time you returned, Isolde was already in the drawing room, spinning her tale. I called to you as you stormed out of the room, but you did not hear me. This is the first time I have managed to get your attention since.”
Leopold looked away again. The timing felt cruel. He had arrived home expecting an inconvenience. Instead, he had listened to a carefully constructed story that had taken every truth in Honora’s life and rearranged it until it became something ugly.
He thought of Isolde’s voice. I am sorry. Only that I care about you.
He felt sick.
“What about the shawl?” he asked, as if the answer to that could somehow offer a solution to the problem he had now caused.
Barnaby’s expression changed. “It is over thirty years old.”
Leopold looked up. “Is it truly from Belgrave?”
“Yes.”
“From where?”
“Our own linen stores.”
Leopold was silent.
Barnaby continued. “Someone with access to the household sent that child here.” He paused. “Or perhaps, some kind of connection to this household.”
At first, nothing came to mind. He recalled that his father had dealt with Gideon Bellamy, but as far as he knew, their relationship had been limited to business affairs. Then, as if a gun went off in his brain, the information clicked.
The old shawl, his mother’s behavior, Wilfred’s reaction, his mother’s evasiveness, the private account his father had kept. Leopold suddenly understood that the mystery was much older than Honora.
“Do you think Isolde knew?”
Barnaby’s answer came without hesitation. “She had enough information to tell you the whole story.”
Leopold’s face hardened. “But she chose another version.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Barnaby gave him a grim look. “Because her version was useful to her motives.”
Leopold stood. The chair scraped against the floor. “She said Honora was the opportunist.”
“I believe we now know who the real opportunist is.”
Leopold shook his head. “She took facts and turned them into a lie.”
Barnaby’s expression was hard. “Yes.”
Leopold looked toward the door. “I am going after them.”
Barnaby nodded. “I assumed you would.”
Leopold reached for his coat. “Where?”
“The coaching inn.”
“At the county border?”
“If Isolde sent them there, that is where the carriage should have gone.”
Leopold pulled on his coat.
Barnaby stood. “I will come with you.”
“No.”
Barnaby frowned. “You cannot ride into this alone.”
“I am not asking permission.”
“Nor am I.”
Leopold stared at his friend for a moment.
It was a task he felt he should take on alone, as he alone was responsible for the task in the first place.
Had he not sent Honora and Cecily away at Isolde’s word, had he listened to what Honora had to say, the two of them would still be in his home, instead of banished and in need of locating.
But Barnaby was determined. And in truth, Leopold felt he could use his old friend’s companionship. He had made a mistake that was causing him terrible grief and remorse. It might help him think more clearly to have his friend come along.
“Very well,” Leopold said, taking his gloves and turning toward the door. “We leave immediately.”
One thought remained in his mind. Honora had lied about her name, and nothing else that was of any consequence.
She had been telling the truth about the one thing that mattered most. She had wanted to see that Cecily was taken care of.
And so did he. But now, he also wanted to see that Honora was taken care of, as well.
She had not betrayed him the way he thought she had.
And the feelings he had been developing for her were becoming harder and harder to deny.
The two men rode hard. The road seemed longer than it had any right to be. Leopold urged his horse onward, barely noticing the cold air or the ache in his hands.
He could think of nothing except the possibility that he was already too late, that Honora and Cecily would be long gone, to some destination that would forever be unknown to him.
In light of everything, that thought was an impossible notion to tolerate.
He could not lose them. Losing them would destroy him.
When they reached the coaching inn, Leopold dismounted before the horse had properly stopped. He and Barnaby crossed the yard and pushed through the door.
The innkeeper looked up.
“Did a woman arrive here today?” Leopold demanded, wasting no time on any pleasantries.
The man’s expression tightened at the tone. “A few women have been here today. You need to be more specific.”
Leopold huffed, prepared to unleash undue rage. But a hand on his shoulder from Barnaby helped him remember himself.
“A young woman,” he said as calmly as his frantic heartbeat would allow. “Auburn hair. Traveling with a baby.”
The innkeeper shook his head. “No.”
Leopold stepped closer. “She should have arrived sometime this afternoon.”
“I have not seen anyone matching that description. Or anyone with a baby at all today, for that matter.”
Leopold clenched his jaw. Surely, the man was simply mistaken.
“You are certain that no carriage arrived carrying this young woman and her baby?”
The man thought again. “No.”
Leopold’s pulse hammered. “Search your records.”
“There is no need.” The innkeeper’s voice had become more certain, and slightly more impatient. “No woman with a baby has arrived here today.”
Leopold stared at him. “Did any carriage stop?” He knew his persistent questioning would not change the answer. But he did not know what else to do, and his panic was rapidly overtaking him.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“An hour or so ago. Long enough to change horses.”
Leopold’s stomach dropped. “Who was in it?”
The innkeeper shook his head. “Men. Two of them.”
Leopold felt the blood drain from his face. “But no woman?”
“No.”
Leopold stepped backward. He stood in the doorway of the coaching inn, staring out into the dark road beyond. For a moment, he could not think. It did not make any sense.
Isolde had told him she would see to it that Honora and Cecily arrived safely at the very inn where he stood. She had assured him she had paid well to ensure that the two of them would be taken care of once they arrived, and until they could find some other place to go.
He had pretended to not care, but he had been relieved deep down to know that they would be safe outside of Belgrave’s walls. Isolde had reassured him that all was well. Isolde…
Then the truth settled over him with a terrible clarity. Lady Isolde Penmere had not seen Honora and Cecily to safety. She had never intended to. The carriage had gone somewhere else. But why? And more importantly at that moment, where?