Chapter 28 #3
The question caught her completely off guard. Honora thought of the nursery upstairs, the baby asleep in her crib, Leopold somewhere within the house, and Martha working in the kitchen. She also thought of the bag she had finally unpacked and had not looked at since.
The answer came without any hesitation at all, for the first time since she had started asking herself that question.
“Yes,” she said. “I am safe.”
Her father nodded. “Good. It might be difficult to believe now, but I have been very worried. About both of you.”
Honora nodded. “It is rather difficult to believe.”
Her father’s shoulders lowered visibly as he looked down at his hands. “I am sorry, Honora,” he said softly.
His apology was simple and plain, yet it was the most powerful and convincing thing he had said. There was no excuse attached to it, and no explanation trailing along behind it, only the words offered without any expectations.
“Your apology is late,” she said, looking at him for a moment.
“I know.”
“But I hear it,” she said, nodding slowly.
“I am glad,” Gideon said, and his face eased ever so slightly.
By the time her father left a few minutes later, it was close to dinnertime.
Honora watched from the window as he walked down the long drive with his hat held in one hand.
She did not wave. He did not turn back to look.
But something inside her felt less tangled than it had been that morning, and she found she was grateful for that small change.
***
That evening, as Cecily sat playing with some blocks after her dinner, a quiet knock sounded at the nursery door.
Honora looked up, surprised. The dowager stood there, and for once, she looked uncertain of herself. “I was hoping I might get here before she was asleep.”
Honora quickly picked up the child, reflexively holding her tightly. “She will likely be awake for another hour or two. Did you need something?”
The dowager looked at Cecily, who was watching her with silent wariness, as if she somehow knew that was the person who had been planning to send her away from yet another family.
Her true family, Honoria thought as her father’s words returned to her.
“I was wondering if I might hold her for a moment,” the dowager duchess said.
Honora looked at Cecily, who had decided to wave a fist and point at her grandmother. “It seems that she wishes to get a better look at you.”
The dowager smiled softly, entering the room slowly. Honora held Cecily out to her, and she took the child with careful but slightly awkward movements and trembling hands. She stared down at her granddaughter for several seconds without saying anything at all.
Cecily regarded her with the same solemn interest she had given Leopold when he came to check in on Honora on her first day posing as the nursemaid. Then, the baby reached up and caught the necklace at the dowager’s throat.
The chain pulled taut. The dowager made a small, startled sound.
“No, darling,” Honora said, stepping forward and reaching for the child’s hands.
The dowager laughed. “It is all right. I do not mind.”
Honora stepped back again, watching with great interest. The prim, shrewd noblewoman Honora had known since her first days at Belgrave was suddenly transformed into a kind grandmotherly figure. Cecily pulled again, harder this time, and her grandmother let her.
“I did not expect to be permitted this,” the dowager said eventually, more quietly than before.
Honora nodded. “I was surprised that you wanted to hold her.”
The dowager met her gaze over Cecily’s head. The child had leaned in to get a better look at the necklace she was accosting.
“I meant what I told you,” the dowager said. “I intend to give Cecily all the love both she and her mother have always deserved from me.”
Honora smiled. “I think I am starting to believe that you do.”
***
The next morning, Mrs. Pritchard came to find her before breakfast.
“Her Grace asks to see you privately,” she said.
“About what?” Honora asked, frowning slightly.
“She did not say.”
Honora nodded and silently followed her downstairs. The drawing room door stood open, and she stepped inside without hesitating.
The dowager sat alone near the window with a letter resting in her lap. The paper had yellowed with age, and the small, careful handwriting on it was unmistakably her own.
Honora stopped moving just inside the doorway.
She looked up at her, and for a moment, neither woman spoke at all. Then Honora’s gaze dropped to the letter and found the single name written plainly across the front of it.
Celestine.
“Is that for Celestine?” Honora asked, looking back up.
“Yes. I wrote it for her thirty years ago,” the dowager said, handing it to Honora. “And since she will never get to read it, I would like for the person who loved her most to read it instead.”
Honora’s throat closed. That was the kindest thing the dowager duchess had ever said to her. She could hardly believe it was the same woman who had glared at her coldly and tried to send Cecily away right under Honora’s nose. With a shaking hand, she took the letter and began to read.