Chapter 29 #2
He had not meant to be quite so blunt, but he continued. “I spent the entire next month pretending that I was not.”
“You were very convincing,” she said softly, looking both scared and hopeful.
Leopold nodded. “The pretending was harder than anything I have done since inheriting this title.”
“I believe you,” Honora said, her expression softening.
He looked back up at her.
“I built you in my mind before I ever came here,” she said, drawing in a breath. “You were an obstacle, something I needed to overcome and get around to get Cecily to safety.”
“You expected me to be difficult,” he said, smiling faintly.
“And careless.”
“You must have been very disappointed.”
She shook her head. “I thought I would come here, take Cecily, and leave again. Every part of it was planned, down to the exact hour of the morning that I would take her.” She shook her head slightly.
“But then, I met you. I got to know you. I developed feelings for you, even as I actively tried to continue seeing you as the obstacle keeping me and Cecily from a safe, secure life where no one who did not want her could never find us.”
“I do hope you never felt unsafe here.”
“You frightened me,” she said suddenly, looking toward the dark garden.
“I was frightened because I realized I could lose you. And that would hurt in a way I had no preparation for at all. I had prepared myself for everything else: being caught, being sent away, being arrested if it ever came to that. What I had never once prepared for was wanting to stay. Or wanting to be with you.”
He said nothing. He could not. He had hoped that Honora reciprocated his feelings. But he had not expected any of what she was saying right then.
“I wanted to tell you the truth so many times. I nearly did twice. I got as far as the study door each time.”
“What stopped you?” he asked.
“The second time, you were on business in London,” she said, lowering her gaze. “But the first time, it was fear. I was terrified that if I told you who I truly was, you would send me away.”
“I did,” Leopold said quietly, the crushing guilt overwhelming him. “I would not hear you, and it was almost the very last time I saw you or Cecily alive.”
“Yes.” She looked back up at him. “But you came after us. You saved us.” She paused, giving him a small smile. “Besides, given what you believed, you were justified in sending us away. It is not your fault that Isolde had sinister plans that no one could have anticipated.”
Leopold bit his lip, struggling to keep his eyes dry.
“I am terribly sorry, Honora.”
She shook her head gently. “You have been sorry long enough. It is time for you to be Leopold now.”
He took her hand, and she let him hold it. His thumb moved lightly across her fingers as the library behind them slowly went dark.
“Would you stay?” he asked, looking down at their joined hands.
“Stay?” she asked.
“At Belgrave,” he said, smiling slightly. “Not as a nursemaid.”
A laugh escaped her, the real one, the laugh he had been listening for since the very first time he heard it.
“You are asking me to stay in what capacity, precisely?”
“In whatever capacity you choose,” he said, holding her gaze.
“That is remarkably vague of you.”
“I am trying not to frighten you.”
“It is not working particularly well,” she said, smiling.
“Then let me be more specific,” he said, stepping closer to her. “I want you here.”
“That much I know,” Honora said, her eyes softening as the words left her.
“And I want Cecily here as well.”
“That much I also know.”
“And I want you here with her,” he said. “Permanently.”
“I will consider it,” she said, her smile growing wider.
“You are cruel,” he said, laughing.
“Consider this your punishment,” she said with another thrilling laugh.
“Then this must be my reward.” He leaned closer, and she nodded to the question his lips were asking her without words.
He kissed her then, and there was no uncertainty in it.
Honora’s hand tightened around his coat, and then she kissed him back.
The moment felt different because nothing between them remained hidden any longer.
It felt sharper, and more honest than anything before it.
Every other time he had wanted to do this, some part of him had been holding back a question he could not bring himself to ask.
That question no longer existed. The only question that remained was the one he had not yet asked.
***
The next morning, Leopold found Barnaby at breakfast, halfway through a cup of coffee. Leopold sat down across from him without ceremony.
“I am going to ask Honora to marry me,” he said.
“It is about time,” Barnaby said, taking another drink.
“That was an unnecessarily quick response,” Leopold said, frowning.
“I have had to listen to you avoid the subject for weeks now,” Barnaby said. “Forgive me for being prepared.”
“I intend to ask her properly,” Leopold said, ignoring the remark entirely.
“Good,” Barnaby said, taking another sip of his coffee. “Would you mind terribly if I borrowed the village church for something similar in a few months?”
Leopold stared at him. “Speaking of loudly avoided questions,” Leopold began, but Barnaby set his coffee down loudly on the table and rose from his chair without further explanation.
“Enjoy your breakfast,” Barnaby said as he walked out of the room entirely.
Leopold sat alone at the table for a long moment afterward, staring at the door Barnaby had just closed behind him.
“A church,” he said aloud, to no one at all. “He wants to borrow a church.”
“Your Grace?” Wilfred paused in the doorway, the morning post still in hand.
“Nothing, Wilfred. Merely thinking aloud.”
“Very good, Your Grace.” Wilfred set the post on the sideboard and hesitated. “Might I offer my congratulations in advance?”
“You were listening at the door,” Leopold said, looking at him directly.
“I was passing the door, Your Grace.” The butler’s expression had returned to its former relaxed state, with his eyes sparkling with amusement, as they often did when he was being witty. “The distinction matters a great deal to me personally.”
“I imagine it does.”
“Congratulations all the same,” Wilfred said. He withdrew before Leopold could formulate a proper reply.