Chapter 30
After dinner the following day, Leopold asked Honora to walk with him. Honora had just finished checking on Cecily when he appeared in the nursery doorway.
“She is asleep,” Honora said.
“I know.”
“How do you know that?”
“Martha told me.”
“That is odd,” Honora said, narrowing her eyes slightly.
“Will you come?” Leopold asked, his mouth twitching as he looked past her toward the crib.
Honora glanced back at Cecily, but before she could answer, Martha appeared in the doorway behind him.
“I will sit with her,” Martha said.
Honora turned to look at her properly. Martha appeared perfectly innocent, which was already suspicious.
She had also conveniently appeared as if on cue, and she had changed her apron.
Honora noticed right away, because Martha never changed her apron after six unless there was a good reason behind it.
“You planned this,” Honora said.
“I have no idea what you mean,” Martha said, her expression remaining entirely bland.
“Do you not?”
“Go,” Martha said, lifting one shoulder after Honora stared at her a moment longer.
“Very well,” Honora said, giving Leopold a look that made it clear that she was suspicious. Leopold’s expression did not change, but he did not meet her gaze directly. With a raised brow, she followed him downstairs.
The evening was cool, though the last light still lay over the western fields.
Leopold led her through the garden and down the long path toward the far edge of the estate.
They walked for a while without speaking, which had become comfortable rather than awkward at some point Honora could no longer identify.
“You are quiet,” she said eventually.
“I am thinking.”
“That is usually alarming.”
“It has been known to be.” He glanced sideways at her. “Martha also told me that Cecily stood for eleven seconds this morning.”
“Twelve,” Honora corrected.
“You counted.”
“Of course I counted.” Honora stepped over a root in the path. “Martha counted as well. We disagreed, and Martha refuses to concede.”
“What does she claim it was, if not twelve?”
“Eleven. She insists Cecily wobbled twice before she truly stood, and that wobbling does not count toward the total.”
“That seems an arbitrary distinction.”
“I said as much myself. She was unmoved by the argument.”
“Martha refuses to concede anything.”
“She conceded once. About the way she made tea.”
“She let you believe she conceded,” Leopold said. “There is a difference, and she has been quietly making tea her own way ever since.”
“You have known her longer than I have. Does she ever simply admit she is wrong?”
“Once. Three years ago, over a matter concerning the linen order.”
“What happened?”
“I have honestly forgotten the details by now. What I remember is that it took her four days to say it, and she has never let anyone else forget it happened at all.”
Honora laughed, and the sound carried out over the darkening field. She noticed that he watched her when she did it and made no attempt to pretend otherwise.
The path underfoot she already knew well, having seen it from the nursery window many times, usually in the mornings when Cecily was fed and drowsy and the house had not yet started making demands. She had never once followed it all the way to the end, though, until right then.
At that end stood a little stone chapel, low and square, its slate roof gone green at the edges with age.
“Come,” Leopold said, opening the door for her.
Honora stepped inside slowly. The chapel was empty and cool, and the evening sun came through the west window in bands of colored light that spilled across the stone floor, red and gold and a deep blue pooling near the front pew.
“It is beautiful,” Honora said, stopping where she stood.
“My parents were married here,” Leopold said, closing the door behind them.
“And you?” she asked, turning to face him.
Leopold laughed, the rich baritone bouncing off the cool walls. “Yes. I was married here once. I believe I was twelve or thirteen…”
“That is not what I meant,” she said, trying and failing to glare at him.
Leopold chuckled again before nodding. “I was christened here. And Cecily will be registered here as a Belgrave next week.”
Honora smiled and found she had to catch her breath as an unexpected bout of butterflies swarmed in her stomach.
“I wanted you to see it before that happened,” Leopold said, walking farther down the aisle.
“The paperwork?” she asked, following him.
“No,” he said, looking back at her. “Not exactly paperwork.”
They reached the middle of the chapel, and he stopped and turned to face her fully. Honora knew immediately that something had changed between them. He was properly nervous, and it looked wrong on a man like him.
This was a man who could stare down his own imposing mother without flinching.
He had reported an earl’s daughter into the magistrate for a terrible crime and had ridden across two counties after a kidnapping without once seeming unconfident in himself.
But right then, he looked as unsure of himself as Cecily often did when she was wobbling as she tried to stand.
“Are you all right?” she asked, the butterflies returning rapidly.
“That depends on what happens next,” he said, suddenly completely serious.
Honora’s heart began to race. She thought about what he had said the previous night and looked around again at where they were. Was he about to do what she thought he was about to do?
He took her hand, and her fingers curled around his without any hesitation at all.
“I have been thinking about what comes next,” he said.
“You said that before,” Honora said, smiling faintly.
“I know.” He looked down at their joined hands, then back up at her.
“This chapel has been part of my family for a very long time. My grandparents are buried in the churchyard behind it. So is my father.” He paused.
“And as I told you, soon Cecily will belong here formally, in the register, in ink, where no one can argue with it ever again.”
“You have a habit of repeating yourself lately,” she said, though her voice was trembling and breathy.
Leopold held her gaze with the most intense look in his eyes.
“Only when it is important,” Leopold said, taking a breath before he continued. “What I am trying to say is that I want you to belong here, too. I want you to marry me.”
Her breath caught sharply in her chest. She tried desperately to speak, though nothing came out at all.
“We need you,” he went on. “We have needed you since the day you arrived, and everyone in that house knows it, including my mother, who would very much rather not admit it. The house itself needs you as well. It was a colder place before you came into it, and I did not truly notice that until you were gone from it for four days.” He paused, and she saw tears in his eyes. “And I need you.”
Her own eyes filled with tears, and the only sound she could give him was a sob. He caressed her fingers again, giving her a moment to catch her breath before he continued.
“I have needed you since the night of Cecelia’s fever,” he said, smiling faintly.
“You fell asleep against the crib, and I sat on that nursery floor beside you with the child between us, and I understood exactly what I was looking at. I spent the next several weeks trying to unsee it. That did not work in the slightest.”
“And what were you looking at?” Honora asked, laughing softly through her tears.
“My family,” he said.
Her lips trembled at that answer.
“Will you marry me?” he asked again, stepping closer.
Honora opened her mouth to answer. It was something she had wanted for weeks and had begun to allow herself to look forward to when he first kissed her.
The answer came easily to her mind, but it was slow to reach her lips.
Once, she had believed that she would make a terrible wife for him.
But right then, she knew they were perfect for each other.
“Yes,” she said.
Her voice broke halfway through the single word, splitting it into something barely audible.
Leopold’s expression softened, and she realized he had not heard her. But he waited without pressing her.
“Yes,” she said again, after taking a steadying breath.
That time, the word came out clearly.
He pulled her into his arms at once. Honora pressed her face against his coat, and he held her tightly while she sobbed and simply let herself stand there in his embrace.
The chapel stayed quiet around them. Pale colored light lay across the stone floor and reached as far as the hem of her skirt.
“I thought I would never have this,” Honora finally whispered.
“Neither did I,” Leopold said, holding her closer still.
“You are a duke. Anything you wanted was always available to you.”
“I could have had anything that could be arranged,” he said. “That is never the same thing as what I truly want. I discovered the difference rather late in life.”
She laughed softly against his coat.
They stayed there together until the light began to fade. Only then did they finally walk back toward the house, and neither of them hurried the whole way there.
Martha was waiting on the kitchen steps with Cecily on her hip, wide awake and clearly delighted about it.
“She was asleep,” Honora said, stopping in surprise.
“Well, she woke up,” Martha said, wearing the picture of innocence as she said it.
“Indeed,” Honora said, staring at her with fresh suspicion.
“She did,” Martha said, her mouth twitching.
Cecily reached for her at once, and Honora took her gladly. The baby seemed to sense that something thrilling was happening, as she began to squeal and kick with furious joy. Martha smiled at the two of them.
As they all moved down the hallway, Honora noticed movement near the study door. Barnaby stood there with a glass in one hand, and Sabina stood beside him in a green dress.
She had one hand resting lightly on his arm.
Honora thought he looked as though he had recently lost an argument and had thoroughly enjoyed every minute of it.
It was the same expression Leopold always wore when she proved him wrong about something.
She understood that Leopold’s and her romance was not the only one growing inside Belgrave’s walls.
“It is about time,” Barnaby said raising his glass, speaking loudly enough for the words to carry the length of the hall. He then took a drink as though he had said nothing at all.
“Ridiculous,” Martha mouthed silently, shaking her head. Honora had never seen a wider smile on her face, even when Cecily first tasted cake and reacted with an expression of such profound betrayal that the entire kitchen stopped working to watch her.
Honora laughed at all of it.
Then, the dowager came into the hall carrying a small box in both hands.
Everyone fell silent immediately. Honora’s smile faded slightly, though not from any displeasure. She simply had no idea what to expect.
“I have something for you,” the dowager said, stopping in front of her.
She opened the box. Inside lay a ring, old in style, but elegant, and clearly well-polished and cared for.
“It was my mother’s,” the dowager said. “I would like you to have it, if you want it.”
Her voice held perfectly steady, though her hands did not, trembling as she held out the ring. Honora understood. The dowager duchess knew that Honora was still struggling to trust and forgive her.
The ring was not an attempt to gain Honora’s favor more quickly. It was an heirloom that was being offered to her to let her know that no matter what happened, she was being warmly accepted as a member of the Harcourt family.
Accepting it as such, Honora reached out, and the dowager placed it into her open palm.
“Thank you,” she added, after a moment.
“Nonsense. It is an honor to gift this to you, Honora,” the dowager said.
The dowager took her hand then. Her grip tightened and held on a moment longer than handing off the ring required. Honora let her hold on for as long as she needed to.
It seems there will be room in my heart for forgiveness for her someday, after all, she thought, giving the dowager duchess a genuine, tearful smile.
Then the dowager released her hand and stepped back, looking at Leopold. Leopold did not hesitate. He stepped forward and embraced his mother. No one said anything more. The moment needed to speak for itself. And it was.
***
Later that night, after Cecily had been fed and settled again, without an eager cook to wake her, Honora sat down at the small desk in her room.
She took out the letter she had written to Celestine days before, the one she had left on the table for Leopold to read if he ever wished to.
The paper had grown soft now from being folded and unfolded so many times.
She read the last line once, then picked up her pen and added another.
I said yes in a chapel with colored light on the floor, and my voice broke, so I had to say it twice.
Honora smiled through fresh tears and let the pen rest a moment before she wrote one final line.
I felt you there with me. And for the first time since you left us, I feel whole and complete.
She folded the letter and returned it to the others in its hiding place, then sat a moment longer with her hand resting on top of the desk.
For a while, she simply sat there, thinking about Celestine and what she might have made of all this.
She would have called it impossible, and then she would have called it wonderful in the very next breath, Honora thought with a laugh.
The false name, the service gate, the village inn, and the bag Honora had packed and unpacked four separate times without ever once carrying it anywhere at all would have made her laugh until she could not breathe.
Then she would have demanded the whole story again from the beginning, just so she could laugh all over again.
Honora smiled and wiped her cheeks with the back of one hand.
Celestine would have loved, above everything else, knowing that her own daughter was loved so openly and completely.
Cecily had been claimed outright by a household full of people that found each other just in time to begin repairing the wrongs of the past. And just in time for them to fall in love with the little girl, even though they had never meant to.