Page 110 of A Baby to Seal the Duke’s Fate

“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.”