Page 140 of A Baby to Seal the Duke’s Fate

“You may as well know what they are saying,” Martha said.

The statement itself was short. Honora Bellamy, sister of the late Celestine Ainsworth, nee Bellamy, and aunt to Cecily Ainsworth. There it was, her own name and her sister’s name and Cecily’s place in the family, set down in plain type where anyone in England could read it for themselves. Isolde’s version would no longer hold any weight with anyone with good sense.

A birth record had been produced, with a solicitor’s seal for good measure, and against those two things, a letter built entirely on implication simply could not survive.

The columns that followed the statement in that paper told a much different story than they had before. A nursemaid who had lied to a duke was no longer the valid account.

The questions now pointed at the late duke and at the dowager duchess instead. Why had a daughter been hidden for thirty years, and the household kept silent, and money sent quietly to Wiltshire for the better part of three decades without a single word of explanation?

Honora smiled softly to herself. I could not make society stop staring at you everywhere we went, she thought, wiping a tear that slipped down her cheek. But I get to witness the moment London learns who you were. And if I had any part in helping that come to pass, I can take comfort in that.

***

That day after lunch, as Honora put Cecily down for a nap, Leopold appeared in the nursery doorway.

“There is someone downstairs,” he said softly, so as to not disturb the sleeping child.

“Who?”

“Your father.”

Honora stared blankly at Leopold. She had been so overwhelmed by all the recent events that she had not had time to think much about her father. What would she say to him? Could she ever find a way to forgive him?

“Has he come to stay here?” she asked.

“He has been staying at the village inn,” Leopold replied.

“For how long?”

“Since the day after we came home.”

“Why?” she asked, swallowing hard.

“He said he was waiting until you were ready to see him. But the decision is yours. I will send him away if you wish.”

Honora studied his face carefully, and she understood that he meant what he said. He was offering her the choice and his support and knowing that made the decision easy for her.

“All right,” she said finally.

“I will be nearby,” he said, escorting her out of the room and following her downstairs. He did not speak again, but his presence was nothing but reassuring. He turned the corner before they reached the morning room, but he gave her a warm smile. She returned it with a weak one of her own, then headed into the morning room.

Gideon Bellamy was staring at the doorway as she entered. He looked older than the last time she had seen him, though perhaps it was only that she now understood what she was seeing in his expression and demeanor. His shoulders seemed heavier, and his face looked more tired than she remembered. He rose the moment she entered, and Honora stopped several feet inside the door without moving any closer.

For a moment, neither of them spoke at all.

“You look well,” Gideon said, sounding more unsure of himself than Honora had ever heard him.

“You look as though you have not slept,” Honora said, finding little patience for formal small talk.

He chuckled softly.

“You always were rather blunt and forthcoming with your thoughts.”

“Which is more than I can say for you, Father.” Honora was surprised at the abrasiveness in her voice. But she did not regret it.

The baron lowered his head.

“You have every right to be angry with me.”