Page 31 of A Baby to Seal the Duke’s Fate

Cecily had taken to teething with a seriousness that left no room for anyone’s comfort, including her own. She had stirred during the night, fussing with painful gums, but by four that morning, she could no longer be soothed.

Honora still had not unpacked her bag. It remained where she had left it on the chair, closed and ready, as if she might still change her mind and decide to leave before anyone noticed.

She had looked at it twice the night before. She had kept only what she needed loose: a comb, a clean apron, a pair of stockings folded over the chair arm. Everything else stayed buttoned away. It was a foolish sort of caution, but caution had kept her fed before. Caution had kept her moving. Of course, the bag never offered her any advice or opinions. But it was a strange comfort to keep it so close, so ready.

She supposed it made her feel like she could flee at any time if anyone ever began to suspect she was not the nursemaid they had expected. But deep down, she knew she would never just leave Cecily, despite how well cared for she was there. And she was beginning to doubt her ability to take Cecily away from a man who seemed so genuinely attentive and interested in the baby.

Cecily was all wild movement that morning, angry and past all patience with her sore mouth. Honora lifted her, holding her close, her heart aching for the poor child.

The baby chewed the edge of Honora’s collar, whined when it did not help, and only quieted even in the slightest when Honora began the same low humming she had been using. The tune had no proper beginning or end. It only gave the child something soft to follow.

Honora held the irritable child bundled against her shoulder, continuing to hum softly until her cries thinned into mutters.

By the time the first gray wash of morning reached the windows, Cecily was mostly quiet again, and Honora’s arms ached from the hours of holding her. She hoped she might be able to put Cecily in her crib to give her own soreness a rest until it was time to feed the girl.

The corridor was colder than the nursery and longer in the dark. Honora counted her steps from the linen press to the narrow window and back again, one hand spread over Cecily’s back, the other holding the shawl in place.

At the far end, the old floorboards gave a complaint beneath her heel. At the end, the nursery door stood open to the dim fire and the chair she had abandoned.

She tiptoed into the room and over to the crib, positioning the child to lower her onto the mattress. But Cecily immediately stirred and began wailing and grabbing at the shawl to put in her aching mouth. So, Honora walked in circles and continued humming until Cecily’s agonized cries turned into exhausted whimpers, then she sat in the rocking chair and began rocking the girl gently.

That was where Martha Keene, the cook, found her when she opened the door without knocking. Honora barely registered the tray the woman was carrying over to her as she looked at the plate Martha was extending to her.

“I thought the little one might be hungry,” Martha said, looking sympathetically at Cecily’s red, sweaty face and what Honora was sure were her own dark-rimmed eyes.

Honora looked at the oatmeal, mashed berries, and milk, then at Martha. “Thank you. You did not have to do this.”

Martha gave a short nod as she put the tray down on the nearby table. She took the second chair by the window and sat down.

Honora glanced at her. “You are staying?”

Martha raised one brow. “Do you object?”

“Not at all. I am glad for the company.”

“Good.”

Cecily tried to shove a fist into her mouth as Honora pushed her plate to the side. Honora distracted the child’s hand with a cloth, adjusted the bib at her throat, and took up a spoonful of the mashed berries.

At first, Cecily was too upset with her aching gums to notice what Honora had. But after a moment of grunting and whining, her lips managed to graze the fruit on the spoon, and her fussing settled.

She opened her mouth, trying to grab the spoon and shove it into her own mouth. Honora did it for her, and the child greedily swallowed the bite. She only whimpered a little as the spoon made contact with her budding teeth, then she was reaching for the food as if she intended to eat it with her entire face.

Honora laughed, mostly with relief because the child was able and willing to eat despite her pain, and added a bite of oatmeal to the berries with the next several bites.

Martha watched for a moment in silence.

“That baby has the appetite of a dockworker.”

Honora laughed more loudly, her fatigue temporarily giving way to the simple joy of the moment. Martha looked pleased, as if she had been testing whether Honora could laugh and had got her answer.

After a moment, Martha rose. “Have you eaten?”

Honora did not look up. “I am not hungry.”

Martha’s answer was immediate. “That was not what I asked.”

Honora paused, then glanced at her, but her silence seemed to be enough of an answer. Martha rose, went back to the tray, and returned with a second plate. She set it beside Honora without ceremony.