Page 32 of A Baby to Seal the Duke’s Fate

“There,” she said. “Now you may decide whether to be difficult later. Right now, eat.”

Honora looked down at the plate. Toast. Eggs. A slice of ham. More than she had expected. The eggs were still warm. It appeared that Martha had timed it to the nursery, not the household breakfast, and the thought surprised

Honora more than the food itself. She had grown used to being useful before she was noticed since beginning her ill-gotten tenure at the Belgrave Estate. But the only expectation before her right then was that she eat to keep up her strength.

“You should not feel obliged to feed me,” she said quietly.

Martha gave her a flat look. “Stop looking as though you might fall over from inconvenience.”

Honora stared at her for a second. Then, because she did not want to sound pitiful by explaining why she was so surprised by the kind gesture, she took the toast and bit into it silently.

Martha stayed long enough to see that she ate a proper amount and then left with a smug grin, as though she had won a small and satisfying battle.

When she was gone, Honora finished feeding Cecily. The teething caused her to begin drooling wildly, so much of the remainder of the food ended up on the baby’s chin.

When she was finished, Honora wiped her mouth with a damp cloth, which Cecily fought to chew on as Honora tried again to lay her down. The infant only fussed for a few minutes before her eyes began to grow visibly heavy.

Honora covered her with her blanket, leaving the baby with the cloth in her mouth until her grip on it relaxed and her breathing evened and slowed. She gently removed the cloth then as Cecily dozed with her mouth open and one damp fist curled beside her cheek.

Once she was satisfied that the child would remain asleep, Honora ate the last of her toast standing beside the crib, watching the baby’s face ease in sleep and listening to the house begin rustling below her.

She sat in the rocking chair, tilting her head back and not realizing she, too, had fallen asleep until the sound of clattering dishes woke her. Martha had returned without waiting for permission with another tray of food. She frowned at the food left on the breakfast tray, though her expression softened as Honora rubbed her eyes as she awoke groggily.

On the new tray was a bowl of panada for Cecily, a roast beef sandwich, a cup of tea, and a slice of cake wrapped in a napkin.

Honora looked from the cake to Martha’s face. “You have been busy.”

“I had cause to bake,” Martha said.

“For whom?”

Martha folded her arms. “No one in particular.”

Honora looked at the cake, then at Martha. “Do you often bake for no one in particular?”

“When no one in particular looks half-starved, yes.”

“I do not look half-starved.”

Martha gave her a look that suggested she had no patience for obvious lies. “You look as though a strong wind might take you out with the sheets.”

Honora almost laughed. “That is a very specific concern.”

“I am a cook. I concern myself with practical disasters.”

“And am I one?”

“You are eating cake in a nursery after sleeping in a chair,” Martha said. “You are at least an early warning of one such disaster.”

Honora giggled then.

“Well, then I am grateful to you for looking out for me.”

Martha’s mouth twitched with the faintest warning. “Do not read anything into it.”

Honora smiled. “Of course not.”

Martha’s eyes said plainly that she did not believe her.