Page 5 of A Baby to Seal the Duke’s Fate

“The kitchen maid saw nothing this morning, my lord. I believe she was set down sometime before dawn.”

“So someone walked onto my property in the dark, left a child on my doorstep, and vanished.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Leopold closed his eyes for a moment. “Of course they did.”

A door opened inside.

Footsteps crossed the hall, brisk and familiar. Then another voice, lower than Wilfred’s and carrying the faintest trace of dry impatience.

“If this is another tenant dispute,” said a man from inside the doorway, “I should warn you I have already had breakfast and am therefore in no charity with the world.”

Leopold turned.

Barnaby Henshaw, Viscount Dunsmere and Leopold’s longtime friend, stood just inside the hall with a cup of coffee in one hand and a slice of toast in the other. He took in the scene in a single glance: Leopold on the steps, a basket, the baby in Leopold’s arms, Wilfred behind him.

Barnaby paused.

Then he said, “Good Lord.”

Leopold gave him a look. “That was my reaction as well.”

Barnaby set the toast down on the hall table with care and came forward. “Is that a baby?”

“No,” Leopold said flatly. “It is a very determined ham.”

Barnaby’s mouth twitched. He looked from Leopold to the child again. “I am going to ask the obvious question, but only because you will be annoyed if I do not. Is she yours?”

Leopold’s answer was immediate. “No.”

Barnaby studied his face. “Are you sure?”

Leopold looked at him. “Barnaby.”

Barnaby lifted one hand. “All right. All right. The society pages will be thrilled, though. By tomorrow morning half of London will have decided you have been quietly ruining a young woman for months.”

Leopold gave a tired sigh. “Must you say that as if it is a cheerful prospect?”

“It is not cheerful. It is practical. They will invent the worst possible version before breakfast tomorrow, and then they will feel disappointed when the truth is duller.”

Leopold shifted the baby slightly. She did not wake. “The truth being that someone left a child on my doorstep.”

“Yes.”

“With my family shawl.”

Barnaby’s eyes sharpened. “What?”

Leopold held the shawl edge up enough for him to see the emblem. Barnaby’s expression changed at once, all humor gone. He set down the coffee.

“That is authentic,” he said.

“You are certain?”

Barnaby reached out but did not touch the fabric. He studied the stitching. “I have seen the house linens often enough. That emblem is correct. The work is old, too. Not recent. Someone had access to Belgrave’s stores, or to something from them.”

Leopold looked at the child again.