Page 52 of A Baby to Seal the Duke’s Fate

Honora had found a routine. It was not the life she had intended to build, and she reminded herself of that often enough to feel almost honest.

She was still there by accident, under a false name, and because she had said yes at the gate before she realized what she was doing. None of that had changed. And yet when she should have been executing her plan of fleeing with Cecily, or at least racked with nerves at the thought of doing so, the days had started to arrange themselves with alarming ease.

Mornings were always spent in the nursery. Breakfast was brought up by Mrs. Pritchard. There was at least a half hour of toys, a book, a bath, and whatever small battle Cecily had decided to wage with her own hands that day.

Afternoons were usually spent in the garden when the weather allowed. Naps after luncheon, more reading, more walking, more of Cecily attempting to chew anything she could manage to get near her mouth. The baby had discovered the furniture and treated it as if it were an invention meant specifically for her advancement in life.

Honora told herself every day it was temporary. Especially when she sat on the nursery floor and watched Cecily pull herself along the side of the chair with a determination that made her look much older than she was.

She was silently repeating her plan to leave the day after Mrs. Pritchard had sent her to bed to ease her megrim. Cecily was practicing balancing on her unsteady feet and taking steps with the assistance of the furniture. One hand went up, one knee followed, then another.

Cecily made a pleased, grunting sound, and shoved herself forward another inch. Honora held her breath, thinking the toddler would try to take a step toward her. But the child seemed content to bounce in place and smack the chair.

Honora laughed softly. “You are very pleased with yourself.”

Cecily looked over one shoulder at her as though to say that the matter was obvious. Then, she reached up, caught the curtain, and yanked.

Half the curtain came down at once.

Honora closed her eyes for a second.

“No.”

Cecily, undeterred, tugged again.

The curtain slipped farther.

Honora stood, grabbed the curtain, and refastened it with practiced hands. She had barely stepped back when Cecily returned to the spot, reached up with grave concentration, and brought the whole thing down again.

Honora stared at her. Cecily stared back. Then, the baby gave a tiny, breathy squeal that sounded suspiciously like delight.

Honora could not help it. She laughed, despite the helplessness of the situation, and crouched to gather the curtain up again.

“You are impossible,” she said.

Cecily batted at the fabric with both hands, trying to grip it again.

Honora shook her head and tied it back a second time. “If I had known you would become so precocious, I might have chosen to be a governess instead.”

The baby made a sound of utter satisfaction and crawled toward the rug as though the matter had been settled in her favor.

Honora stood and looked at the room. It had become comfortable in a way she did not want. The blanket by the fire, the basket of toys, the low chair by the crib, the corner where the morning light was the brightest were all reassuring and routine.

The ordinariness of it all made her uneasy because it meant she had begun to live as though she belonged in the house. She knew she did not, and she knew it had to remain that way. And yet each day, she continued to stay. And every day, she enjoyed staying a little bit more.

Especially the times when His Grace came to the nursery. She was almost good at telling herself it was because she was glad that he was so interested in Cecily’s wellbeing. But she could not lie to herself when she found herself thinking about his deep baritone laugh, the slight dimple when he smiled, or the way his eyes lit up when he gave her a genuine smile.

By midmorning, the weather was pleasant enough for a walk. Honora decided to take Cecily to the gardens. The child stayed in her arms for a little while, then she wanted to sit in the grass with both hands busy in the dirt.

Honora spread out the blanket near the edge of the lawn, sat with her legs tucked to one side, and let herself breathe. For all her trouble, for all the worry and the lies and the fear of being discovered, there were moments like that one that gave her genuine joy. The moments were brief, but they refreshed Honora in a way nothing else could.

Cecily crawled toward the blanket edge, found a flower stem, and tried to eat it.

Honora gently removed the flower from her fist. “You cannot eat that, darling.”

The baby frowned, then banged the ground twice in protest.

Honora smiled and reached for the cloth she had brought to wipe her hands.