Page 55 of A Baby to Seal the Duke’s Fate

Martha sipped her tea. “The staff thinned out considerably after the old duke died. Used to be fourteen of us. Now there are seven.”

Honora glanced at her. “I recall hearing something about that. Why did they go?”

“Different reasons for different people. Some found other places, others simply did not wish to stay.”

Honora nodded again.

“Did those who did not wish to stay fear Lord Belgrave for some reason?”

Martha nodded her head.

“I believe so. Though no one talks about the real reasons.”

Honora turned her cup slowly in her hands, watching the last of the steam curl upward.

“I have found the duke to be unexpectedly hospitable and kind,” she said, despite having spoken carefully before.

Martha looked at her as though she had been expecting Honora to say something like that.

“What of you?” she asked. “I know that you are still fairly new to your tenure here, but no one seems to know much about you, apart from your station as nursemaid.”

Honora raised an eyebrow, tempering her alarm.

“People have been gathering information about me?”

Martha chuckled.

“Nothing so sinister. Merely gossiping about the mysterious nursemaid who rarely speaks to anyone apart from the duke, Mrs. Pritchard, and me.”

Honora breathed a sigh of relief that she hoped was not visible.

“There is not much to tell,” she said, suddenly aware of how her evasion would surely fuel any speculations.

Martha nodded, watching Honora with a curious expression. The kitchen was warm, and Martha had a way of sitting quietly that made silence feel like an invitation rather than a gap to fill.

“I had a sister,” Honora said at last, deciding that if she spoke carefully, she could answer some of the questions her fellow servants might have about her.

Martha gave her a slow nod, instantly becoming more attentive.

“She died,” Honora went on. Her voice stayed even, though it took great effort. “Not long ago. I miss her more than I know how to say.”

Martha nodded but said nothing. Again, Honora noted how silence with Martha felt like comfort rather than awkward strain.

“Caring for a baby is the only thing that has made sense to me since.” She did not say which baby. Martha did not ask. Honora was aware that Martha assumed something different from what Honora had meant, and that was all right.

It was enough of the truth to keep from sounding like she was hiding everything about her past, which would have drawn far more speculation and attention.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The fire crackled once in the grate. Somewhere upstairs, a floorboard creaked.

Then Martha set down her cup. “I suppose I understand, at least a little. I lost my mother when I was fifteen.”

Honora looked up.

“I am truly sorry for your loss.”

Martha nodded, blinking.

“The kitchen was the only place that made any sense to me after that,” Martha said. “Everything else felt like it belonged to somebody else’s life. The kitchen felt like a place where I could feel reassured and at home.”