Page 71 of A Baby to Seal the Duke’s Fate

They went over the practical matters of the estate as they rode: drainage in the lower field, the fence line near the woods, the tenant who had been too slow with his payment and too quick with his excuses.

Barnaby had the irritating habit of noticing every detail Leopold had meant to deal with later. It made him useful. It also made him impossible to silence for long.

When the estate business had been discussed thoroughly enough to satisfy no one, Barnaby reached up to adjust his glove and said, in a tone so light that Leopold knew immediately it was not light at all, “Have you considered your mother’s suggestion?”

Leopold’s jaw tightened. “Which one?”

Barnaby looked sidelong at him. “Do not make me state it plainly. I dislike giving your mother more power than she already has.”

Leopold looked ahead and said, “No.”

Barnaby was quiet for a beat. Then, “You have not thought about Lady Isolde Carrington at all?”

“I have thought about her name.”

Barnaby gave a short breath that might have been amusement if he had been in a better mood. “That is not reassuring.”

Leopold’s tone went flat. “I am not interested in Lady Isolde.”

“No,” Barnaby said, “that much is obvious.”

Leopold turned his head slightly. “Then why ask?”

Barnaby’s expression remained mild, but his eyes were watchful. “Because that is not what concerns me.”

Barnaby looked forward again, then continued more carefully, “What concerns me is that you have been spending every morning in the nursery for three weeks.”

Leopold’s fingers tightened around the reins.

Barnaby did not look at him when he went on. “And whatever is happening in there is not something that ends well for a duke and a servant.”

The words landed with the precision of a blade laid flat.

Leopold was silent.

The horses moved in steady rhythm. The lane bent near the east boundary, and the gray light made the hedges look harder than they were. Leopold stared ahead, jaw set, and said nothing for long enough that Barnaby finally glanced at him.

Barnaby’s voice dropped a fraction. “Leopold.”

Leopold kept his gaze on the road. “I am aware of the problem. But I care as little for society’s opinions regarding my personal association with Miss Redmond as I do for their opinions about Cecily.”

Barnaby’s face changed only slightly, but enough to show he had expected that answer and had not found it sufficient. “Being aware of it and doing something about it are different things.”

Leopold gave a short, humorless breath. “You think I have not considered that?”

“I think,” Barnaby said carefully, “that you have considered it and then walked directly past the point of consequence.”

Leopold turned his head then, looking at him sharply. “You are giving me advice now?”

Barnaby met his look without flinching. “I have been giving you advice for years. You only object when it becomes relevant.”

Leopold looked away again.

Barnaby did not press further, which was in itself a warning. The silence that followed was not comfortable. It was not meant to be. They rode on while the estate opened around them in lines of bare hedges and pale fields, the morning gradually brightening without becoming warm.

At length Barnaby sighed. “You need to think about your apparent, growing interest in your nursemaid. All of London is speculating, but you of all people need to know where she stands with you.”

Leopold’s mouth flattened. “That sounds unhelpfully dramatic. And terribly presumptuous.”