Page 10 of A Mother for the Blind Duke’s Orphans

Poppy’s lips parted, but no sound came. She had not prepared herself to become a duchess or even a wife. Though marriage was expected of women her age, she had no desire to step into that role. As the tension lingered, Lord Bendon was the first to regain his composure.

As the silence stretched between them, Lord Bendon recovered before anyone else.

“Your Grace,” her uncle said, warmth rushing into his voice with indecent speed, “what an excellent idea. Absolutely excellent. I must say, I could not have hoped for a better future for my niece. Penelope has always deserved a home and a position worthy of her birth.”

A small smile played at the corner of his mouth that might, in a more affectionate man, have suggested tender pride. But Poppy knew him too well to be comforted by his excitement for her. There was relief beneath it, bright and poorly concealed. Not relief for her, but relief from her. She was just another burden removed from his house.

“Oh, dear,” Lady Bendon whispered beside her as she sat down heavily on the couch.

Her gloved fingers tightened in her lap. She glanced first at her husband, then at the duke, as if waiting to discover which form of propriety would profit them most.

Poppy remained silent as she observed them.

A great many words moved through her mind, colliding and breaking apart but not reaching her tongue.

No, this is impossible. You do not know me, and I do not know you.

What about the girls? What about me?

The duke seemed unmoved by the small storm his proposal had produced. He looked at her uncle with an expression close to disgust.

“Lord Bendon,” he finally said, “you appear remarkably pleased.”

Poppy watched as her uncle’s smile faltered by a fraction. “Naturally. Any guardian would be gratified by such an offer, and from a duke too.”

“Hmm, yes,” Poppy wondered in which direction the conversation would go as the duke seemed irritated. “But a proposal from a man you met less than an hour ago?”

The room stilled.

Lord Bendon gave a short, awkward laugh. “You are not just any man; you are the Duke of Sterling.”

“That is my title, yes,” His Grace replied. “But it tells you little of my character as a man and even less of my intentions with your niece, whom I just met.”

Poppy felt the words settle between them with unexpected weight.

Her uncle adjusted his posture nervously. “Your Grace, I assure you, I meant only that such an alliance would be advantageous for Penelope.”

“Ah, you have your niece’s best interests in mind,” the duke responded in a dry tone that dripped with sarcasm.

“Yes, of course.” Her uncle nodded his head vigorously.

“You know nothing of what sort of husband I would be, and you are at peace with that?” he frowned at Lord Bendon, and Poppy found herself holding her breath.

Lord Bendon’s smile thinned. “A duke need hardly defend himself as a suitor.”

Hector’s gaze sharpened in Lord Bendon’s direction. “Your enthusiasm suggests either extraordinary faith in my virtues or very little concern for your niece’s welfare. Since we are strangers, I find the second possibility easier to credit.”

Poppy’s breath caught before she could prevent it.

No one spoke to Lord Bendon that way in his own house. Her uncle had never struck her in front of guests. He had never called cruelty by its name. He had simply made plain, day by day, that she owed him gratitude for shelter, that her presence was tolerated rather than welcomed, and that affection was a currency he did not intend to waste on dependents. He even treated his own daughter as a burden.

The duke did not know any of that, and yet he read Lord Bendon like an open book.

Her uncle’s face colored. “Your Grace, I must protest⁠—”

“You may do so later.” Hector turned his head slightly, toward Poppy and spoke. “Miss Norish and I will continue this conversation privately.”

Lady Bendon rose halfway from the couch. “Privately? Your Grace, that would be most improper.”