Page 11 of A Mother for the Blind Duke’s Orphans

“It is a proposal of marriage,” his tone changed when he spoke to her aunt; it was gentler and softer.

“I can hardly see my future bride, so she is perfectly safe with me.” His tone suggested that they may not argue with him.

Poppy felt heat rise to her cheeks when he called her his bride, though his tone held neither flirtation nor apology. He spoke the fact coldly, as if it were a legal point that should end all argument.

And it did.

Lady Bendon looked at her husband, who was still smarting from the duke’s accusation, and he cleared his throat.

“Violet,” he said sternly. “We shall allow His Grace and Penelope a moment.”

Poppy wanted to object. She wanted to ask why anyone should allow anything when it was her life being discussed. But her voice still refused her, and perhaps some part of her wanted the room emptied. She did not know what she would say to the duke once they were alone, but she knew she could not say it under her uncle’s satisfied eye.

“Jonathan, you may join them,” the duke instructed his footman, who simply nodded and left.

Lady Bendon rose fully. Her skirts whispered as she moved toward the door. Lord Bendon followed her with stiff dignity, though he paused long enough to offer Poppy a warning look.

She lowered her gaze until the door closed behind them.

“You may speak freely now,” Hector said.

But for several seconds, Miss Norish did not speak.

Then she drew in a careful breath. “I think this is utterly mad!”

Hector chuckled. There was more composure in her voice than he had expected from a woman who had been struck speechless moments before. He had the sudden urge to see her fully; his eyes studied every shadow, curve, and wherever the light touched her. Her face had soft features; her nose was small and round, her hair long with the softest curls falling loosely around her shoulders. She looked beautiful, but Hector reproached himself for not being able to see the color of her eyes.

Composure and beauty. Perhaps she is Duchess material.

“That is a reasonable accusation,” he said gruffly.

“You proposed marriage to me, and you hardly know me. That is insane.” She huffed.

“Yes,” he said finally.

A faint, incredulous sound escaped her. “Do you mean to answer my objections with a single syllable?”

“If the objection is accurate, there is no use disputing it.”

“That is not—” she stopped, perhaps searching for patience. “Your Grace, marriage is out of the question.”

“It is not; it is the answer to everything.”

She was stubborn, but he would not back down; if a marriage would save his family, then he would do it for duty’s sake. She moved, a small blur of motion. Hector listened to the light brush of fabric as she sat down on a chaise nearer to him. He could almost smell her faint jasmine scent, and it made his heart race.

Hector planned the proposal after speaking with the nuns at the orphanage and learning that the girls could not bear to be separated from Miss Norish. But he did not expect such a distracting woman who intrigued him and all his senses. “I came here,” he said as he walked toward her and sat next to her, “to simply meet the woman my nieces have become attached to, and with my proposal I intended to determine whether your concern for them was genuine or simply an indulgent sentiment.”

Hector felt her squirm next to him, but he did not turn toward her.

“And have you determined it?” she asked him.

“I have.”

She waited.

He tightened his fingers around the cane as a sudden urge to reach for her took over him. “I believe you genuinely care for them. Or at least I pray you do.”

A strained silence fell upon them. Poppy shifted uneasily, and her fingers twisted nervously in her lap.