Page 121 of A Mother for the Blind Duke’s Orphans

Aurora looked pleased. “Poppy says I am brave from the ground.”

“Poppy is often right.”

His gaze shifted toward Poppy. She felt the words more than she should have.

“And Princess?” he asked.

“On the blanket,” Aurora said. “But there are tiny insects, so I am guarding her.”

“Then I shall not distract you from such serious work.”

Aurora hurried back to the blanket and kneeled beside Princess again, scanning the fabric for invaders.

Hector came closer to Poppy. The space between them seemed at once public and private, open to the stable yard and yet narrowed by all that had been left unsaid.

“Are you well?” he asked.

“Yes. We have had no disasters. Unless one counts Aurora’s refusal to mount a pony.”

“I would not.”

“She was afraid you might.”

His mouth changed almost imperceptibly. “Then I am glad she did not ask me.”

Poppy looked down at her hands. “She says she is no longer afraid of you.”

There was a pause.

“That is no small thing,” Hector said.

“No.”

He stood beside her rather than sit. His cane pressed lightly into the ground. From the blanket, Aurora murmured firm warnings to another insect. Princess answered with a delighted squeal.

Hector’s voice lowered. “There is something I have not asked you.”

Poppy’s fingers tightened in her lap. “Is there?”

“Yes.”

She looked up. His eyes were fixed near her face, not exactly on her eyes, but close enough that her breath altered.

“We never spoke of the kiss,” he said.

The stable sounds seemed to draw back.

“No,” Poppy said.

“I should have asked before now.”

“You did not have to.”

“I think I did.” His jaw worked once, then settled. “Did you regret it?”

The question was plain. That made it harder to answer. She had braced for indirection, for reserve, for some careful arrangement of words that protected them both from embarrassment. Not this.

“No,” she said.