Page 22 of A Mother for the Blind Duke’s Orphans

The question fell badly. He heard it as soon as he spoke. He was too formal with her and did not sound as comforting as he liked. He also wondered if Miss Norish had informed the girls that she would be living with them.

Is she changing her mind about the marriage?

Aurora nodded her head, fully unaware of Hector’s blindness, but he liked that. Perhaps Miss Norish wanted him to talk more to Aurora and left him to break the news to her. He cleared his throat and tried again.

“You and your sister will live in my house outside London. It is a duke’s house, which means it is very large. You will have your own rooms. There will be people to look after you, and you will have warm clothes, proper meals, toys, books when you are old enough to want them, and anything else you require.” He tried to smile, but it did not feel genuine.

Aurora said nothing.

He had the distinct and unpleasant sensation that he was saying too much that meant too little to her.

“There are gardens,” he added, uncertain whether there was any part of the gardens particularly suited to children. There must be a lawn. Trees. Paths. Things children found agreeable or dangerous depending on their temperament and supervision. It was not as if he had the time to explore or the vision to enjoy them. “And carriages. And—” He stopped himself before saying ponies. He did not know if there were ponies. There could be ponies if necessary.

Was a pony necessary? God preserve him from discovering that the answer was yes.

Aurora made a faint sound as if she were done with the conversation already, and Hector felt her slipping away already.

I am failing.

Hector’s hand tightened around the cane handle, then eased. He could command adults because adults usually wanted something and could be directed through the wanting. A child wanted with her whole being and without strategy. That made her both simpler and impossible to communicate with.

“You and your sister will be safe,” he said, quieter.

Aurora did not speak, but she seemed to listen to him. Hector could not bring himself to say the baby’s name that was given to her; he still found it too absurd.

He followed the thread of the conversation about Aurora’s sister. “Your sister will be safe, and no one will take her from you. You will both come with me today, and…Poppy will come home in a few days too.”

Aurora took a small intake of breath, and he could almost see her little face lighting up.

“A…and after that?” she asked, the stuttering slowly dispersed from her speech.

The question was fragile, but clearer than before. She sounded hopeful, and it made his heart clench.

“And after that, arrangements will be made for Poppy to remain with you.” He smiled, and this time it felt genuine.

Aurora grinned. “T…truly?”

“Yes.”

“W…will she only visit us?”

“No.” Hector leaned forward slightly, enough to shorten the distance without crowding her. He wished, suddenly and absurdly, that he could see her clearly and all the emotions she portrayed. He needed to know whether hope frightened her more than disappointment. “Poppy will not only visit.”

Aurora’s small form shifted quickly on the chair. Her stillness was replaced by a sudden wave of excitement.

“You will have a mother,” Hector said slowly.

The word landed with more force than he intended. He did not know what the girl remembered of the woman who had borne her. He did not know whether mother was an absence, a wound, or merely a word adults used with lowered voices around them. But he knew she understood Poppy.

“And that mother,” he said, “will be Poppy.”

Aurora grinned.

Princess slept on, untroubled by titles, bargains, and futures being assembled around her cradle. Somewhere beyond the partially closed door, Miss Norish moved softly. And in the corridor, he knew that Jonathan stood nearby and listened too.

Aurora drew a breath that trembled only at the end. When she spoke, he could hear the effort she made to keep the words whole.

“For h…how long?”