Page 23 of A Mother for the Blind Duke’s Orphans

Hector had been asked many questions in his life that had traps for them. But this question contained none of that. It contained only a child standing at the edge of belief, afraid the ground would vanish if she put her weight upon it.

He could have answered with explanations. He could have spoken of marriage settlements, guardianship, propriety, permanence in the eyes of the church and law. He could have qualified, clarified, protected himself from the absolute.

Instead, he gave her the only word that mattered.

“Forever.”

Poppy stood just outside the orphanage door, hands folded before her, watching the duke’s footman move with quiet efficiency. He packed the girls’ meager belongings into the carriage. They owned only two small bundles, a worn doll, and a knitted blanket Aurora refused to part with. It struck her again how little the children possessed and how much they had endured.

“They will have all they need,” His Grace said beside her, as if he read her mind. “I give you my word.”

“I know,” Poppy replied softly. She believed him.

She had seen the way he looked at Aurora and the way he had spoken to her with careful patience. Duty lived in his bones, but something gentler was beneath him too.

Aurora stood near the carriage steps, staring wide-eyed at the glossy horses. “They are enormous,” she whispered, reaching out as if she might touch one.

Jonathan chuckled. “They are gentle giants, Miss Aurora.”

Hector turned toward Poppy, and she held her breath.

“I want Annabelle to come with us,” he said sternly. “As a lady’s maid for the children. She tended to them during their illness, and they seem to trust her as well.”

“I will inform her,” Poppy answered, releasing her breath. “She would be honored.”

Jonathan approached them just as the nuns emerged. “Your Grace, the carriage is ready.”

Princess was given to Jonathan in a woven basket lined with linen. She slept soundly; her tiny fists curled beneath her chin, and Poppy noticed how Hector’s breath caught when the footman took the basket from them. She remembered the first day she laid eyes on Princess; it was as though she were a miracle, and every fiber of her being longed to protect her. That was probably how the duke felt, or at least she hoped it was. He seemed to have an unmistakable tenderness that softened his stern features as he stared at the infant.

But when he lifted his head and looked at Poppy, the softness vanished, replaced by the guarded neutrality he always wore around her. She wondered if he knew how transparent he was in moments like these.

Aurora ran to her, arms flung wide. “Poppy!”

Poppy kneeled and hugged her tightly. “You will be safe, my darling. And I will see you very soon.”

“I will be counting the hours,” she replied in a small voice.

Poppy embraced the child and quickly swiped the tears away with the back of her hand. She felt the duke’s eyes on them and a wave of heat washed over her. Jonathan helped Aurora into the carriage as she waved at Poppy. The child immediately began chatting to the footman when they settled inside, and her earlier shyness was forgotten.

Poppy rose, finding Hector standing before her. They faced one another in the quiet space between the carriage and the orphanage. The air was thick with unspoken things.

“Have you changed your mind?” he asked abruptly.

She blinked. “About what?”

“About marrying me,” he said flatly.

Poppy took a moment to think about it. “My aunt and uncle are arranging the wedding breakfast as we speak.”

“That is not what I asked.” His tone was so cold that she shivered.

After a moment, she said, “No, I did not change my mind.”

A long silence followed, and her pulse quickened. She looked away, gathering her composure, then turned back to find him staring directly into her eyes. The duke’s gaze was intense and almost startling, as though he were trying to memorize something he could not clearly see.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he said too quickly. He shifted his attention toward the carriage, where Aurora’s small voice carried through the open window. Then he looked back at her. “I will see you at St. Alban’s Church… hopefully.”