Page 4 of A Mother for the Blind Duke’s Orphans

Poppy did not know what tomorrow would bring. She only knew that she had made a promise, and she intended to keep it. She always did.

But promises were fragile things. Sometimes, all it took was a single day for the world to change.

By the time Poppy reached her aunt and uncle’s house, the day had lost its warmth. At home, different habits waited.

She would have to prepare herself before she entered. Her Aunt Violet, Lady Bendon, would ask after the children with genuine softness in her face. She always did. Her kindness was expressed through her actions, and Poppy had come to trust the quiet forms it took—a shawl left where Poppy might need it, a plate kept warm, or a question asked when others would have spoken only of themselves.

Her uncle, on the other hand, Michael, the Earl of Bendon, might be in his study, or at dinner, or away on some business he described in polished terms and never fully explained. Poppy had learned not to ask more than was useful. In that house, usefulness was safer than curiosity.

And then there was Georgia, her beloved cousin, who naturally became her sister when Poppy moved into their home.

As they approached the driveway, Poppy frowned when she saw a polished carriage waiting outside. It was too fine to be ordinary. The lines of it spoke of wealth and importance, even before she noted any detail.

Her carriage stopped, and she felt her breath stop with it.

The distance between the street and the house seemed to stretch, and the carriage, motionless before the entrance, became the center of her world.

Who could this possibly be? Poppy drew in a breath and forced herself forward.

Chapter Two

In the three years Poppy had lived at Bendon House with her aunt and uncle, it was never as silent as it was on that particular afternoon. Even when Aunt Violet rested, and Lord Bendon was absorbed in God knew what, small domestic noises moved through the walls, and the house breathed in those little ways she had grown accustomed to.

“Is Lady Bendon at home?” she asked the footman at the door.

“Yes, Miss Norish.” The footman hesitated. “The countess is in the drawing room with Lord Bendon and…”

“And?” Poppy raised a brow at the young man, who blushed.

“And His Grace, the Duke of Sterling.” The footman’s gaze flicked toward the door and away.

A duke? Here?

Poppy gulped. She did not know what was going on, but she felt a small sense of fear.

She had never thought she was brave. She could endure much without complaint, but bravery seemed a bright, declarative thing, possessed by women who owned rooms. Poppy owned nothing.

Perhaps I can be brave enough to enquire about this.

Poppy thought of her sister as she moved through the corridors. Bendon House was never the same since Iris got married. Poppy expected her sister to appear suddenly from a room. She took a deep breath in and stopped outside the drawing room.

The footman followed clumsily and opened the door for her before she reached it. She looked around and found her uncle standing lopsidedly within. Lord Bendon usually carried himself with ease, but now his face looked thinner, and his body lacked confidence.

“Penelope,” he said her name too quickly.

“Good day, Uncle,” she greeted him stiffly from the door and tried to decipher what was going on.

“Come in, my dear. We have been waiting for you,” Aunt Violet called for her happily.

But even her kind, familiar voice did not reassure Poppy that everything was all right.

Poppy walked into the room cautiously. Her aunt appeared in her view, but her gentle face was troubled, and she tried to hide it. “My dear, someone wishes to speak with you.”

“Who—” Poppy turned around, and her eyes landed on the man seated near the unlit hearth; he did not rise, but even seated she could see how tall he was. Nearby to him stood an elderly man.

That must be the duke and his footman.

As if reading her mind, her aunt approached her and touched her sleeve. “Poppy, may I present His Grace, the Duke of Sterling.”