Page 46 of A Mother for the Blind Duke’s Orphans

“At least you do not cry or hide when I approach you,” he told the child.

Her mouth moved. But the baby waited with grave, infant disinterest.

“Princess,” he whispered her name very quietly.

Even with his poor sight, he saw that she offered him a wide, bright smile. It was absurdly generous, as though he had performed some feat worthy of reward. Hector went still, and Mrs. Patterson said nothing if she realized what had happened. The baby smiled again, or perhaps the first smile lingered; he could not tell where one miracle ended and another began.

“Well,” he said, after his throat allowed it. “You truly are a little princess.”

She stared in his general direction, smiling at whatever combination of sound and warmth pleased her. It was not him, he told himself. Not truly. Babies smiled at shadows, at gas, at the shapes of voices. Yet the small curve of her mouth entered him with unwelcome force and stayed.

“What does Miss Aurora favor?” he asked.

Mrs. Patterson answered as if she had expected the question. “The duchess would know best, Your Grace.”

“Yes, but I am asking you.” He avoided looking at her because she read him like an open book ever since he was a boy.

“I do not know, Your Grace; she wanders a lot and recently has been found in that same closet time and time again.” Hector heard the sadness in his housekeeper’s voice.

He closed his eyes briefly. “She hides in the closet.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“It is not suitable for a duke’s niece. It is too cold and bare.” He spoke as an idea started to form.

Hector opened his eyes as the baby began to drift, her smile went soft and shapeless as her eyes closed.

“She is asleep, Mrs. Patterson.”

The housekeeper was at his side at once, taking the baby out of his arms reluctantly and running to the nursery to lay her down.

Hector stood up when she returned. “Show me the closet. Bring a lantern.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

He looked down at his empty arms as they walked. The absence of the baby’s warmth was immediate. Hector had passed Aurora’s hiding place without interest for years. It had likely held some books once, but now it was filled with his father’s old coats.

Mrs. Patterson opened the door and held the lantern toward it.

Hector stood close enough to understand the shape.

“It is narrow but deep enough for a child to sit inside and believe herself disappeared.” He thought out loud.

The air smelled faintly of wood, dust, and old fabric. His cane found the threshold. Inside, the floor was bare.

“She goes in there?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“And no one stopped her?”

“She was not harming herself. But she will be stopped as per the duchess’s order, Your Grace.” Mrs. Patterson looked ashamed that they failed to keep Aurora out of the closet.

He could hear the defense of the duchess in the housekeeper’s voice too.

Good. The child needed defenders, and his wife collected them effortlessly, it seemed.

“Let the child do as she pleases, but she should not have to sit on the floor,” he said after a while.