Page 49 of A Mother for the Blind Duke’s Orphans

The housekeeper pressed her lips together. For a moment, the lines around her mouth looked carved rather than lived in. “That is where the closet is.”

Poppy’s own hands tightened in front of her. How could the duke be so cruel? It was the only place Aurora felt safe. “What if she wanders in there and gets hurt?”

Mrs. Patterson drew a slow breath through her nose. “His Grace has locked the doors to keep her safe.”

The phrase should have reassured Poppy. Yet it did not settle in her.

Did he truly get rid of the entire closet just to stop Aurora from hiding? Her heart ached.

Poppy looked at the child.

Aurora had not spoken, but she was listening. The sounds from the study seemed to pass through her rather than merely reach her. Her small face had gone quiet in that way children’s faces did when they were trying not to ask what they already knew would not be answered. Poppy had seen children frightened by thunder, by dogs, and by strangers too loud in their affection. This was not that. Aurora was not frightened of the noise alone. She was sad because of it until she looked up into Poppy’s eyes.

“Poppy!” she called out and ran toward her; her little steps were quick against the floor. “That noise is scary; can we go to the garden now?”

Poppy bent slightly as the child reached her; she was glad she did not notice her potential new favorite spot was getting demolished.

“Mrs. Patterson, perhaps we should head there now?” she hoped that the housekeeper read her mind.

“Of course, my lady,” she said, and Poppy let out a breath of relief.

Aurora slipped her hand into Poppy’s. The little fingers were warm and soft, but her grip was decisive. She began tugging her forward, following Mrs. Patterson to the garden. Behind them, another dull report sounded from the study. Aurora did not look back, but Poppy did.

“This way,” Mrs. Patterson said as she turned a corner.

The way to the garden led them through another passage and down a shallow flight of steps where the air changed. Poppy had not realized how tightly she had been breathing until the garden door opened and the day entered around them. Light spread across the threshold, temporarily blinding her.

Aurora released Poppy’s hand and ran out first. Poppy followed with Mrs. Patterson, stopping just beyond the door and admiring the garden. Paths divided the grounds into measured spaces. Flowerbeds lay in careful arrangement. Hedges stood clipped into disciplined walls with their dark green surfaces holding the sun. Beyond them rose the maze, taller than Poppy expected, its entrance a shadowed gap cut into living growth.

Aurora saw it at once.

“There!” she said.

Mrs. Patterson took a breath. “Miss Aurora, you must wait.”

But Aurora had already begun forward.

Poppy started after her. “Aurora, not too far.”

“I am only looking,” Aurora called.

“That is what explorers say shortly before they are never seen again.”

Aurora laughed, delighted by the threat. “Then you must find me, Poppy.”

The housekeeper gave her a look, and for the first time that morning Poppy saw weariness beneath the woman’s control.

Poppy softened her voice. “I will fetch her.”

“She may be at the entrance only.”

But Aurora was no longer at the entrance. One moment she had stood before the opening, a little figure framed by hedge and sun. The next, she had disappeared. Poppy quickened her pace.

“Aurora!” she called, still lightly, unwilling to frighten the child or herself. “Come back, please. We shall explore together.”

There was no answer.

The entrance to the maze smelled of leaves warmed by the sun and the damp interior shade beneath them. Poppy stepped inside. The world narrowed at once. The hedge walls rose higher than her head, dense and close, their trimmed faces broken here and there by pale cuts where new growth had been sheared away. Gravel lay underfoot, pale and dry. The path turned left almost immediately, then right.