Page 54 of A Mother for the Blind Duke’s Orphans

“She taught me,” Poppy said. “I only paid attention.”

The baby’s lashes lowered, then rose again as if she resented the betrayal of her own body. Poppy smiled and bent her head close. “Oh, I know. Sleep is a grave insult.”

Princess answered, “Um.”

“Yes, precisely.”

Mrs. Elizabeth laughed. “You speak as though you understand her.”

“Not always. But she repeats herself until I do.”

Poppy showed her the little game next, because Princess, having refused sleep once more, had begun to wriggle with renewed purpose. She sat the child on the rug and covered her own face with both hands. Princess stilled. Poppy waited one breath, then another, before parting her fingers.

“There she is,” she whispered.

Princess gave a delighted squeal.

Again Poppy hid. Again she appeared, this time from one side. The baby rocked forward on her hands, laughing so hard she hiccupped. Poppy forgot the size of the house, the title that did not yet fit, the husband whose presence made rooms colder merely by entering them. She existed only in this small exchange.

“She does that with you as she does with no one else,” the nanny said.

Poppy kept her face hidden for a moment longer than necessary. “It is only because I am foolish enough to repeat myself indefinitely.”

“No,” Mrs. Elizabeth said. “It is because she knows you.”

Poppy lowered her hands, and Princess slapped both palms against the rug. “Ma! Um. Ma.”

Poppy felt something in herself draw taut, as if a thread had been pulled from a place too deep to name as Princess reached for her. The nanny’s expression softened.

“There now,” she said gently. “I believe she has made up her mind. She already thinks of you as her mother.”

Poppy gathered Princess before the child could see her face.

Her mother?

The word did not belong to her. Poppy pressed her lips to Princess’s soft hair and closed her eyes, and Princess’s fingers curled against her bodice with absolute trust.

“I should let you continue,” her voice quivered with emotion. “She will never settle if I keep exciting her.”

Mrs. Elizabeth stood at once. “Your Grace, I did not mean⁠—”

“I know.” Poppy placed Princess back into the woman’s arms, taking a moment to free the child’s hand from her sleeve. “You said nothing wrong.”

Princess protested immediately, face crumpling.

Poppy touched her cheek. “I will come back,” she whispered. “I always do.”

“Ma,” Princess mumbled.

Poppy smiled, then turned before the tears could make liars of her composure and left the nursery as quietly as she could.

The corridor outside was cooler as Poppy walked only a short distance before stopping near a tall window. The glass held a dim reflection of her face. She drew a breath and let it out slowly.

It was foolish to cry because a baby had made a sound that might have been a word. It was more foolish to pretend the sound had not entered her like a claim.

“Your Grace?”

Poppy gasped and turned at once.