Page 82 of A Mother for the Blind Duke’s Orphans

Aurora, bored or frustrated by their conversation, began rearranging her treasures into a stricter line.

Hector sighed through his nose. “About the closet.”

Poppy stared at him.

She knew that the closet was his idea all along. It had been altered without fuss, without announcement, and without any demand for gratitude. The space was made for small dresses, folded blankets, and all the things Aurora had loved which only he and Poppy knew about.

Aurora turned back. “Is Uncle H…Hector in t…t…trouble?”

“No, not at all,” Poppy said kindly.

Poppy looked at him then, and his pale eyes dropped somewhere near her mouth. She wondered whether he could see that she was smiling.

“Thank you,” she whispered to him.

His fingers moved once against the cane. “You are welcome.”

A silent understanding passed between them as Aurora resumed the tour.

“This is from my s…s…second home.” She handed Hector a little stone, but he outstretched his hand in the wrong direction, and Aurora frowned at him before plopping it onto his palm.

Poppy whispered, “Her second home is the orphanage.”

“Ah.” Hector rolled the stone through his fingers.

As the minutes went on, Poppy noticed a change in Aurora. The first delight of being hostess gave way to a furrowed brow. She watched Hector more and how his hand searched before he set anything down. She watched how, when she asked for the moon book, he reached toward the wrong shape and paused. She watched how he kept the cane with him even in that tiny, soft-walled space where there was nowhere, apparently, to go.

Then his foot came down on a toy half-hidden beneath a fold of blanket, and it gave a small wooden clack.

Hector stopped at once. “Forgive me.”

Aurora’s face clouded with pain. “You s…s…stepped on it.”

Poppy’s hand tightened in the blanket.

Hector was silent for a moment while Aurora looked at his cane. “Why can you not leave that s…s…stick outside?”

“Aurora,” Poppy warned her.

But Hector lifted one hand a fraction.

Aurora pressed on, the questions coming now that the first had escaped. “And w…w…why could you not find the moon book? It was just there.” She pointed at it, but Hector kept his eyes on her. “And w…why did you step on the toy if it was right in front of you?”

Poppy watched him, fearing the shutter would fall. She had seen men grow cruel when children noticed what adults politely ignored. But Hector did not seem upset. Instead, he shifted until he was seated more securely, his long legs awkward in the confined space, and his cane resting beside him where his hand could find it easily.

“Because I cannot see as well as you can,” he said truthfully.

Aurora tilted her little head and frowned.

“I can see the shape of you, but without a candle, I cannot see all of you.” Poppy was surprised that he was confessing the truth.

“But… y…y…you have eyes.” She pointed at his eyes.

“Yes, I do.”

“And t…t…they are open.”

“They usually are.” He smiled at her, and Poppy almost protested against her asking more questions, but Aurora continued.