Page 83 of A Mother for the Blind Duke’s Orphans

“What d…d…do you see?”

Hector considered her question before answering. Poppy leaned closer because she was just as interested in his answer as Aurora was.

“I can see shape, movement, some colors, light. Sometimes all the details are exposed clearly to me, but I do not know when or how that will be. I know where the window is more easily than I know what is on the floor because of the light. I know that you are small and that Poppy is beside the entrance, and that Princess is on the bed. But if you hold up one book and ask me which it is, I may not know it.”

Aurora absorbed this with the full seriousness of a four-year-old. Her stutter, Poppy noticed, had disappeared completely.

“Was it always l…l…like that?” she cocked her head, completely forgetting about her treasures and tour.

Hector seemed to have disappeared in thought. “No. Once upon a time I used to see as you do.”

Poppy did not realize how close she had leaned until their shoulders brushed and Hector’s gaze drifted toward hers. For one unsettling moment, he seemed to be lost in a painful thought.

“But… I had an accident, and over the years, it changed,” he continued. “Slowly at first. I missed things that other people saw. Faces from across a room. Writing. Steps in poor light. Then it became worse. The world lost its edges. So, I learned other ways. The cane tells me what the floor will not, and sound tells me where people are, while touch tells me what my eyes cannot. I eventually began to see the outline, then the shape, and now I am blessed with glimpses of the world when I least expect it.”

His attention turned toward Poppy again, and though he said nothing more, she felt the unfinished sentence between them.

“Often, I understand a thing better if I touch it.” Poppy felt heat spread across her cheeks.

Her pulse answered before her mind could discipline it.

Aurora nodded as if this was sensible. “D…do you get lost in the house?”

Hector looked at Aurora’s earnest face.

“Occasionally, I do get lost,” he said.

Poppy glanced at him sharply. She thought he would say, of course not. He was the Duke of Sterling after all, and he knew every corridor, every stair, every silence within the walls. But he answered honestly, and that took her by surprise. Aurora sat back on her heels, thinking. Poppy saw the precise moment the child’s fear dispersed. Hector was no longer merely a large, stern, and difficult man. He was someone who sometimes needed help, and that made him more relatable to the child.

“I can be your guide whenever you get lost,” Aurora eventually said.

Hector went very still beside Poppy.

“When you get lost,” she added as she smiled at him. “I know this room. And the hall. And the way to Poppy.”

“The way to Poppy?” he repeated.

“Yes.” She shook her head vigorously.

His hand closed around the cane. “That would be useful.”

Poppy looked away, but not before she saw that he had noticed what she had noticed. Aurora had not stumbled over a single word.

The room felt smaller and warmer. Princess stirred on the bed and made a soft, sleepy sound. Poppy knew the hour had grown late. She also knew she would remember this dim tent of blankets long after the pillows collapsed and the girls outgrew it.

“It is time for bed,” she said quietly.

Aurora’s disappointment was immediate. She began gathering treasures with the weary obedience of a child who wished to be praised for surrendering.

Poppy lifted the blanket entrance higher, and Hector maneuvered himself toward it, but before he could leave, Aurora caught his sleeve.

“Will you stay too?”

The question held him there more effectively than her small hand could have.

Poppy turned toward him expectingly as Aurora added, “Tiny spaces always have room for one more person.”

Hector looked torn, but at last he freed his sleeve with care.