Page 93 of A Mother for the Blind Duke’s Orphans

Worse, he had wanted to obey her, just to see her smile. Poppy and Julia got up and joined the children where they played and laughed together. With the girls, Poppy was even more breathtaking.

“She is good with them,” Leander suddenly appeared at his side.

Hector did not need to ask whom he meant. “Yes, she is.”

“Those girls look at her as if she hung the moon and stars in the sky herself.”

Hector agreed. “They adore her.”

Was he feeling adoration as well?

Hector’s gaze moved toward the smallest shape near Poppy. Princess had crawled close to her and was patting Poppy’s skirt with great concentration. Poppy answered without looking down, her hand settling lightly over the baby’s back as she continued speaking to Aurora.

Hector found himself waiting for Poppy’s laughter.

He did not want to admit that he was longing for her. Longing was for men who had not learned the cost of wanting, and he had learned. He had built his life according to his wants.

Perhaps I want Poppy too.

“Your invitation has pleased Julia immensely,” Leander said.

Hector kept his face neutral. “I am glad.”

“Thank you for inviting us.” His gratefulness was genuine.

“You are most welcome, and Julia and Thomas are most welcome anytime too.” Hector meant every word.

Poppy’s family was his family.

“Poppy missed her sister.”

“So did Julia.”

Hector knew that Poppy missed her sister because he had observed it in the way her cheerfulness thinned after Julia’s letters arrived and the way she mentioned some distant memory but stopped herself. He had invited them because a duchess isolated from those she loved would eventually become unhappy, an unhappy household was unstable, and the children required stability.

That was all, or at least that was what he told himself.

Poppy looked up then, as if she heard his thoughts, and perhaps she did. Her smile seemed to deepen as they stared at each other. Leander made a small sound next to him to draw his attention.

“I do hope that you two will join the ball.” Hector should have found the comment impertinent, but as he tried to make out the details of Poppy, he had no negative thoughts.

His own limitations angered him. It also frightened him, though he would not have used the word. Hector was just about to respond to Leander when Princess made a sound. It was soft, insistent, and different from her usual babble. Poppy looked down at her, and Hector noticed that she was wide-eyed.

Something has happened.

His attention fixated on them immediately.

“What is it, my darling?” Poppy asked.

The room stilled.

There were many forms of address Poppy used with the children. Little star. Sweeting. My brave girl. My darling. She offered them freely, without calculation, as if tenderness were not a finite resource. Hector had once thought such softness dangerous. Children, like adults, had to learn that the world would not always answer kindly.

But Princess reached for Poppy with both hands, and Poppy leaned toward her without hesitation.

Then Princess said, clear enough for every adult to hear, “Mama.”

Silence fell with such completeness that Hector heard the faint settling of fabric as Poppy froze.