Page 18 of A Mother for the Blind Duke’s Orphans

“And yet you have materialized beside me as though I am in imminent danger of wandering into traffic.”

A fractional pause. “The step is uneven.”

“I recall my own steps, Jonathan. I am not fully blind…”

“I am aware, Your Grace.”

Hector felt the familiar irritation rise, clean and immediate. It was not truly directed at Jonathan, which made it harder to justify and therefore harder to abandon. Although his eyesight had slightly deteriorated, he adapted to it and did not need anyone’s help, especially in familiar places.

He truly could see the carriage well enough. It was a dark block against the paler blur of street and sky, wheels indicated by shadow and curve, a waiting shape precisely where a waiting carriage ought to be. He could find it without being shepherded like an elderly aunt.

“To the orphanage, Your Grace?” Jonathan asked.

Hector thought about what awaited him at the orphanage. Two young hopeful—or hopeless—orphaned girls and quite possibly one aggravating spinster might still be there. He prayed that she would take her leave before he arrived; her mere presence seemed to unsettle him, but then again, he would love to see how she interacted with his nieces.

“Yes,” he said to the footman who was waiting patiently for his response.

Jonathan nodded with understanding, ran to the carriage, and ordered the groomsman. Hector was grateful that his footman did not take his arm. He never did unless requested or unless some immediate hazard required it. Instead, he positioned himself half a step ahead and slightly to the side, his path a suggestion rather than an instruction.

That was more infuriating to Hector, somehow, because it was considerate.

“You trouble yourself too much over me, Jonathan.” He tutted as he reached the carriage.

“It is my job, Your Grace.” The elderly man responded kindly.

Hector tapped his cane once against the ground and moved forward. Clarke opened the carriage door.

“I should be grateful,” Hector said, “if you would refrain from hovering.”

“I shall endeavor to hover at a greater distance, Your Grace.”

The answer was so evenly delivered that Hector could not stop himself from laughing. He stepped into the carriage, settled himself, and folded his cane beside his knee. Clarke entered opposite him after a moment; the movement was precise enough not to jostle the vehicle more than necessary.

The door closed. And the carriage lurched forward and away from Bendon House. For several minutes, Hector allowed the sound of the wheels to occupy him. The rhythm was useful, and it made his thoughts orderly.

“She is younger than I expected,” he said at last.

Jonathan did not immediately ask who he meant. Another of his virtues. “She is, Your Grace.”

“Yes, whoever deemed a twenty-three-year-old as an unworthy spinster is mad.” He shook his head.

Hector always spoke his mind with Jonathan because he knew he was his most trusted staff member other than his loyal housekeeper, Mrs. Paulina Patterson, and his butler, Mr. Clarke.

“That is the truth, Your Grace.”

“You believe so?” He raised a brow at the old man.

“I do not think it is my place, or anyone’s, to assess a lady’s age or whether she is deserving of being titled a spinster,” the footman said carefully.

Hector chuckled. “No. You are far too principled for that.”

“As Your Grace says.”

Hector leaned back, fingers resting lightly on the handle of his cane. “She is not what society would call an obvious choice for a duchess.”

“But you believe that she is?” Hector looked at him and could see the creases around Jonathan’s eyes as he smiled.

There was no judgment in his words. Jonathan would not have remained in his employ had he possessed the habit of disguising judgment as agreement.