Page 48 of A Mother for the Blind Duke’s Orphans

“I am certain the duchess would understand that it is a secret and a sweet surprise for the child.” The elderly woman spoke calmly and assuredly.

The words struck because they were true.

“No,” he said. “This will make Aurora smile, and I do not wish to ruin the surprise.”

Mrs. Patterson inclined her head, and he knew that she saw right through him. “Then we shall make it ready for her as soon as possible.”

He wanted it to be done before the child awoke, but that was not possible.

God, do not let her hate me more.

Hector shut the closet doors with his cane and turned toward the housekeeper.

“Mrs. Patterson,” he addressed her sternly.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“You will tell no one about this,” he ordered.

Mrs. Patterson looked unsure at first, but then she slowly nodded in agreement. “I will not tell anyone, Your Grace.”

Chapter Eleven

Poppy had already passed through so many rooms that their names had begun to swim in her mind. She did admire the Dukedom of Sterling, but the place was too vast, especially for the children whose most recent memories were of a small orphanage.

“And through here,” Mrs. Patterson said, indicating another closed door as they passed, “is the west sitting room. It is used mostly in winter, when the afternoon light is strongest on this side of the house.”

Aurora walked ahead of her, small and silent, keeping close enough to Mrs. Patterson so that the housekeeper could lay a hand upon her shoulder if required. The child had been quieter than Poppy had expected. On previous mornings, Aurora’s attention had darted like a bird from ribbon to window latch to whatever secret she had decided Poppy needed to know at once. Today she moved with an effortful composure as Mrs. Patterson led them down another passage.

Poppy turned her head dutifully, though the door remained shut. “I am certain that every room here is fine.”

Mrs. Patterson glanced back at her.

“But I must confess,” Poppy added, lowering her voice with a faint smile, “I shall not remember every room in this place. If I am left alone, I may wander until I am discovered years from now behind a screen.”

Mrs. Patterson laughed.

“The house seems larger at first than it is,” the housekeeper said confidently.

“That is what people say when a thing is exactly as large as it seems.” Mrs. Patterson laughed again, but this time the sound broke off.

From somewhere ahead came a crack like the splitting of bone. Poppy stopped. The noise rang through the passage, blunt and violent, followed by a grinding scrape that made the skin between her shoulders tighten. Another blow came, heavier than the first. Stone breaking. Aurora stopped, too. Mrs. Patterson did not turn at once. Her shoulders settled, almost imperceptibly, as if she had been expecting the sound and had hoped not to meet it in company.

Poppy looked toward the closed door at the end of the passage. The sound had come from beyond it, or from a room near it, carried through the bones of the house.

“What in heaven is that sound?” she asked.

Mrs. Patterson turned back with a composed face. “The duke is renovating.”

Another crack interrupted what she might have said next. This one was followed by the dull fall of something heavy. Poppy felt the tremor beneath her feet.

“Is it the study?” Poppy asked, praying it was not.

Mrs. Patterson simply nodded, but said nothing further.

Poppy moved closer to Mrs. Patterson and lowered her voice. “Aurora usually escapes into that study, does she not?”

Mrs. Patterson’s gaze flickered to the child.