Page 53 of A Mother for the Blind Duke’s Orphans

“That I can accept.” He turned his face toward her more fully.

She stood only a few paces away, close enough that the blurred impression of her gathered itself into something almost coherent: medium height, slender, the darker gold of her hair subdued by shadow, the pale shape of her face lowered toward Aurora and then raised to him.

Her eyes…

There was a cool brightness where her gaze met his, a suggestion of color just beyond reach. He could almost see it until the sun disappeared altogether and shadowed her eyes.

Almost.

Chapter Twelve

Aweek had passed since the wedding ceremony before Poppy understood that time in a great house did not move as it did elsewhere.

At her uncle’s home, days had arranged themselves plainly. Mornings meant breakfast with familiar voices, afternoons meant calls or sewing or the small economies of family life, evening meant candles and conversations with her aunt and Georgia.

Here, beneath the duke’s roof, hours disappeared into duties. Linen arrived folded. Fires were laid. Tea appeared at the proper temperature. Doors opened and closed soundlessly, and the household continued around her with the disciplined motion of a clock whose mechanism she could hear but not yet see.

Julia’s letters made the speed of it unmistakable.

You have been gone a week already, her sister had written, as if Poppy might have misplaced the fact.

I hope they are not making you miserable. You must tell me everything, though I know you will soften anything unpleasant before putting it on paper.

Poppy had read the line twice, smiling despite herself. Julia knew her too well. Or perhaps all sisters knew where the other concealed herself.

The second letter had arrived the following morning; Poppy had invited her and Georgia to meet the girls, and they happily accepted. Julia had met the girls only once, at the orphanage, and briefly at that. Her own baby now filled her days so completely that Poppy could not begrudge the absence.

“Ah,” Mrs. Elizabeth, the nanny, said, laughing under her breath when Poppy entered the room. “There is Her Grace, then. I am quite forgotten.”

Poppy crossed the room before she could think better of showing such eagerness. “Never forgotten,” she said. “Only temporarily replaced.”

Princess made a sound low in her throat, urgent and delighted. “Ma. Ma—um.”

Poppy stopped in her tracks a little too quickly.

Mrs. Elizabeth did not appear to notice. She shifted Princess upright, supporting her beneath the arms. “Come then, little one. You may greet Her Grace properly.”

Princess lunged toward her with such confidence that the nanny had to tighten her hold.

“Careful,” Poppy murmured, though the warning was more for herself than the child. She took Princess into her lap, and the baby immediately seized a fold of her gown with one hand and a strand of her dark blonde hair with the other.

“That is not for pulling,” Poppy said softly.

Princess grinned and pulled.

The nanny began to apologize, but Poppy only laughed and untangled the tiny fingers one by one. “She likes to test whether people are attached to all their parts.”

“She is lively today,” the nanny said. “She was cross this morning. Would not settle after her milk.”

“Did you try turning her toward the window?” Poppy asked. “Not too bright, but enough for her to see movement. She watches light when she is fighting sleep.”

The nanny tilted her head. “I have rocked her by the hearth.”

“That helps when she is cold. But when she is over-tired, warmth only makes her angrier.” Poppy adjusted Princess against her shoulder and began a slow patting rhythm. “Here. Like this. Not too quickly.”

Princess’s grip loosened.

The nanny watched with interest. “I had not thought of that.”