Page 59 of A Mother for the Blind Duke’s Orphans

Hector lowered himself into the chair behind his desk. He set the cane beside him, its familiar weight against his knee. From there he listened while Aurora climbed in and out, naming possible uses.

It might hold dolls. It might be a hiding place. It might be a reading place if someone read to her from outside. It might be used when Princess was cross, though this suggestion was quickly revised because Princess would certainly discover it and claim half.

He had not known how much labor was required to raise children until he found himself measuring the height of a shelf for a four-year-old.

Her Grace drew a little nearer to his desk while Aurora questioned Mrs. Patterson about fairies.

“That was well done,” she said quietly.

Hector kept his face turned toward the child. “Mrs. Patterson arranged the presentation admirably.”

“I did not mean Mrs. Patterson.”

“Then you are mistaken.”

“Am I?” She tilted her head toward him, and he was tempted to move the rogue curl away from her face.

“Yes.”

“I have found,” she said slowly, “that you often deny things most firmly when they are true.”

He should have been irritated at her scrutiny. Instead, he was aware of an unwelcome warmth in his chest.

“I am afraid that you have not known me long enough, duchess.”

“No,” she said. “Only long enough to begin noticing.”

Aurora cried out in delight from within the closet. The sound saved him from answering. He folded both hands over the cane and allowed his mouth the smallest concession to pleasure.

On the third night after the closet’s unveiling, Hector remained in his study long after the house had settled. Midnight altered the room, and sleep eluded him. Whenever Hector closed his eyes, his mind did not darken. It brightened with thoughts of his wife.

He rubbed one hand across his brow to try to forget her.

“Will there be anything else, Your Grace?” Jonathan asked suddenly.

Hector straightened. “No. That will be all.”

Before the footman could withdraw, there was a light knock.

Hector turned his head. At such an hour, every sound arrived with consequence. Jonathan opened the door, and Her Grace stood beyond it.

“Forgive me,” she said. “I saw the light.”

“You are awake late, Your Grace.”

“So are you.”

It was not an accusation. She came in only after Jonathan stepped aside. Her gown moved softly; her voice carried the fatigue he had noticed earlier.

“Is something wrong?” Hector asked.

“No. I…” she stopped.

He waited. It was one of the few courtesies he could offer without risk.

“I was told that Aurora was not in bed again,” she said at last.

As if on cue, a sneeze came from the closet. It was small, muffled, and unmistakably human.