Page 75 of A Mother for the Blind Duke’s Orphans

Poppy’s embarrassment eased into compassion. “Thank you, Hector.”

“Are you excited for dinner, Aurora?” Poppy’s voice had a way of wrapping around someone like the warmest blanket, and it was beginning to unsettle Hector.

He turned his attention to the little shape beside her, who simply nodded her head. By dinner, Hector had begun to regret the entire deal he had made with Poppy.

Aurora sat at the table, small and oddly quiet. She was close enough to Poppy to take comfort and far enough from Hector not to feel trapped. Poppy had arranged that.

Of course she had.

Hector sat at the head of the table and felt like an intruder in his own dining room. The room had always suited him before. Its formality, its measured sounds, the predictable placement of chair and plate, and glass. He could navigate it easily, and meals had been quiet affairs. He had preferred them that way because the quietness did not demand anything from him.

Now there was a child breathing carefully into her napkin as though determined not to offend anyone by existing. And there was Poppy, attempting small talk with the delicate patience of someone coaxing a bird to an open palm.

“The cook said the jam was made from the last of the summer fruit,” Poppy continued. “Do you remember summer fruit, Aurora?”

“R-raspberries,” Aurora said softly.

Hector did not move, though the stutter struck him with peculiar force. He understood that she was nervous, and he hated that. Her stuttering was less pronounced than it had been in the first days after she arrived. Then, fear had broken every sentence into pieces. Now the word only caught once before it freed itself.

“Raspberries,” Poppy repeated warmly. “An excellent choice. Hector, do you like raspberries?”

He had not expected to be included in this conversation.

“I have no objection to them,” he said gruffly.

Poppy made a small sound that might have been laughter if she had not been restraining it. “A ringing endorsement.”

Aurora’s head turned, and Hector saw the motion as a soft blur.

“What is en-dorse-ment?” she asked.

“It means your uncle likes raspberries too,” Poppy replied simply, and Hector decided to observe her and silently take notes.

Aurora considered this. “That is nice.”

“I am known for my generosity,” Hector said bravely.

Poppy laughed lightly at his words, and the sound moved through the room and stayed locked within him.

His fingers tightened around his fork. He had heard laughter before, but Poppy’s laughter had a way of disturbing the air. The meals arrived, and Hector felt that perhaps the night may go well after all. That was until Aurora began to cry. It happened so quickly that Hector first thought she had hurt herself. A small sound caught in her throat before her breath stuttered and tears came with the helpless immediacy of a child.

He set down his fork loudly. His mind, accustomed to estates, accounts, physicians, legal matters, and all the manageable disasters of adult life, found itself useless before a weeping girl.

“What is it?” he asked too sharply.

Poppy’s voice came at once, so sweet and steady that even he felt instantly calmed by it. “Aurora, darling, tell us.”

“It’s n-not fair,” Aurora said.

Hector froze.

Fair? What had I done?

Had the chair been wrong, the food wrong, his voice wrong?

“What is not fair, my dear?” Poppy cooed.

“We are here,” Aurora sobbed, “and Princess is all alone.”