Page 95 of A Mother for the Blind Duke’s Orphans

His hand loosened on the cane.

Julia wiped her face, laughing softly through tears. “Well. That is that, then.”

Leander’s son leaned toward Aurora and whispered, with the tactless clarity of childhood, “Why is everyone crying?”

Aurora considered with grave authority. “Because Princess said the right word.”

No one corrected her.

Poppy laughed, and the laughter broke the stillness. Julia laughed too, through her own tears. Leander came forward and rested a hand briefly on his wife’s shoulder. The children resumed breathing, moving, and asking questions, and Princess, pleased by the attention, pressed her damp little hand against Poppy’s cheek and murmured her first word over and over again.

Hector remained where he was.

He had spent years believing affection made claims a man might not survive. Duty was safer. Duty could be defined, performed, and measured. But this room offered no such safety. Here was Poppy, who had entered his life as a practical answer and became a question he could no longer avoid. Here were the children, binding themselves to her without permission from bloodline or title. Here was his own heart, traitorous in its quiet insistence, tightening not against loss but against tenderness.

He would not name what he felt.

Not yet.

But when Poppy looked at him over Princess’s head, her face tear-streaked and luminous with a joy that had wounded her into silence, Hector let himself smile.

Enough that she would know.

And from the way her expression softened, she did.

When the guests had dwindled, and the children’s laughter faded into quiet play, Poppy finally found herself alone with Hector in the wide, near-empty library. Her eyes still glistened from earlier tears, but she held a soft smile as she stepped closer to Hector.

“Thank you,” she whispered quietly and steadily. Her words were filled with meaning, and she hoped that he felt her gratefulness. “I cannot thank you enough for inviting Julia and Leander. It was the sweetest surprise, Hector.” She looked down for a moment, gathering herself. “I did not realize how much I needed this, but you did. For a man without the best sight in the world, you sure do see a lot.”

Hector inclined his head with a faint smile. “You are very welcome. It was the right thing to do.” His tone was polite but sincere, as if no greater thanks were necessary. “But I only see a lot when I look at you.”

Poppy glanced up at him, her smile deepening, and she blushed unashamedly. “I do hope there are no more surprises. Princess has given us the biggest of them all, as it is.” Her eyes searched his face.

Hector nodded. “There is one more surprise…” He hesitated, then met her gaze firmly.

“I doubt I will be able to take you to Viscount Harriet’s ball.” He watched her before continuing. “My sight… it makes such events difficult. So, I have decided to hold a ball here, in Sterling House, where it is safe and familiar.”

Poppy’s eyes glistened anew; tears welled up, but she held them back by sheer will. The weight of his gesture was so unexpected and generous that it settled heavily on her heart. She thought silently how she did not deserve such kindness, and how she had never imagined this life of quiet wonders with the icy duke.

Hector saw the conflict in her eyes and offered quietly, “My wife deserves to attend a ball, and I will make certain that she does.”

Poppy’s breath hitched. She wanted to reach out then and to draw him close. She longed to hold his face in her hands. But propriety kept her rooted, a strict boundary against impulse.

Instead, a whisper slipped from her lips, soft and full of meaning. “Thank you, Hector. For everything.”

Chapter Twenty-One

“Your Grace, the last of the guests have arrived.” Mr. Clarke stood beside him as he spoke.

“Thank you, Mr. Clarke. Make certain they are well taken care of.” His butler nodded firmly and briskly walked into the ballroom.

Hector had not intended to make a spectacle of his generosity.

That was what he told himself as he stood at the edge of the ballroom, one hand resting over the head of his cane, listening to the first uncertain murmur of surprise ripple through the room. The gathering was small by any reasonable measure. He made certain that it was a private ball and not a declaration to London. There was no crush of strangers or suffocating procession of names he would be expected to remember while pretending the light did not trouble him and the shifting shapes at the edge of his vision were more than shadows.

He invited only family, and a few trusted friends. The Duke and Duchess of Pridewell were spending their final evening beneath his roof, and he thought the ball was a fine way to bid them farewell.

“Great ball, Sterling.” Jasper, who had invited himself with the sort of good humor that made refusal seem petty, slapped him on his back. “Now, when will you introduce me to that wife of yours?”