Chapter 2
Chapter Two
In the three years Poppy had lived at Bendon House with her aunt and uncle, it was never as silent as it was on that particular afternoon.
Even when Aunt Violet rested, and Lord Bendon was absorbed in God knew what, small domestic noises moved through the walls, and the house breathed in those little ways she had grown accustomed to.
“Is Lady Bendon at home?” she asked the footman at the door.
“Yes, Miss Norish.” The footman hesitated. “The countess is in the drawing room with Lord Bendon and…”
“And?” Poppy raised a brow at the young man, who blushed.
“And His Grace, the Duke of Sterling.” The footman’s gaze flicked toward the door and away.
A duke? Here?
Poppy gulped. She did not know what was going on, but she felt a small sense of fear.
She had never thought she was brave. She could endure much without complaint, but bravery seemed a bright, declarative thing, possessed by women who owned rooms. Poppy owned nothing.
Perhaps I can be brave enough to enquire about this.
Poppy thought of her sister as she moved through the corridors. Bendon House was never the same since Iris got married. Poppy expected her sister to appear suddenly from a room. She took a deep breath in and stopped outside the drawing room.
The footman followed clumsily and opened the door for her before she reached it. She looked around and found her uncle standing lopsidedly within. Lord Bendon usually carried himself with ease, but now his face looked thinner, and his body lacked confidence.
“Penelope,” he said her name too quickly.
“Good day, Uncle,” she greeted him stiffly from the door and tried to decipher what was going on.
“Come in, my dear. We have been waiting for you,” Aunt Violet called for her happily.
But even her kind, familiar voice did not reassure Poppy that everything was all right.
Poppy walked into the room cautiously. Her aunt appeared in her view, but her gentle face was troubled, and she tried to hide it. “My dear, someone wishes to speak with you.”
“Who—” Poppy turned around, and her eyes landed on the man seated near the unlit hearth; he did not rise, but even seated she could see how tall he was. Nearby to him stood an elderly man.
That must be the duke and his footman.
As if reading her mind, her aunt approached her and touched her sleeve. “Poppy, may I present His Grace, the Duke of Sterling.”
For a moment the title lost meaning, clear and distant like a bell in fog until she came to and curtseyed in the seated man’s direction.
“Good day, Your Grace,” she said quietly.
The duke’s shoulders were broad, and dark hair framed his striking face.
The darkness was stark against his pale skin.
He did not stand up to greet her. One strong hand gripped a cane, knotted around it hard enough to make the tendons visible beneath the skin.
Poppy thought it was a bit odd that a man of his age carried a cane, but many gentlemen carried canes as ornaments or some sort of fashion.
Nevertheless, it did not trouble her as much as his eyes did.
Poppy thought that perhaps she was too far away from him, but his eyes seemed very pale from where she stood.
They were light gray like the winter water under a clear sky, and they looked toward where she stood but did not truly settle on her face.
She felt drawn to the mystery of his gaze, and a rush of heat bloomed from the pit of her stomach.
Poppy’s pulse quickened unexpectedly; she frowned, unsure as to why her body and mind reacted in such a manner to this alluring man.
The duke inclined his head briefly in her direction.
His hand remained on the cane, but he was silent.
“Is this the lady who has been visiting my nieces an unusual number of times?” the duke asked impatiently instead of acknowledging her.
Poppy flinched at the sound of his low voice and the accusation.
She stared at him until his words landed heavily on her. “I beg your pardon, Your Grace. Did you say your nieces?”
“Yes, are you the lady who has been visiting my nieces, Aurora and her sister?” He repeated himself slowly as if he were speaking to a child.
Her uncle shifted nervously, and Aunt Violet drew in a breath. But Poppy spoke despite her fear and offense at how he described her. All her shyness disappeared and was replaced with unseen strength.
“If you are speaking about the lady who visits orphaned children at Saint Catherine’s Haven, then I am standing before you, Your Grace.” She tilted her chin defiantly at him, but he still seemed to look right through her.
Lord Bendon cleared his throat, and the duke’s head turned attentively toward him. “Pardon my niece, Your Grace; she is the one you are looking for.”
“May I ask who decided my visits were… unusual?” The words escaped her lips before she could stop them.
Poppy ignored her uncle’s glare.
“The report I received stated that the girls had become attached to you. Too attached,” the duke muttered.
Poppy gaped slightly, then quickly shut her mouth. “They are orphaned.” Silence settled over the room. “How attached do you imagine orphaned children ought to become to the first person who shows them kindness?”
The duke’s expression did not change.
“Attachment can become dependence.”
“Aurora did not speak for nearly a week after arriving. Her baby sister cried until she exhausted herself. If they have become attached to me…” She met his pale gaze. “…it is because no one else came.”
Something unreadable crossed his face.
“Your concern is appreciated,” he said after a pause. “But I came to bring them home.”
Her aunt murmured next to her, “Poppy, my dear—”
But Poppy’s heart dropped at the news. “Bring them home?”
“Today.”
Every muscle in her body tightened.
“Your Grace…” She struggled to steady her voice. “You cannot simply arrive and expect them to leave with a stranger.”
“I am not a stranger.”
“To those girls, you are.” The words slipped out before she could stop them.
The duke’s jaw tightened. “I am their uncle.”
“And if that’s true, legally you have every right to them.” Poppy nodded once. “But rights and trust are not the same thing.”
She ignored the warning glances from her guardians.
“You speak as though your affection grants you authority, Miss Norish. It does not. You are not their family, and you do not decide what is best for them,” he said and leaned back slightly, as she was already tiresome for him.
Poppy tried to hold on to her confidence, but she felt weak in her knees when his cold eyes traveled along the length of her body. Yet beneath the fear was anger. Not for herself. Never for herself.
For Aurora and Princess.
“Perhaps I do not,” she said quietly.
The duke seemed almost surprised by her answer.
“Perhaps I have no right to decide their future, Your Grace. But I was there when no one else was.”
His expression remained unreadable.
“They arrived at Saint Catherine’s Haven three months ago. Three months, Your Grace.” Her voice tightened. “And in that time, no one came to claim them.”
His fingers tightened slightly around his cane.
“You speak of family and responsibility, but Aurora spent those months waiting for someone to come for her. She tried to comfort her baby sister when she was ill, even though she was only four years old herself.”
A shadow crossed his face.
“Were you aware of that?”
For the first time, the duke hesitated.
“No,” he admitted. “The nuns failed to mention it.”
Poppy studied him carefully.
He sounded displeased, but not dismissive. Almost… troubled.
Before she could decide what to make of that, he asked:
“Has the infant recovered?”
The question caught her off guard.
Despite his referring to Princess simply as the infant, Poppy felt something soften inside her. Because he had asked. Because beneath all his coldness, his first concern was still for the child.
“She is recovering, Your Grace,” she answered. “But she needs more time before she is fully healed.”
Silence settled over the room.
“No one claimed those girls for three months,” she whispered, almost as if the words still pained her.
Something changed in the duke’s expression, and Poppy pursed her lips.
Perhaps I went too far.
His hand on the cane eased, then tightened even more as his brow furrowed, and his expression seemed troubled. Perhaps she did not have to fear anything because he seemed genuinely concerned for them.
But then why did he take so long?
The duke cleared his throat. “I am aware of the time they have been in the orphanage, and it will all be explained when I pick up the girls.”
Poppy’s breath hitched. She was happy that Aurora and her sister would have a better life, but she was not prepared to say goodbye to them so soon.
“Since you are here…” she said quietly. “Perhaps I deserve an explanation as well, Your Grace.”
Her uncle stepped forward to object, but the duke raised his hand slightly, and Lord Bendon stopped.
It was a small gesture, but it bore authority. Men like him did not need to raise their voices to make the world listen. How unfair it was; she wished she had the same power.
He leaned forward slightly on his cane, and Poppy felt her skin warm under his gaze. “Unfortunately, it took me three months because I only learned of my sister’s death quite recently.”
“Oh, dear,” Aunt Violet gasped.
Poor man, how awful to lose a sister so suddenly.
Poppy’s heart ached for Aurora, Princess, and the cold duke before her.
She understood, all too well, the feeling of losing your own mother.
When Poppy came of age, her father accused her of killing her mother, and ever since then she blamed herself for her mother’s death. She remembered his words clearly.
“It is all your fault; I lost my wife because of you! I lost everything!”
The guilt never left Poppy, even when Iris tried to explain the dangers and risks of childbirth. Poppy struggled to accept it. And although her aunt tried her best to fill in the void, it still was not enough.
Perhaps Aurora feels the same way.