Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Saint Catherine’s Haven loomed before Poppy as she approached it. The building was always like a haven for her, but today it felt the opposite. She arrived with her gloves buttoned too tightly and her composure in a mess.
This is not a farewell.
She had to remind herself every second that she would see Aurora and Princess again. She would be married in six days, and they would all be together…with the duke.
The icy-eyed, hauntingly handsome duke who smells like cinnamon.
The door to the orphanage opened before Poppy had fully gathered herself from her thoughts, and she gasped.
“Oh, Miss Norish, I am terribly sorry for startling you,” Annabelle exclaimed and came to Poppy’s side immediately.
Poppy laughed. “It is quite all right, Annabelle; my thoughts have been everywhere recently.”
Annabelle cocked her head in her direction. “Are you all right?”
Her question almost unraveled Poppy. She had spent most of her night pacing with her aunt in her chamber after that utterly unromantic and surprising proposal.
Bendon House turned into a frenzy as soon as word got out that Poppy had accepted the duke’s proposal.
Letters were already sent to Julia, and Poppy found it hard to wrap her head around the fact that the wedding planning was already in full swing.
“Miss Norish?” Annabelle’s sweet voice pulled her back to reality.
“Yes, Annabelle, I am perfectly well. Thank you.” She smiled, but it did not reach her eyes.
Annabelle looked at her concernedly before she said, “The girls were expecting you.”
“Yes, I promised to see them today.” Annabelle linked her arm with Poppy’s, and they strolled through the entrance and corridors.
Poppy hoped that she would still have time to visit the orphanage once she became a duchess and a mother.
She would hate to say goodbye to her only friend and confidante.
She and the young nurse had grown fond of each other over the years.
Perhaps I should let her know the truth from now.
“Annabelle… I have news.”
The nurse froze.
“What has happened?”
Poppy took a deep breath in. “The girls have been adopted. Apparently, they are the nieces of the Duke of Sterling, and he is picking them up today.”
Her words came out in a breath. Annabelle stared at her, wide-eyed.
“Well… That is wonderful news, is it not?”
Poppy realized that she might not have used the right tone.
She sighed. “It is good news, but there is more…”
The nurse’s eyes widened more. “Well, do not leave me in suspense!”
“I am to marry the man.” Poppy’s shoulders sagged until she heard a delightful squeal from her friend.
“You are marrying a duke?” Annabelle was grinning too widely, and Poppy laughed at her friend’s reaction. “And the girls will be with you?”
“Yes, that is all true.” She felt her face heat up and she dropped her gaze.
Annabelle immediately stopped moving.
“Oh no, is the Duke of Sterling a cruel man?” she whispered.
Poppy’s head snapped up. “I… I am not certain. But it seems as though he cares deeply for his nieces, and that is all that matters.”
Is it truly all that mattered?
Although Poppy always dreamed of a tender and romantic love, she could barely imagine that with the icy Duke of Sterling, who seemed to only care about duty and nothing more.
“You seem troubled, Miss Norish?” Annabelle grabbed Poppy’s hand and squeezed.
Poppy felt relieved to share this news with someone; she had no one to truly talk to about it.
“I am just afraid that I will mess this up, Annie.”
Annabelle shook her head fiercely. “If anyone is deserving of a title and deserving to be the mother of those angels, it is you.”
Her words wrapped around Poppy’s heart.
“Thank you, my friend.” They embraced each other, and Poppy closed her eyes and imagined a life with Aurora, Princess, and the icy gaze of the duke.
They gently let go of each other and continued walking and talking.
“When is the ceremony?” Annabelle asked.
“The wedding ceremony will be held next week, and thereafter I am to stay at the Dukedom of Sterling.”
A week. Poppy could barely believe how little time she had to prepare.
“That is soon,” Annabelle whispered sadly.
They turned a corner, and Poppy could see the girls’ room from the end of the corridor.
“I will miss them terribly,” Annabelle’s voice quivered, and this time she squeezed her hand.
“You are welcome to visit them anytime.”
They stopped outside the door and smiled at each other.
“Poppy, you will be a great mother, a great wife, and a great duchess. I am just one of the people who believe in you.” Annabelle reached and pulled her into another, shorter embrace before letting go and leaving her to spend time with Aurora and Princess.
Poppy smiled as she watched her friend disappear down the corridor. She pushed away all thoughts about her approaching wedding and pulled open the door to the room. Poppy had only just crossed the threshold when she heard Aurora.
“Poppy!” The child ran at her with such force that she had to catch herself before stumbling.
Her small arms locked around her waist. Aurora pressed her face into the folds of Poppy’s dress and held on as if the minutes apart had been years.
“My darling,” Poppy said, bending over her. She kept her voice light because Aurora listened for tremors. “Have you grown taller since yesterday?”
Aurora drew back only enough to look up at her.
She was well dressed, her clothes neat and carefully chosen, her hair attended to with more patience than most adults granted a child of four.
There was no neglect in her at this time, no hurried pin or careless stain.
Poppy noticed everything and let none of it show too quickly.
The nuns only prepared them for this way if an adoption was successful.
“No, silly! I have not grown,” Aurora said with great seriousness. “But I was t…t…thinking.”
“Oh, that is far more dangerous, especially when a girl does it.” Poppy winked at her, and she giggled. “Tell me these thoughts of yours?”
Aurora nodded as if this confirmed everything. “I h…h…heard t…t…the man t…t…taking me and Princess is a m…m…monster.”
Poppy’s breath caught, then softened into a laugh as she held Aurora’s hand. “That man is your uncle. And do you remember the story I read to you about the monster that later became a hero?”
“Yes. But what if…if…if the books are wrong?” Aurora lowered her voice.
“The books are never wrong. And sometimes what looks like a monster was a hero all along.”
Poppy smiled at Aurora, but something within her shifted as she thought about the duke.
The way he towered over her and claimed her as his duchess.
She could not get him out of her mind in her wakefulness and even in her sleep.
His piercing eyes never seemed to scare her; they intrigued her more than anything ever did.
She glanced across the room to where Princess rested, no longer flushed with fever or limp with that terrible heat that had made Poppy’s hands shake in private. The baby seemed at peace in her own skin, and happier, as though she knew she were heading home today.
Perhaps, just for her, he is a hero.
Poppy looked away before her emotions betrayed her.
Aurora tightened her hold again. “T…T…Then we are g…g…going home with a hero today?”
“Yes, I promise that you are going home with a hero today.” Poppy caressed her hair and smiled down at her.
“W…w…will you come live with us, Poppy?” she asked eagerly.
Poppy was unsure how to answer that question. Perhaps she should leave it to the duke to explain to Aurora.
“I believe I will be with you, my darling, just not right away. So, you will have to be patient.” Poppy smiled down at her hopeful face.
“I will be counting the hours!” she exclaimed.
“Truly? Then you will be very busy and might miss me.”
“I will not,” Aurora replied proudly. “I will know when you are home.”
Poppy brushed a hand over her face to try to hide the tears of joy. “Then I shall try not to keep you waiting too long.”
Aurora smiled, satisfied by the promise. Poppy smiled back because she deserved certainty, even borrowed certainty, even certainty stitched together from duty and fear.
And yet, standing in that room they would never see again, with Aurora warm against her and Princess almost free of her fever and napping peacefully, Poppy felt the hard line of obligation shift to surrender.
Perhaps marrying the duke will not be such a bad idea after all.
“Your Grace,” Jonathan had appeared without sound, as he often did, as if the air had produced him.
Hector did not need to turn fully to know it was him. The footman had a manner of presence unlike anyone else in the household. He was quiet, exact, never apologetic, and never intrusive enough to be accused of intrusion.
“My carriage is where it usually is, am I right, Jonathan?” Hector grunted.
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“And yet you have materialized beside me as though I am in imminent danger of wandering into traffic.”
A fractional pause. “The step is uneven.”
“I recall my own steps, Jonathan. I am not fully blind…”
“I am aware, Your Grace.”
Hector felt the familiar irritation rise, clean and immediate. It was not truly directed at Jonathan, which made it harder to justify and therefore harder to abandon. Although his eyesight had slightly deteriorated, he adapted to it and did not need anyone’s help, especially in familiar places.
He truly could see the carriage well enough. It was a dark block against the paler blur of street and sky, wheels indicated by shadow and curve, a waiting shape precisely where a waiting carriage ought to be. He could find it without being shepherded like an elderly aunt.
“To the orphanage, Your Grace?” Jonathan asked.
Hector thought about what awaited him at the orphanage.
Two young hopeful—or hopeless—orphaned girls and quite possibly one aggravating spinster might still be there.
He prayed that she would take her leave before he arrived; her mere presence seemed to unsettle him, but then again, he would love to see how she interacted with his nieces.
“Yes,” he said to the footman who was waiting patiently for his response.
Jonathan nodded with understanding, ran to the carriage, and ordered the groomsman.
Hector was grateful that his footman did not take his arm.
He never did unless requested or unless some immediate hazard required it.
Instead, he positioned himself half a step ahead and slightly to the side, his path a suggestion rather than an instruction.
That was more infuriating to Hector, somehow, because it was considerate.
“You trouble yourself too much over me, Jonathan.” He tutted as he reached the carriage.
“It is my job, Your Grace.” The elderly man responded kindly.
Hector tapped his cane once against the ground and moved forward. Clarke opened the carriage door.
“I should be grateful,” Hector said, “if you would refrain from hovering.”
“I shall endeavor to hover at a greater distance, Your Grace.”
The answer was so evenly delivered that Hector could not stop himself from laughing. He stepped into the carriage, settled himself, and folded his cane beside his knee. Clarke entered opposite him after a moment; the movement was precise enough not to jostle the vehicle more than necessary.
The door closed. And the carriage lurched forward and away from Bendon House. For several minutes, Hector allowed the sound of the wheels to occupy him. The rhythm was useful, and it made his thoughts orderly.
“She is younger than I expected,” he said at last.
Jonathan did not immediately ask who he meant. Another of his virtues. “She is, Your Grace.”
“Yes, whoever deemed a twenty-three-year-old as an unworthy spinster is mad.” He shook his head.
Hector always spoke his mind with Jonathan because he knew he was his most trusted staff member other than his loyal housekeeper, Mrs. Paulina Patterson, and his butler, Mr. Clarke.
“That is the truth, Your Grace.”
“You believe so?” He raised a brow at the old man.
“I do not think it is my place, or anyone’s, to assess a lady’s age or whether she is deserving of being titled a spinster,” the footman said carefully.
Hector chuckled. “No. You are far too principled for that.”
“As Your Grace says.”
Hector leaned back, fingers resting lightly on the handle of his cane. “She is not what society would call an obvious choice for a duchess.”
“But you believe that she is?” Hector looked at him and could see the creases around Jonathan’s eyes as he smiled.
There was no judgment in his words. Jonathan would not have remained in his employ had he possessed the habit of disguising judgment as agreement.
“I do. She is unmarried,” Hector continued. “A daughter of a viscount and young enough to be foolish, though she does not seem foolish. She is not trained for the responsibilities of a dukedom, but it is nothing she cannot learn, as I am certain she expected to marry a lord someday.”
“Indeed, Your Grace.”
“And my nieces trust her.”
The words settled between them with more force than the entire list that had preceded them.
Hector turned his face toward the blurred wash of the window. Shapes passed beyond it. He felt the motion of the carriage, and for years motion had been enough proof that the world continued whether he saw it clearly.
“Jonathan, I could make out the color of her hair,” he spoke softly as he pictured Miss Norish.
“She had dark blonde tendrils, I think. And the color of her dress was blue. And her features were strikingly beautiful in the sunlight. But, for some reason or the other, I could not see the color of her eyes.”
Even with the limits of his sight, he had perceived the stillness that had come over her when the proposal became unavoidable. She had understood the bargain at once, and her own life narrowed so that the children’s might widen. He respected her for not pretending otherwise.
Any other debutante might have hidden calculation beneath her blushes and lowered lashes, but Miss Norish had done something far less practiced, and that should have been enough.
Hector heard the silence and resented it. “You have nothing to say?”
“I was uncertain whether Your Grace wished for an answer?”
Hector’s mouth tightened; he did not know why he needed to know the color of her eyes, but perhaps he should see it for himself instead of receiving an explanation.
“You are right, Jonathan. Her eyes should not matter to me, anyway.”