Chapter 5 #2
“You and your sister will live in my house outside London. It is a duke’s house, which means it is very large.
You will have your own rooms. There will be people to look after you, and you will have warm clothes, proper meals, toys, books when you are old enough to want them, and anything else you require.
” He tried to smile, but it did not feel genuine.
Aurora said nothing.
He had the distinct and unpleasant sensation that he was saying too much that meant too little to her.
“There are gardens,” he added, uncertain whether there was any part of the gardens particularly suited to children.
There must be a lawn. Trees. Paths. Things children found agreeable or dangerous depending on their temperament and supervision.
It was not as if he had the time to explore or the vision to enjoy them.
“And carriages. And—” He stopped himself before saying ponies.
He did not know if there were ponies. There could be ponies if necessary.
Was a pony necessary? God preserve him from discovering that the answer was yes.
Aurora made a faint sound as if she were done with the conversation already, and Hector felt her slipping away already.
I am failing.
Hector’s hand tightened around the cane handle, then eased. He could command adults because adults usually wanted something and could be directed through the wanting. A child wanted with her whole being and without strategy. That made her both simpler and impossible to communicate with.
“You and your sister will be safe,” he said, quieter.
Aurora did not speak, but she seemed to listen to him. Hector could not bring himself to say the baby’s name that was given to her; he still found it too absurd.
He followed the thread of the conversation about Aurora’s sister. “Your sister will be safe, and no one will take her from you. You will both come with me today, and…Poppy will come home in a few days too.”
Aurora took a small intake of breath, and he could almost see her little face lighting up.
“A…and after that?” she asked, the stuttering slowly dispersed from her speech.
The question was fragile, but clearer than before. She sounded hopeful, and it made his heart clench.
“And after that, arrangements will be made for Poppy to remain with you.” He smiled, and this time it felt genuine.
Aurora grinned. “T…truly?”
“Yes.”
“W…will she only visit us?”
“No.” Hector leaned forward slightly, enough to shorten the distance without crowding her. He wished, suddenly and absurdly, that he could see her clearly and all the emotions she portrayed. He needed to know whether hope frightened her more than disappointment. “Poppy will not only visit.”
Aurora’s small form shifted quickly on the chair. Her stillness was replaced by a sudden wave of excitement.
“You will have a mother,” Hector said slowly.
The word landed with more force than he intended. He did not know what the girl remembered of the woman who had borne her. He did not know whether mother was an absence, a wound, or merely a word adults used with lowered voices around them. But he knew she understood Poppy.
“And that mother,” he said, “will be Poppy.”
Aurora grinned.
Princess slept on, untroubled by titles, bargains, and futures being assembled around her cradle. Somewhere beyond the partially closed door, Miss Norish moved softly. And in the corridor, he knew that Jonathan stood nearby and listened too.
Aurora drew a breath that trembled only at the end. When she spoke, he could hear the effort she made to keep the words whole.
“For h…how long?”
Hector had been asked many questions in his life that had traps for them. But this question contained none of that. It contained only a child standing at the edge of belief, afraid the ground would vanish if she put her weight upon it.
He could have answered with explanations. He could have spoken of marriage settlements, guardianship, propriety, permanence in the eyes of the church and law. He could have qualified, clarified, protected himself from the absolute.
Instead, he gave her the only word that mattered.
“Forever.”
Poppy stood just outside the orphanage door, hands folded before her, watching the duke’s footman move with quiet efficiency.
He packed the girls’ meager belongings into the carriage.
They owned only two small bundles, a worn doll, and a knitted blanket Aurora refused to part with.
It struck her again how little the children possessed and how much they had endured.
“They will have all they need,” His Grace said beside her, as if he read her mind. “I give you my word.”
“I know,” Poppy replied softly. She believed him.
She had seen the way he looked at Aurora and the way he had spoken to her with careful patience. Duty lived in his bones, but something gentler was beneath him too.
Aurora stood near the carriage steps, staring wide-eyed at the glossy horses. “They are enormous,” she whispered, reaching out as if she might touch one.
Jonathan chuckled. “They are gentle giants, Miss Aurora.”
Hector turned toward Poppy, and she held her breath.
“I want Annabelle to come with us,” he said sternly. “As a lady’s maid for the children. She tended to them during their illness, and they seem to trust her as well.”
“I will inform her,” Poppy answered, releasing her breath. “She would be honored.”
Jonathan approached them just as the nuns emerged. “Your Grace, the carriage is ready.”
Princess was given to Jonathan in a woven basket lined with linen.
She slept soundly; her tiny fists curled beneath her chin, and Poppy noticed how Hector’s breath caught when the footman took the basket from them.
She remembered the first day she laid eyes on Princess; it was as though she were a miracle, and every fiber of her being longed to protect her.
That was probably how the duke felt, or at least she hoped it was.
He seemed to have an unmistakable tenderness that softened his stern features as he stared at the infant.
But when he lifted his head and looked at Poppy, the softness vanished, replaced by the guarded neutrality he always wore around her. She wondered if he knew how transparent he was in moments like these.
Aurora ran to her, arms flung wide. “Poppy!”
Poppy kneeled and hugged her tightly. “You will be safe, my darling. And I will see you very soon.”
“I will be counting the hours,” she replied in a small voice.
Poppy embraced the child and quickly swiped the tears away with the back of her hand.
She felt the duke’s eyes on them and a wave of heat washed over her.
Jonathan helped Aurora into the carriage as she waved at Poppy.
The child immediately began chatting to the footman when they settled inside, and her earlier shyness was forgotten.
Poppy rose, finding Hector standing before her. They faced one another in the quiet space between the carriage and the orphanage. The air was thick with unspoken things.
“Have you changed your mind?” he asked abruptly.
She blinked. “About what?”
“About marrying me,” he said flatly.
Poppy took a moment to think about it. “My aunt and uncle are arranging the wedding breakfast as we speak.”
“That is not what I asked.” His tone was so cold that she shivered.
After a moment, she said, “No, I did not change my mind.”
A long silence followed, and her pulse quickened. She looked away, gathering her composure, then turned back to find him staring directly into her eyes. The duke’s gaze was intense and almost startling, as though he were trying to memorize something he could not clearly see.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Nothing,” he said too quickly. He shifted his attention toward the carriage, where Aurora’s small voice carried through the open window. Then he looked back at her. “I will see you at St. Alban’s Church… hopefully.”
She raised a brow. “Are you attempting to jest?”
He shrugged, the faintest lift of one shoulder, offering no reply.
Poppy shook her head, a reluctant smile touching her lips. “I will see you there… hopefully.”
For a moment, neither moved. The carriage waited, the horses stamped, and the nuns murmured blessings for them. Hector stood tall with his sight fixed upon her. She was not certain how blind he was, yet she felt truly seen whenever he looked at her.
He inclined his head. “Miss Norish.”
“Yes, Your Grace?”
“I shall see you in five days’ time, at the altar.”
The duke left her at the entrance of the orphanage with a frantic heartbeat and spiraling thoughts of what was to come for her and the two children she had grown to love.