Chapter 9 #2
Poppy leaned her head back and let out the quietest breath as she tried not to laugh.
His Grace’s severity was still real, and a child’s fear of it could not be dismissed just because the evidence sounded harmless.
But what Aurora described was not cruelty.
It was solemnity pressed too hard upon a household that needed gentleness.
He cares about her.
“Aurora, did he shout at you?” Poppy asked gently.
She tapped her chin as if she were deep in thought. “N… No.”
“All right, and did he ever frighten you on purpose?”
Aurora picked at the edge of her sleeve. “N…no. H…H…He looks frightening.”
“That is not a nice thing to say about someone, Aurora.” She lightly scolded her.
“I am sorry.” Aurora looked down, ashamed of her behavior.
“Now, did he ever punish you?” she continued.
“He said good young ladies do not leave carrots under napkins,” Aurora mumbled.
“And did you do that?”
Aurora’s gaze became deeply interested in her sleeve.
Poppy bit the inside of her cheek. “I see.” She reached out and smoothed a hand over the child’s hair. “Aurora, listen to me. I know your uncle seems stern.”
“He does not like when I talk.” Aurora crossed her arms angrily and pouted.
Poppy chuckled softly. “I think he may not know what to do when you talk.”
“But you know what to do,” she said crossly.
“Yes, but I have had practice.” Poppy tucked a loose fold of skirt beneath her. “There is a difference between being unkind and being solemn. An unkind person wishes to hurt you. A solemn person is a kind person who may have simply forgotten how not to look scary on the outside.”
Aurora’s mouth twitched, and Poppy counted the twitch as a victory.
“He makes me n…nervous,” Aurora whispered.
“I know, he makes me nervous too,” she whispered back.
“If I am nervous, I—” she stopped. Her small fingers twisted together. “You know.”
Aurora looked up quickly. Even in the poor light, Poppy sensed the fear in the movement. “You must promise not to tell him.”
Poppy went still. His Grace had noticed the stutter immediately, but Aurora was staring at her as if the answer could alter the shape of the world.
“I will not betray your confidence,” she said.
“But he might not like broken talking.”
“Your talking is not broken, Aurora.” Poppy reached for her and held her hand.
Aurora looked doubtful. “Uncle Hector might think it is.”
“Then Uncle Hector would have to answer to me.”
That seemed to impress her.
Poppy softened her voice. “You need not be ashamed. When you are nervous, your words take longer to arrive. That is all. We shall wait for them.”
Aurora’s eyes lowered again. “Will you always be here?”
“As long as you need me.”
“That will be forever.”
“Then forever it shall be.” Poppy brushed her thumb over the girl’s knuckles. “We are family now, Aurora.”
“Are you my mother now?” Aurora looked up with a troubled expression.
Poppy felt the hesitation but did not press. The word mother had hovered over her, and Aurora had lost too much to be grateful on command for a replacement, no matter how lovingly offered.
“You do not have to call me anything you are not ready to call me,” Poppy said honestly and gently. “I can simply be Poppy.”
The child’s relief was immediate, though she tried to hide it. “I like Poppy.”
“So do I.”
Aurora giggled, a small sound quickly covered by both hands when the closet door suddenly opened, and someone yelled.
“I found them, Your Grace!”
Poppy had no time to compose herself before His Grace appeared behind the maid. He filled the doorway without stepping fully into it. His pale gray eyes were directed toward the closet, and he frowned.
Poppy looked up at him and said, “Your Grace, you really must feel the muscles in your forehead one day. They are achieving what most men require a stable master and two grooms to accomplish.”
The maid made a strangled sound, and the duke’s frown deepened.
Aurora shrank against Poppy. “I d-did not mean to be b-bad.”
Poppy’s amusement died as His Grace’s grip tightened slightly on his cane. His eyes moved toward the child, then away again, and his mouth remained in a hard line.
“I would speak with the duchess in private,” he finally said.
The duchess. The title, spoken in that emotionless voice, felt less like an honor than a summons.
Poppy climbed out first, awkwardly but without apology. She helped Aurora after her, then kneeled to straighten the child’s sleeve. “Go with the maid for a moment.”
Aurora clutched her hand. “Poppy—”
“I am not leaving.”
“But—”
“I promised.”
Aurora looked toward His Grace, then back at Poppy.
“Go on.” Poppy coaxed her and squeezed her fingers.
The maid, now subdued, led Aurora away, who glanced back twice before disappearing behind the corridor.
Poppy rose and faced the duke, who stood several feet away, posture rigid, and cane planted beside him.
He did not look into her eyes. His gaze was fixed somewhere near her shoulder, then shifted to the wall beyond, and returned to the vague space between them.
“Aurora is frightened,” Poppy said before he could begin.
“That does not excuse her hiding in a cupboard.” His frown deepened further.
“It was a closet.”
His jaw ticked with annoyance at her correction. “Do you find this amusing, Poppy?”
She shuddered at the sound of her name on his lips.
“No. I do not. But I did find Aurora frightened, and I find you displeased, and I find myself unsurprised by both.”
His eyes narrowed faintly, though still not upon hers. “I asked to speak with you, not to be assessed.”
“Then speak.” The words came sharper than prudence allowed.
The duke’s cane tapped once against the floor, not loudly, but enough to mark restraint. “Young ladies should not be encouraged to hide in cupboards.”
For a ridiculous moment, Poppy was pleased that he had said it without mockery.
Young ladies. He had given them dignity even while condemning their conduct.
Perhaps I shall not mention that it is a closet again.
“Your Grace, may I remind you that these girls are like your daughters now and you need to make an effort for them.” A tense silence followed.
Poppy was starting to wonder why he refused to look at her.
The duke cleared his throat and spoke sternly. “I brought you here to care for the children, not to teach me how to live.”
“I am just trying to help. And you cannot merely provide rooms and meals and rules and call that effort.”
His eyes shifted past her, unfocused and pale, avoiding the direct challenge of her gaze. “You presume a great deal for someone who has known my household for one day.”
“I have known the children longer.”
“And so you believe yourself entitled to instruct me?” The quietness of his voice did more than anger would have.
For a moment, Poppy could not speak.
“From now on,” he continued coldly, “I think it best that our interactions remain at a minimum.”
She stared at him, but he did not stare back.
“Unless it concerns the children,” His Grace said, “there is no reason for us to spend time together.”
His words should have relieved her, but instead she felt disappointed.
Perhaps it felt that way because her own husband chose to retreat from her. It should not have surprised her, even though it was a loveless marriage.
Poppy lifted her chin. “As Your Grace wishes.”
For the first time, his eyes came near her face, though not quite landing on her eyes. Her breath caught as he seemed to study her.
“Good,” he said and walked away, leaving her alone in the study.