Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Aweek had passed since the wedding ceremony before Poppy understood that time in a great house did not move as it did elsewhere.
At her uncle’s home, days had arranged themselves plainly. Mornings meant breakfast with familiar voices, afternoons meant calls or sewing or the small economies of family life, evening meant candles and conversations with her aunt and Georgia.
Here, beneath the duke’s roof, hours disappeared into duties.
Linen arrived folded. Fires were laid. Tea appeared at the proper temperature.
Doors opened and closed soundlessly, and the household continued around her with the disciplined motion of a clock whose mechanism she could hear but not yet see.
Julia’s letters made the speed of it unmistakable.
You have been gone a week already, her sister had written, as if Poppy might have misplaced the fact.
I hope they are not making you miserable. You must tell me everything, though I know you will soften anything unpleasant before putting it on paper.
Poppy had read the line twice, smiling despite herself. Julia knew her too well. Or perhaps all sisters knew where the other concealed herself.
The second letter had arrived the following morning; Poppy had invited her and Georgia to meet the girls, and they happily accepted. Julia had met the girls only once, at the orphanage, and briefly at that. Her own baby now filled her days so completely that Poppy could not begrudge the absence.
“Ah,” Mrs. Elizabeth, the nanny, said, laughing under her breath when Poppy entered the room. “There is Her Grace, then. I am quite forgotten.”
Poppy crossed the room before she could think better of showing such eagerness. “Never forgotten,” she said. “Only temporarily replaced.”
Princess made a sound low in her throat, urgent and delighted. “Ma. Ma—um.”
Poppy stopped in her tracks a little too quickly.
Mrs. Elizabeth did not appear to notice. She shifted Princess upright, supporting her beneath the arms. “Come then, little one. You may greet Her Grace properly.”
Princess lunged toward her with such confidence that the nanny had to tighten her hold.
“Careful,” Poppy murmured, though the warning was more for herself than the child. She took Princess into her lap, and the baby immediately seized a fold of her gown with one hand and a strand of her dark blonde hair with the other.
“That is not for pulling,” Poppy said softly.
Princess grinned and pulled.
The nanny began to apologize, but Poppy only laughed and untangled the tiny fingers one by one. “She likes to test whether people are attached to all their parts.”
“She is lively today,” the nanny said. “She was cross this morning. Would not settle after her milk.”
“Did you try turning her toward the window?” Poppy asked. “Not too bright, but enough for her to see movement. She watches light when she is fighting sleep.”
The nanny tilted her head. “I have rocked her by the hearth.”
“That helps when she is cold. But when she is over-tired, warmth only makes her angrier.” Poppy adjusted Princess against her shoulder and began a slow patting rhythm. “Here. Like this. Not too quickly.”
Princess’s grip loosened.
The nanny watched with interest. “I had not thought of that.”
“She taught me,” Poppy said. “I only paid attention.”
The baby’s lashes lowered, then rose again as if she resented the betrayal of her own body. Poppy smiled and bent her head close. “Oh, I know. Sleep is a grave insult.”
Princess answered, “Um.”
“Yes, precisely.”
Mrs. Elizabeth laughed. “You speak as though you understand her.”
“Not always. But she repeats herself until I do.”
Poppy showed her the little game next, because Princess, having refused sleep once more, had begun to wriggle with renewed purpose. She sat the child on the rug and covered her own face with both hands. Princess stilled. Poppy waited one breath, then another, before parting her fingers.
“There she is,” she whispered.
Princess gave a delighted squeal.
Again Poppy hid. Again she appeared, this time from one side.
The baby rocked forward on her hands, laughing so hard she hiccupped.
Poppy forgot the size of the house, the title that did not yet fit, the husband whose presence made rooms colder merely by entering them.
She existed only in this small exchange.
“She does that with you as she does with no one else,” the nanny said.
Poppy kept her face hidden for a moment longer than necessary. “It is only because I am foolish enough to repeat myself indefinitely.”
“No,” Mrs. Elizabeth said. “It is because she knows you.”
Poppy lowered her hands, and Princess slapped both palms against the rug. “Ma! Um. Ma.”
Poppy felt something in herself draw taut, as if a thread had been pulled from a place too deep to name as Princess reached for her. The nanny’s expression softened.
“There now,” she said gently. “I believe she has made up her mind. She already thinks of you as her mother.”
Poppy gathered Princess before the child could see her face.
Her mother?
The word did not belong to her. Poppy pressed her lips to Princess’s soft hair and closed her eyes, and Princess’s fingers curled against her bodice with absolute trust.
“I should let you continue,” her voice quivered with emotion. “She will never settle if I keep exciting her.”
Mrs. Elizabeth stood at once. “Your Grace, I did not mean—”
“I know.” Poppy placed Princess back into the woman’s arms, taking a moment to free the child’s hand from her sleeve. “You said nothing wrong.”
Princess protested immediately, face crumpling.
Poppy touched her cheek. “I will come back,” she whispered. “I always do.”
“Ma,” Princess mumbled.
Poppy smiled, then turned before the tears could make liars of her composure and left the nursery as quietly as she could.
The corridor outside was cooler as Poppy walked only a short distance before stopping near a tall window. The glass held a dim reflection of her face. She drew a breath and let it out slowly.
It was foolish to cry because a baby had made a sound that might have been a word. It was more foolish to pretend the sound had not entered her like a claim.
“Your Grace?”
Poppy gasped and turned at once.
Mrs. Patterson stood a respectful few paces away, keys at her waist, posture straight without stiffness, and a kind expression.
“I beg your pardon,” Mrs. Patterson said. “I did not mean to startle you.”
“You did not.” Poppy touched lightly beneath one eye and wiped the tear away. “I was only taking a moment.”
“So, I see,” she said kindly. “How is Aurora after yesterday’s incident?” Poppy appreciated the staff’s concern.
“She is much better now, actually; she is back to her normal, adventurous self already.”
“Oh, dear.” Mrs. Patterson shook her head.
Her gentle tone nearly undid Poppy.
Mrs. Patterson stepped closer. “They are both so fond of you.”
Poppy looked back toward the nursery door. “Princess is fond of anyone who lifts her when she asks.”
“No, Your Grace. She is fond of you.”
Poppy had no answer. In the background, she heard the hammering of wood and stone. The study was still under renovation, according to the staff. Poppy hoped that they were not lying to her, but how could she expect that from the duke’s loyal staff?
The housekeeper let the silence rest, then said, “I hope you will not think me impertinent if I say that many of us are glad you came here.”
Poppy turned to her fully. “Many of you?”
“Yes, the staff and I.”
“That is generous of you to say. Thank you, Mrs. Patterson.” Poppy felt touched by the sentiment and a little guilty.
“It is the truth.” Mrs. Patterson’s hands folded at her waist. “This house has had need of gentleness.”
The words were mild, but their implication was not. Poppy studied the woman’s face, searching for complaint, but found only care.
“I am still learning how to be of use here.”
“You have already been of use, my lady.” Mrs. Patterson seemed to notice more than Poppy wished. “Forgive me,” she continued. “I do not mean that your worth depends on what you do.”
Poppy’s gaze lifted sharply.
A small smile touched the housekeeper’s mouth and vanished. “I have been in service a long while, Your Grace. One comes to recognize certain habits.”
Poppy looked away first. Her thoughts drifted toward His Grace, who directed Aurora out of the maze.
She saw the love in his expression, and she would remember it always.
She would also remember the way he stared at her, as if he had just seen her for the first time.
It made her skin flush just thinking about it again.
Below them, somewhere in the unseen workings of the house, a door closed, and footsteps passed at the far end of the corridor.
Mrs. Patterson broke the silence again. “His Grace is not as terrible as he appears.”
Poppy went still. The housekeeper did not hurry to fill the silence, and her restraint gave the words weight.
“I would not presume to tell you what to think of your husband,” she continued.
“You will know him in your own way, in time. But I have known him since he was young, and I can say that he has always been fair to those beneath his authority. More than fair, when he could manage it without making a display.”
Poppy thought of the duke’s cold profile, the severity of his mouth, the way his blindness seemed not to lessen his command of a room but sharpen it. “He does not seem a man eager to be thanked.”
“He is not.” Mrs. Patterson’s tone warmed faintly. “Which is why most do not know when he has helped them.”
Poppy said nothing, and the housekeeper took that as permission.
“There was a groom once whose mother fell ill. His Grace arranged for the man’s wages to continue while he went home, though the steward put it in the accounts another way.
A kitchen maid’s brother needed a position; His Grace found one through an acquaintance and never spoke of it again.
When disputes arise, he hears them. Truly hears them.
” She stopped to think. “He can be severe. I will not deny that. But he does not enjoy cruelty.”
Poppy absorbed this with the caution of someone accepting a fragile object. She did not wish to be persuaded too easily. A woman could make a prison of hope if she furnished it with excuses.
Yet Mrs. Patterson’s loyalty did not seem blind. It had the texture of long evidence.
“The children changed matters,” the housekeeper continued, and at that, Poppy’s full attention stayed on her. “Aurora and Princess?”
“Yes. He did not know they existed until about a month ago.”
Poppy had known the rough outline of it, but not from anyone who spoke about it with certainty.
“He had no idea?” she asked curiously.
“None, Your Grace. Whatever else may be said, he was not neglecting them by choice.” Mrs. Patterson’s face tightened, the closest she had come to open feeling.
“When he learned of them, everything in this house changed. He began searching at once. Sent inquiries. Pressed men who did not wish to be pressed. There was no delay in his search to find them.”
Poppy remembered Aurora at the orphanage, small and watchful, trying to be brave in a world that had already asked too much of her. She remembered Princess’s thin cry, the way the baby had clung to life throughout her fever.
“He might have ignored it.” Mrs. Patterson sniffled, and Poppy felt her own eyes tear up. “Many men in his position would have. Children are inconvenient when they arrive with scandal and need. Especially children no one expected him to claim.”
Poppy looked down at her hands. Her fingers had twisted together without her noticing.
“But he did claim them,” she whispered.
Mrs. Patterson nodded. “Before he ever saw them, before he knew whether they would bring him anything but trouble, he prepared this house and searched for them.”
Poppy had spent days arranging the duke in her mind.
There was his coldness and the unsettling precision with which he spoke.
She had not known where to place kindness.
She had not been sure there was any to place until she saw him embracing his niece in the maze and heard his gentle instructions to her.
Now Mrs. Patterson had handed her several small facts, plain and unadorned, and they disturbed the arrangement entirely.
“A man could be harsh and still just,” she said softly, offering a smile to the elderly woman who smiled back.
For one brief, unwelcome moment, Poppy imagined what he might be if the ice in him thinned so that the man beneath might be visible. She imagined his voice without its edge. His hand extended to comfort her, not from duty but from choice. She shivered as she imagined his warmth against her cheek.
The thought was so intimate that she rejected it at once.
“That is good to know. Thank you, Mrs. Patterson.” She heard how careful she sounded.
Poppy drew herself back into the present.
“You are very welcome, Your Grace.”
“I have invited my sister and cousin for tea tomorrow,” she said after a moment. “I hope that does not inconvenience the household.”
A flicker of approval passed through the housekeeper’s eyes. “Not at all. We will see everything prepared.”
“Julia has only met the girls once. At the orphanage.” Poppy hesitated. “Her own child occupies her almost entirely now, but I think she will be glad to see them again.”
“And glad to see you, I expect.”
Poppy smiled faintly. “Yes. I think so.”
From the nursery came a muffled sound. The cry rose, then quieted under the nanny’s murmured care.
Poppy listened until it settled. Then she stepped away from the window.
“My Princess is calling,” she said with a heavy heart as the housekeeper smiled knowingly at her before she bade her farewell, and they both parted ways.