Page 119 of A Duchess for his Family

“Are you going to your study?” she asked.

“Yes.”

Sophia nodded. Benedict hesitated. She saw it. His hand moved at his side before stilling again.

For one heartbeat, hope rose inside her. Perhaps he would say something. Perhaps he would explain. Perhaps he would look at her the way he had in the garden and all these miserable days would become only some misunderstanding they would laugh about together.

Instead, he asked her, “Was there something you required?”

The hope collapsed so swiftly it almost hurt physically.

Required.

As though she had stopped him regarding household accounts.

“No.”

His eyes searched hers then. Sophia lowered her gaze before he could discover anything there.

“I only wondered.”

“I see.”

Another silence followed. The corridor seemed suddenly much too bright. The afternoon sun warmed the floorboards and caught dust drifting lazily in the air. Somewhere below the stairs, china clinked on a tray. A clock marked the quarter hour. Everything in Rivermere continued normally. Sophia felt foolish for expecting the house to notice that something inside her had begun to ache.

Benedict stepped aside. “I shall not keep you.”

She looked up. He meant to let her pass. Once, he would have walked with her. The realization was so small and so painful that Sophia almost laughed. Instead, she smiled. She had years of practice smiling when she wished not to be examined too closely.

“Of course.”

Sophia moved past him. She smelled the familiar clean scent of his coat as she passed, mixed with leather and the faint trace of smoke from his study. Her shoulder came within inches of his chest. He did not touch her. Her entire body noticed.

She reached the end of the corridor before his voice came behind her.

“Sophia.”

She stopped. Hope was a humiliating creature. No matter how often one tried to discipline it, it returned instantly when called.

Sophia turned. Benedict remained where she had left him. For one moment, his expression looked strained, almost unhappy. Then his features settled.

“Will you tell Amelia I shall come to the nursery before dinner?”

Sophia stared at him. Something inside her went very quiet.

“Yes,” she said.

“Thank you.”

She nodded, then turned away again. This time he did not call her back. Sophia walked to the library with perfect composure. She entered, closed the door, and placed the book upon the nearest table.

Only then did she realize it was not a library book at all. It was hers.

She stared down at it. Her vision blurred.

“Oh, how ridiculous.”

She laughed once, though the sound broke in the middle. Sophia pressed her fingertips beneath her eyes before any tears could fall. There was nothing to cry about. Her husband had been polite to her. Her husband was busy. Her husband promised her from the beginning that theirs was not to be a marriage of romance or expectation.