Page 13 of A Duchess for his Family

“Yes,” Benedict nodded.

“I had supposed…” Lord Keswick cleared his throat. “That is, I imagined Your Grace had come regarding the western fence. My steward mentioned some discussion between the estates.”

“The fence may wait.”

Lady Keswick’s brows lifted by the smallest degree. A duke might neglect a fence, perhaps, but he was not expected to neglect an explanation.

Sophia’s gaze flickered to his and away again. She wore a morning gown of pale muslin, simple and becoming, with a ribbon at her waist and her brown hair arranged so neatly that Benedict could not help remembering it loosened beneath the oak, touched by sunlight and leaves.

The recollection was inconvenient, so he dismissed it.

“I wished to continue a conversation begun last evening,” he explained.

Sophia’s cheeks colored. “Of course, Your Grace.”

Lord Keswick looked from Benedict to his daughter. Lady Keswick looked at Sophia, then at Benedict, then at the tea service, as if it might provide the proper rules for a visit that arrived without consulting precedent.

“Well,” Lady Keswick recovered herself with admirable speed, “Sophia and I would be honored to take tea with Your Grace.”

Lord Keswick took the hint, bowed, and excused himself with a dignity that did not entirely conceal his curiosity. Benedict sat only when the ladies did. He accepted tea, though he did not want it.

For several moments, all was propriety. Nothing in the room suggested danger, and yet Benedict felt the same tautness in his chest he experienced when one of the girls went too near a spirited horse.

“Your Grace,” Sophia said in a voice that was gentle but prepared. “I am grateful that you thought of me with such kindness.”

Benedict set down his cup. “But you mean to refuse my request?”

Her eyes lifted, startled. “I… Yes. I believe I must.”

Sophia folded her hands in her lap. Benedict noticed a faint mark still visible near her wrist where the tree had scratched her. “It would not be proper for me to visit Rivermere Hall regularly. I am not the girls’ governess, nor their relation.”

“It would give people something to gossip about,” Lady Keswick added, with a polite inclination of her head. “And gossip, Your Grace, rarely contents itself with the truth when invention is more entertaining.”

Benedict could not deny it. He used propriety as armor for most of his life. He could hardly complain when another person recognized its weight.

“I see,” he said.

Sophia’s expression softened, and that was somehow worse than triumph. “I am sorry. I liked Amelia and Marjorie very much.”

The quiet sincerity of that reply made his decision harder rather than easier. He had spent the night considering alternatives. A companion could be hired. A governess could be found, though the girls already had tutors for their lessons. None of the alternatives satisfied him.

Amelia asked at breakfast whether Miss Norton would come soon. Marjorie announced that if Miss Norton did not come, she would write to her, though spelling was an oppressive system invented to discourage feeling. Benedict had looked at their hopeful faces and understood that his problem was not finding a woman. It was finding this one.

The room waited. Benedict looked at Sophia, at the careful modesty of her posture and the anxiety she tried so hard to hide. She had climbed a tree without hesitation. She had argued with him when fear made him unreasonable. She had spoken of children as though they were creatures to be understood, not merely managed.

If visits were improper, there was only one proper solution.

“Then I should like to marry you.”

The silence that followed was absolute. Lady Keswick’s teacup froze halfway to its saucer. Sophia stared at him as though he had ceased speaking English and begun reciting weather reports in Latin.

Benedict, who had faced creditors, magistrates, dying men, and furious tenants with less discomfort, felt the first true uncertainty of the morning. Perhaps he ought to have led more gently into it.

Sophia’s lips parted. No sound emerged.

Lady Keswick was the first to recover. “Your Grace.”

He inclined his head. “Lady Keswick.”