Page 130 of A Duchess for his Family

“Cats rarely require battlements.”

“You cannot know that.”

“I can with reasonable certainty.”

Marjorie pointed toward the far corner. A collection of cushions, two overturned footstools, a blanket, and what appeared to be one of Benedict’s missing account boxes had been arranged into a structure of questionable engineering. Admiral slept in the middle of it.

“He has not used the battlements,” Amelia admitted.

“He is resting after inspection,” Marjorie explained.

“Has he approved them?”

“He has not complained.”

Benedict looked at the kitten, who was asleep on his back with all four paws curled loosely in the air.

“A demanding commander.”

Marjorie laughed. Amelia did, too. Then, they began telling him about the rest of their day. Amelia finished a book and disliked the ending. Marjorie discovered a frog near the kitchen garden and named it Wellington. Amelia pointed out that one could not know whether the frog was male. Marjorie said great military leaders were not generally chosen according to amphibian gender.

Benedict ate half a biscuit before realizing he had taken one. He listened. He asked questions. At one point, Marjorie persuaded him to inspect the fortress. At another, Amelia produced her drawing of the old fountain and asked whether the proportions were correct.

Benedict sat upon the rug. He did not remember deciding to. Marjorie climbed over his legs to retrieve a pencil. Amelia leaned against his shoulder while explaining why one of the towers in her drawing looked crooked.

Benedict found himself laughing. Marjorie looked delighted.

“There. You did it again.”

“Did what?”

“Laughed.”

“I have laughed before.”

“Not very often.”

“That is an exaggeration.”

Amelia considered him. “A little.”

Benedict glanced between them. The room looked different from the nursery he remembered after their mother died. Then, silence had settled into every corner. Toys had remained untouched. Amelia apologized whenever she cried. Marjorie had refused to cry at all. Benedict had sat beside their beds and promised himself he would keep them safe. He had thought safety would be enough.

Now there were biscuits before supper, an absurd cat fortress, a frog called Wellington, drawings covering the floor and laughter.

Sophia had not created their happiness by herself. He knew that. But she had somehow given all of them permission to let happiness become ordinary again.

She encouraged Amelia to speak rather than apologize. She taught Marjorie that adventure did not have to mean recklessness. She taught him to⁠—

The door suddenly opened, and Nathaniel leaned against the frame. He surveyed the scene. His gaze settled upon the tray. Then Benedict. Then the tray again.

“I beg your pardon,” he said. “Have I entered the correct house?”

Marjorie jumped up. “Uncle Nathaniel!”

Nathaniel opened his arms just in time for her to collide with him. Amelia followed, considerably more gracefully.

“You came!”