Page 135 of A Duchess for his Family

“Has it?”

“No.”

The answer came instantly. Sophia stared into the fire. Keswick had not given her distance from Benedict. It had merely stripped away everything except her thoughts of him. She missed his voice, his ridiculous solemnity over household matters, his habit of frowning at the newspaper and the way he tried not to laugh when Marjorie said something outrageous. She even missed his rules.

Sophia had spent four days trying to escape pain and had discovered that pain traveled remarkably well.

Her mother sat quietly for another moment. Then she released Sophia’s hand.

“I have one question.”

Sophia looked at her warily. “That sounds ominous.”

“It is very simple.”

“Simple questions are often the worst kind.”

Her mother smiled faintly. “Perhaps.” She adjusted the sleeve of her dressing gown. “If the Duke arrived at that door tomorrow morning and asked you to come home, what would you say?”

Sophia stopped breathing. Her gaze went to the door. For one foolish second, she imagined him there, tall, grave and tired, perhaps, standing on the threshold with one hand upon the frame, asking her to return to Rivermere.

Her heart responded before her mind did, with a painful, immediate leap. Sophia opened her mouth, but nothing came. Her mother did not rescue her. She did not repeat the question. She simply waited.

Sophia stared at the closed door. Her eyes burned. The answer was there, so obvious that speaking it became unnecessary.

She would go. Of course she would go.

She would be angry. She would be frightened. She would still have no idea what their marriage might become. But she would go, because Rivermere was home now.

It would not be merely because of Amelia and Marjorie, nor even because of Benedict, but because somewhere along the way, Sophia had built a life there. Her books were there, her flowers, the girls’ laughter, Admiral’s ridiculous fortress, her place at the breakfast table and Benedict… always Benedict.

Sophia closed her eyes. “Oh.”

Her mother smiled sadly. “Yes.”

“I have made a mistake.”

“I did not say that.”

“I ran away.”

“You took several days to think.”

“I left him a note.”

“That was perhaps less impressive.”

Sophia looked at her.

Her mother shrugged delicately. “I am your mother. I am permitted one criticism.”

A laugh escaped Sophia. This one became a tear. She wiped it away impatiently.

“I should have stayed.”

“Perhaps.”

“I should have spoken to him again.”