Page 14 of A Duchess for his Family

“Did I understand you correctly?”

“You did.”

Sophia finally found her voice, though it came out breathless. “You… wish to marry me?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” The question was so immediate, so unadorned by vanity, that something in Benedict’s chest tightened.

He chose his answer with care. “Amelia and Marjorie need a permanent female figure in their lives. They have lost too much already to be offered affection that may vanish whenever propriety becomes inconvenient.”

Sophia looked down at her hands.

“They spoke of you again this morning,” he continued. “Amelia, who is cautious with strangers, asked whether you liked novels with happy endings. Marjorie, who is cautious with nothing, declared that you were brave enough for any adventure and sensible enough to improve one. They are fond of you. More importantly, they trust you.”

A flush rose slowly into Sophia’s face. “Your Grace, they scarcely know me.”

“Children judge quickly.”

“They may judge wrongly.”

“So may adults. We generally take longer and are more pleased with ourselves for it.”

To his surprise, Lady Keswick made a small sound that might, in another woman, have become a laugh.

“I would make a terrible duchess,” Sophia added.

“I am not looking for a perfect duchess.” He leaned forward slightly, with his hands clasped between his knees. “I am looking for the right woman for Amelia and Marjorie.”

“And you think that is me?” she whispered.

“I think it may be.”

He had meant the words to be measured, practical, and reassuring. Instead, they had entered the room with a gravity he had not intended. Sophia’s eyes met his, wide and uncertain, and for one strange moment he saw the ballroom lights on her hair and the astonishment on her face again, as he had chosen her before every watching lady.

Lady Keswick set down her cup very carefully. “This is a serious proposal, Your Grace.”

“I do not make unserious ones.”

“No,” she nodded. “I would not imagine that you do.”

Sophia rose suddenly, then seemed to realize she had nowhere to go. Her fingers pressed against the back of the chair. “I am not accomplished in society. I do not know how to command a great household. I am more comfortable in a library than a ballroom. I… should disappoint you almost immediately.”

Benedict stood as well. “You overestimate how much I require of society and underestimate how much I value kindness.”

Her eyes shone with confusion and something that looked almost like fear. He understood that. He was asking too much, too quickly, and in his usual manner had mistaken decisiveness for mercy.

So he softened his voice. “I am not asking for an answer today. I ask only that you think about it,” he urged. “Consider what you would require, what assurances you would want, and whether the idea is entirely intolerable.”

“Entirely intolerable?” she repeated faintly.

“I should prefer not entirely.”

Again, that almost-smile threatened and vanished from her face.

Benedict bowed to Lady Keswick, then to Sophia. “I shall leave you to your thoughts.”

At the door, he paused despite himself. Sophia stood beside the tea table, pale, bewildered, and lovely in a way he was determined not to examine. Behind her, morning light touched the violets painted on the cups, making the room seem far too delicate for the proposal he had placed there.