Page 17 of A Duchess for his Family

“And the gardens,” Marjorie added.

“Under supervision,” he frowned.

Sophia’s answer caught somewhere between caution and longing. Her mother supplied it before either could prevail.

“We would be delighted, Your Grace.”

Sophia turned to her, startled. Her mother smiled with perfect innocence and not the slightest remorse.

The Duke bowed. “Then I shall send a carriage tomorrow.”

Sophia’s heart gave a small, helpless leap.

Amelia looked radiant. Marjorie looked triumphant. The Duke looked merely composed, but his eyes lingered on Sophia for one quiet moment before he turned away.

After they had gone, the drawing room felt emptier than it had any right to. Sophia looked down and saw that Amelia had left a ribbon on the sofa. She picked it up gently, smoothing the pale satin between her fingers.

She spent days trying to persuade herself that she had to refuse.

Now, for the first time, she feared she might not wish to.

“Is it true?”

The door to Benedict’s study opened with such force that the nearest candle flame leaned sharply sideways. Benedict looked up from the estate ledger, his pen still in hand. He had dismissed three tenants, two letters, one steward, and a headache that morning, causing considerably less disruption than Nathaniel Harcourt did merely by entering a room.

“Nathaniel,” Benedict sighed, in the tone of a man who had long ago discovered that surprise was wasted on certain persons. “Good afternoon.”

Nathaniel Harcourt, the Duke of Redgrave and the most cheerful nuisance in three counties, shut the door behind him with a flourish. He was tall, fair, and handsome in the careless way of men who did not deserve to be forgiven as often as they were. He dressed with an elegance that suggested he had never met a tailor he did not charm into indulgence. His blue eyes shone with unholy interest.

“Do not good afternoon me. Is it true?”

Benedict lowered his pen. “Is what true?”

Nathaniel stared at him. “The marriage, of course.”

Benedict closed the ledger with deliberate care. A faint sigh escaped him. “I hoped it would remain a secret at least until I was certain myself whether it was true or not.”

For the first time since entering, Nathaniel appeared genuinely silenced. It lasted three seconds.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean Miss Norton has not accepted me yet.”

Nathaniel straightened slowly, one hand pressed to his heart in theatrical astonishment. “Good heavens. You proposed marriage to a lady before knowing whether she would accept you?”

“That is generally how proposals work.”

“Not for you. You do not generally propose anything without six documents, two witnesses, and a contingency plan in case of rain.” Nathaniel dropped into the nearest chair. “This is magnificent.”

“It is not magnificent. It is practical.”

“Ah. Worse and worse. I have always dreaded the day you would make matrimony sound like drainage.”

Benedict leaned back. “Have you ridden here merely to insult me?”

“Principally, yes. Also to learn whether my oldest friend has lost his reason in an interesting manner.”

The words were light, but Benedict heard the affection beneath them. Nathaniel was one of the few men who could speak to him without caution, and perhaps the only one who took pleasure in doing so.