Page 18 of A Duchess for his Family

They had known each other since school, where Nathaniel escaped punishment through charm, and Benedict accepted punishment even when innocent because he considered arguing inefficient. At Eton, Nathaniel once smuggled a litter of kittens into the Latin master’s desk. Benedict discovered the scheme, disapproved of it, and then took responsibility for the kittens when Nathaniel forgot to feed them.

Their friendship had survived youth, inheritance, grief, and the steady proof that they were temperamentally unsuited to share a carriage for more than two hours. It endured because Nathaniel laughed where Benedict brooded and Benedict stayed where Nathaniel wandered. Each, though he would have denied it under oath, often saved the other from becoming unbearable.

“It is for the girls,” Benedict explained.

Nathaniel’s expression softened, though he kept his tone easy. “Ah.” He sat forward, elbows on knees. “And Miss Norton?”

“What of her?”

“Is she eighty? Cross-eyed? In possession of a laugh that frightens horses?”

Benedict gave him a flat look.

Nathaniel grinned. “Come, old boy. You’re asking a lady to become duchess, mother, moral guide, household ornament, and chief defender against Marjorie’s experiments with gravity. Surely a man may inquire whether she is also pleasant to look at.”

“That does not matter.” The answer came too quickly.

Nathaniel’s grin widened with wicked delight. “So she is.”

Benedict reached for the ledger again, then abandoned the attempt. “She is suitable.”

“Suitable,” Nathaniel repeated. “A romantic declaration. Shall I have it embroidered upon the wedding linen?”

“She is kind, sensible and brave when necessary. The girls trust her.”

“All excellent qualities. None of which prevent a lady from being pretty.”

Benedict looked toward the window, where pale afternoon light lay across the lawns. He had no intention of discussing Sophia Norton’s appearance. It was entirely irrelevant. The softness of her brown hair when it escaped its pins, the gentle intelligence of her hazel eyes, the way color rose in her cheeks before courage followed… None of these things had any bearing on the matter.

“She is… not disagreeable,” he admitted.

Nathaniel laughed outright. “My dear fellow, from you that is practically poetry.”

Benedict frowned. “I require someone who will care for Amelia and Marjorie. Someone permanent.”

Nathaniel’s merriment faded a little. “And you believe Miss Norton can be that person?”

“I believe she may already be that person, in some measure. The girls ask for her constantly.”

“And you?”

Benedict’s eyes lifted. “What about me?”

“Do you ask for her constantly?”

“I do not ask for anyone constantly.”

“True. You once wanted a physician and sent a note saying only, ‘Come if convenient.’”

“I had a fever.”

“You nearly died of stubbornness.”

“I recovered.”

“Unfortunately for all who enjoy peace.”

Benedict almost smiled. The sensation was so unfamiliar in the middle of such worry that he suppressed it at once.