Page 21 of A Duchess for his Family

Marjorie grinned. “I knew she would like it.”

Amelia looked pleased in a quieter way. “There are more books in the east cabinet, too. Uncle Benedict says we may read from the lower shelves without asking, but not the upper ones unless Mr. Hale approves.”

“Mr. Hale is our tutor,” Marjorie clarified. “He disapproves often.”

Sophia laughed softly. Across the room, the Duke spoke with her mother about a portrait over the mantel, but his attention strayed toward them more than once. Each time it did, Marjorie straightened a little. Amelia lowered her voice. The change was slight, yet Sophia felt it like a thread pulled taut.

The girls loved him. That was plain. Amelia looked toward him for reassurance. Marjorie looked toward him for permission, even when she pretended not to want it. But they were careful around him in a way that touched Sophia more painfully than fear would have done.

They did not shrink from him. They trusted him, depended upon him, adored him even. Yet some part of them learned that laughter must not become too loud, questions must not become too inconvenient, and sadness must be tucked away before it troubled him. It was not neglect. That made it sadder. It was love disciplined into silence.

Amelia took Sophia’s hand and drew her toward a low shelf. “I thought you might like this one. It has drawings of birds.”

“Birds are dull unless they are stealing things,” Marjorie spoke wisely.

“Birds don’t steal.”

“Magpies do.”

Sophia accepted the book Amelia offered, its cover worn soft from use. “Perhaps birds are like people. Some are quiet, some are adventurous, and some are unjustly accused by their sisters.”

Amelia smiled, delighted. Marjorie laughed as well. The sound carried a little too brightly across the library. It made the Duke look up. At once, Amelia’s smile faded into composure. Marjorie pressed her lips together, though her eyes still danced. Sophia looked between them and felt something inside her ache.

Her mother leaned near while the girls argued in whispers over whether robins could be vain. “A beautiful library. Think how comfortable you would be here.”

“Mama, please.”

“And the girls plainly need you.”

Sophia turned a page too quickly. “That is not a reason to marry a duke.”

“It is one of the better ones I have heard.”

Sophia could not answer, for Amelia was watching her with hopeful eyes.

After the library, they were shown the music room, the small gallery, and the breakfast parlor, where the twins took most of their meals. Everywhere, Rivermere was elegant and orderly. Fires burned at the proper height. Clocks ticked with sober authority. Footmen opened doors before one had quite decided to approach them. It was a house managed with excellent care. It did not feel like a house where children had often been permitted to forget themselves.

In the morning room, Marjorie showed Sophia a collection of pressed leaves, half of which appeared to have been gathered during forbidden expeditions.

“This one is from the south lawn,” she pointed. “This one is from near the stables. This one is from a place I am not supposed to mention.”

“Then perhaps you ought not mention it,” Amelia urged.

“I did not name it. I only gave it mystery.”

Sophia bent over the page, smiling. “A mystery is sometimes more dangerous than a name.”

“I like danger,” Marjorie grinned.

The Duke, from near the window, sighed. “We are aware.”

Marjorie immediately became interested in the ribbon of her sleeve. Sophia looked at the Duke. His expression was stern, but beneath it lay weariness and fear… always fear. He was not cold. He was a man attempting to build walls high enough that grief could not climb over them. The tragedy was that children, unlike grief, needed open doors.

When tea was served, Amelia sat beside Sophia and asked whether heroines ought always to be beautiful. Marjorie wanted to know whether a lady could be both a heroine and a pirate, if she behaved politely at dinner. Sophia answered both questions with all the seriousness they deserved. Amelia glowed under the attention. Marjorie forgot to be careful and leaned against Sophia’s knee.

Sophia’s hand lifted, almost without permission, and smoothed a curl from the child’s temple. Marjorie went still for a heartbeat. Then she settled closer. Sophia looked down, startled by the child’s simple trust. Across the room, the Duke had gone very quiet.

Her mother’s whisper brushed her ear. “You would be foolish to refuse him.”