Page 31 of A Duchess for his Family

Jenny blinked. “I don’t understand, miss.”

Nor did Sophia, not entirely. She only knew that the gown felt like being seen too clearly. It made her feel uncertain, exposed, and almost beautiful, which was a dangerous sensation for a woman who agreed to a practical marriage and meant to remain sensible.

“I have perfectly suitable gowns,” she pointed out with more firmness than she felt. “The blue muslin will do very well.”

Jenny looked at the pearl silk, then at Sophia. “Very well, miss.”

Sophia went to her writing desk before she lost her courage. She took out paper, dipped her pen, and composed the note with painstaking politeness.

Your Grace,

I am much obliged by your generous thoughtfulness, but I cannot accept so costly a gift. I possess several gowns perfectly suitable for Lady Briarwood’s assembly and would feel more comfortable wearing one of my own. I hope you will not mistake my refusal for ingratitude, for I am sensible of the kindness intended.

Respectfully,

Sophia Norton

She sanded the note, folded it, and sealed it before hesitation could return. Jenny replaced the gown in its tissue with an expression approaching mourning.

When the box was carried away, Sophia watched it go with a strange tightness in her chest. She told herself she had done the proper thing. And yet, when the door closed behind the maid, and the chamber became quiet once more, Sophia looked down at the note from Rivermere still resting upon her dressing table.

If it pleases you.

She pressed her fingers lightly over the words. Then, annoyed with herself, she turned away and told Jenny the blue muslin would need pressing.

Miss Norton,

I fear my gift caused you some discomfort…

Benedict stared at the sentence until the ink began to shine too brightly beneath the afternoon light. It was a poor sentence. Worse, it was inaccurate. He drew his pen through it.

The study smelled of sealing wax, leather, and the faint smoke of a fire that had burned too low. Rain whispered against the tall windows, soft enough to be soothing had Benedict possessed any inclination to be soothed. Upon the corner of his desk sat the large ivory box which had returned from Keswick that morning. The ribbon had been retied with perfect care. That offended him more than if Sophia had knotted it in fury.

He began again, and at that very moment, the door opened without a knock. Nathaniel entered, removed his wet gloves, and stopped at the sight of the box. Under one arm, he carried a leather portfolio from Rivermere’s estate office. Two cottages on the northern edge of Redgrave had flooded in the week’s rain, and he had ridden over to borrow the plans for the drainage work Benedict had commissioned the previous spring. Nathaniel treated most of his troubles as entertainment, but he never made light of his tenants’ troubles.

“For me?” he asked, visibly touched. “Benedict, you should not have.”

“It is a gown.”

Nathaniel’s expression brightened. “Then you have surpassed yourself. I have always felt pale silk would bring out my eyes.”

Benedict set down his pen. “Must you enter every room determined to worsen it?”

“No. Sometimes it occurs without effort.” Nathaniel crossed to the desk and examined the box. “A lady’s gown in your study, returned with the ribbon intact, while you compose a letter with the expression of a man negotiating peace after an avoidable war.”

“There was no war.”

“A skirmish, then.”

Benedict leaned back in his chair. “I sent Miss Norton a gown for Lady Briarwood’s assembly.”

“How thoughtful.”

“She returned it.”

Nathaniel’s eyes widened in amusement. “How devastating.”

Benedict gave him a flat look.