Page 39 of A Duchess for his Family

Most were perfectly civil. That was almost the difficulty.

Lady Hartley, a thin woman with a pleasant smile and eyes like polished pins, looked Sophia over with delicate approval.

“What a charming gown, Miss Norton. Such a gentle shade. Very suitable to your… quiet manner.”

Sophia smiled. “Thank you.”

“And Rivermere is such a substantial household,” Lady Pembroke added. “Though I am certain His Grace has made all necessary arrangements. One cannot expect a young lady raised in comparative retirement to understand everything at once.”

The words were sympathetic. The tone was kinder still. Sophia nevertheless felt each one like the light pressure of a blade.

Lady Hartley gave a little laugh. “Indeed. A duchess must be so many things: hostess, patroness, example. But one learns, I suppose, provided one has the proper guidance.”

“I have always found Sophia very capable,” Benedict assured her.

Lady Pembroke smiled quickly. “Naturally, Your Grace. No one meant otherwise.”

“Then I am pleased we agree.” There was no accusation in the words, only a firmness that left no room for further interpretation.

Lady Hartley adjusted her fan. “We were speaking only from concern.”

“Your concern is unnecessary.”

Silence settled over the little circle. Sophia looked at him. Benedict’s expression remained perfectly composed. He appeared neither angry nor embarrassed, merely certain. That certainty stood beside her like a wall.

Lady Pembroke inclined her head. “Of course.”

Within moments, both ladies discovered pressing reasons to greet acquaintances elsewhere. Sophia watched them retreat, astonished.

Benedict turned to her. “Will you dance with me?”

She stared at him. “Now?”

“Yes.”

There was something in his eyes that told her he had not asked because the music particularly pleased him. He offered his hand. Sophia placed hers in it.

The set had already begun forming. Benedict led her among the dancers, and when the music started, its familiar order came as a relief. Steps, turns, distance, return. Each movement gave her something to do besides remember Lady Hartley’s smile.

For several moments, Benedict said nothing. He merely guided her through the figures with steady attention, allowing the music to create a small, moving refuge around them.

Sophia’s breath gradually eased. When the dance brought them together again, she looked up at him.

“You need not have done that.”

“Yes, I did.”

“They were only speaking.”

“They were being unkind.”

“Very politely.”

“That does not improve unkindness.”

Sophia nearly missed her step. Benedict’s hand steadied hers before anyone else could notice.

She expected him to defend Amelia and Marjorie. Protection seemed woven into everything he did for the girls, from the rules and vigilance to the sternness that concealed fear. She never imagined that instinct might extend to her.