Page 41 of A Duchess for his Family

Something tightened beneath his ribs at the memory. After their parents’ deaths, he moved the twins into his household, rearranged rooms, altered schedules, dismissed unsuitable servants, and made every practical provision he could conceive. Yet, he had not known how to make a place belong to them.

“They speak of returning home now,” he continued. “Not returning to Uncle Benedict’s house.”

Sophia’s expression softened. “I am glad.”

“You are the one responsible for that,” he admitted.

“I think that gives me far too much credit.”

“It does not.”

She looked down at her hands. Moonlight rested upon the curve of her cheek.

“I have grown very fond of them,” she confessed. “Both of them.”

“As they have of you.”

“Marjorie informed me yesterday that I am nearly as entertaining as a secret passage.”

Benedict’s mouth moved. “That is her highest form of praise.”

“And Amelia asked whether she might keep some of her books in my room after the wedding.”

He turned toward her. Sophia’s gaze remained lowered, but he saw the tenderness in her expression. She spoke of the wedding with less alarm now. The thought brought an unfamiliar warmth to his chest.

For several moments, they stood together in silence. It did not feel empty. The ballroom seemed far away, though no more than a few steps separated them from it. Sophia was near enough that he could smell the faint floral scent at her wrists, near enough that the breeze occasionally pressed the silk of her sleeve against his coat.

Benedict became aware of every inch between them. He wondered whether she felt it, too. Her eyes lifted to his. The moonlight made them appear darker than hazel, soft and uncertain. Neither of them moved.

The intimacy of the moment arrived without warning. It was not improper. They stood upon an open terrace with guests only yards away. Yet Benedict felt as though they had somehow become entirely alone.

He cleared his throat. Sophia blinked and turned quickly toward the garden.

“There are still several matters which must be addressed before the wedding,” he said.

Her shoulders stiffened. Benedict noticed it at once.

“Of course,” she replied carefully.

“You do not sound pleased.”

“I am preparing myself.”

“For what?”

“Rules.”

He frowned. “Rules?”

“Or instructions. Perhaps a schedule. You have the look of a man about to explain the correct management of my future existence.”

“I do not possess such a look.”

“You possess it frequently.”

Benedict considered objecting, then decided the argument would only provide her with evidence. “This is not a lecture.”

“Then what grave deficiency have you discovered?”