Page 68 of A Duchess for his Family

The silence of the study should have restored him. Instead, he could see only Sophia’s disappointed eyes and the careful certainty with which she had caught Marjorie and placed her safely upon the ground.

Chapter Seventeen

“Iam starving. Perhaps a biscuit or two would rectify this.”

Marjorie closed her book with the solemnity of one announcing a national emergency. Sophia looked up from the embroidery she had not advanced by more than three stitches in the past half hour. The girls sat together upon the rug before the drawing-room fire, though their choice of reading had placed them in entirely different worlds.

Amelia had been absorbed in a volume on British wildflowers, one finger carefully marking the page while she copied the names of several plants into a little notebook. Marjorie’s book concerned the voyages of Captain Cook, though Sophia suspected she ignored every passage about navigation in favor of storms, unfamiliar islands, and the occasional threat of shipwreck.

“You cannot be starving,” Sophia frowned. “You ate seed cake with Mr. Wilkes this afternoon.”

“That was hours ago.”

“It was scarcely two hours.”

“Exactly.”

Amelia glanced toward the mantel clock. “Supper will be served soon.”

“All right,” she replied, returning calmly to her wildflowers.

Marjorie stared at her twin in disbelief. “How can you accept this?”

“Because supper will be served soon.”

“But I may not survive until then.”

Sophia set her embroidery aside. “You cannot possibly be so hungry that you are unable to wait another half hour.”

Marjorie rose slowly from the rug. Her expression became tragic.

“Oh, Your Grace,” she began, pressing one hand to her stomach. “I do not wish to alarm you.”

Sophia refrained from chuckling. “That is considerate.”

“But I feel my strength leaving me.”

Amelia did not look up. “You were jumping over the footstool a moment ago.”

“That consumed what little strength remained.”

Marjorie took two unsteady steps toward the settee, dragging one foot behind her as though she had crossed a desert rather than a carpet.

“My sight is becoming dim.”

“You are looking directly at the fire,” Sophia pointed out.

“I shall never see the gardens again. Tell Mr. Wilkes…” Marjorie paused, swallowing with great emotion. “Tell him I was sorry about the delphinium.”

Amelia finally lifted her head. “You were not sorry.”

“I shall become sorry before the end.”

Sophia pressed her lips together, but laughter was already threatening. Marjorie collapsed dramatically against the arm of the settee.

“My poor, empty stomach,” she whispered. “Abandoned by those I trusted most.”

“It is not empty,” Sophia reminded her. “There is seed cake in it.”