Page 70 of A Duchess for his Family

Amelia settled beside Sophia upon the settee, bringing her wildflower book. “May I show you something while we wait?”

“Of course.”

She opened to a page displaying a delicate drawing of wood sorrel, its pale petals shaded with such care that Sophia could almost imagine them trembling in the woodland air. Marjorie climbed onto Sophia’s other side, still clutching her book of voyages.

“There are no biscuits in Captain Cook’s book,” she said mournfully.

“There are ships’ provisions.”

“Mostly salted meat. It sounds dreadful.”

“Perhaps you should be grateful you are only required to wait half an hour for supper.”

Marjorie considered this.

“I am grateful,” she announced. “But I should still like the biscuit.”

Sophia smiled as both girls pressed close against her, one smelling faintly of paper and lavender, the other of fresh air and whatever trouble she had encountered in the garden.

The house still seemed enormous at times. The title still startled her, and Benedict’s anger beneath the oak remained an uncomfortable weight at the edge of her thoughts. Yet here, between Amelia’s careful pages and Marjorie’s extravagant hunger, Sophia did not feel like an impostor.

She felt needed.

And when the door opened several minutes later, and both girls sat up with identical expressions of joy at the sight of a plate of biscuits, Sophia thought that perhaps duchesses were permitted to preside over small rebellions before supper.

Benedict had a perfectly plausible question to ask the girls as he walked toward their nursery. It was whether they would care to accompany him to the village school the following morning. But the moment he entered the nursery, he stopped, and the question died on his tongue.

Amelia and Marjorie sat on the settee with Sophia between them, all three gathered around a small plate. Amelia held half a biscuit delicately between her fingers. Marjorie had already taken a bite large enough to preclude any immediate explanation. A scattering of crumbs rested on Sophia’s skirt. For one moment, no one moved. Marjorie attempted to conceal her biscuit behind her back. Benedict closed the door with deliberate care.

“Why are you eating biscuits before supper?”

Marjorie continued chewing. Amelia lowered hers to the plate with the solemn guilt of a child returning stolen jewels.

Sophia looked up at him. “They were hungry.”

Benedict nodded once. “Yes. That is why we shall feed them at supper.”

Marjorie swallowed with difficulty. “I was exceptionally hungry.”

“So I understand.”

“I might not have survived.”

“You appear to have recovered remarkably.”

Sophia’s lips trembled, though whether with amusement or irritation, Benedict could not tell.

“It was only one biscuit,” she said.

“One biscuit before supper.”

“Yes.”

“Which is precisely why Rule Three exists.”

Sophia stared at him. “You number the rules?”

“The household rules concerning the girls, yes.”