Page 73 of A Duchess for his Family

“It was also harmless.”

“You cannot know that until supper, when she refuses to eat.”

“I shall eat,” Marjorie promised quickly.

Amelia nodded. “So shall I.”

“This is not a negotiation,” Benedict said.

“It was not one until you entered,” Sophia replied.

Silence fell. The girls looked between them. Benedict became aware of the fire ticking softly in the grate, of the scent of warm sugar and butter, and of the darkening evening beyond the nursery windows. It should have been a comfortable room. Sophia had made it so. Books lay open upon the rug. Marjorie’s wooden horse had been arranged beside the hearth as though it possessed a right to warmth. Amelia’s notebook rested against Sophia’s abandoned embroidery.

It looked like a family room. Yet Benedict stood at its edge feeling strangely outnumbered.

“They need boundaries,” he told her more quietly now. “They need to know that what is said today will remain true tomorrow.”

“And they need to know that affection is not withdrawn because they make an unreasonable request,” she retorted.

He felt irritation rise in him. “No one has suggested withdrawing affection.”

“Sometimes your refusals sound as though the matter is closed before they have even spoken.”

“Because often it ought to be.”

Marjorie slipped down from the settee. “Sophia did nothing wrong.”

“Marjorie,” Benedict warned.

“She only gave us one biscuit.”

“And made us promise to eat supper,” Amelia added.

“I am aware of the terms.”

“Then why are you angry with her?” Marjorie demanded.

Benedict looked at the child. He could not answer honestly without saying that he expected marriage to bring unity into the household. He expected Sophia’s warmth to soften what his rules could not, but he could not imagine she would stand on the opposite side of every boundary he established. He thought they would act together. Instead, it became increasingly clear that Sophia made her own decisions and later presented them as accomplished facts.

“I am not angry,” he sighed. “I came to ask whether you wished to accompany me to the village school tomorrow,” he told the girls. “The new books have arrived.”

Amelia brightened instinctively, though the tension in the room quickly subdued her. “I should like that.”

“So should I,” Marjorie smiled.

“Then the carriage leaves at nine.”

He turned toward the door.

“Your Grace?” Sophia called out.

Her voice stopped him, though he did not face her at once.

“We need not quarrel over every small thing.”

“No,” he replied. “We need not.” But that would require them to stand upon the same side. He left before he said so.

The corridor beyond the nursery was cool and dim, the lamps not yet lit against the approaching evening. Benedict walked toward the stairs while the distant preparations for supper moved through the house.