Page 84 of A Duchess for his Family

“What?” Marjorie shrugged. “It was.”

Sophia met Benedict’s gaze. Something warm and uncertain passed between them.

“I promised,” he said.

The girls led them into the garden with considerable excitement and no agreement whatever about what should occur first. Amelia proposed a quiet walk. Marjorie proposed racing to the cedar tree. Benedict rejected the race before it had even properly begun.

They settled upon battledore and shuttlecock instead.

At first, Benedict stood apart beneath the shade, watching with his arms folded while Sophia and the twins attempted to keep the feathered shuttlecock from falling into the grass.

Marjorie struck it too hard. Amelia struck it too gently. Sophia missed it entirely and blamed the wind.

“There is scarcely any wind,” Benedict observed.

Sophia looked toward him. “Then it was an especially subtle wind.”

His mouth moved at one corner.

When Marjorie sent the shuttlecock flying toward him, Benedict caught it neatly in one hand.

“You must return it,” she called.

He tossed it back.

“That does not count. You must use the battledore.”

“I was not informed I had joined the game.”

“You have now.”

Benedict looked at Sophia, as if expecting her to rescue him.

She smiled sweetly. “I fear the rules are quite clear.”

With the resignation of a man who had accepted a troublesome public duty, he took the battledore from Amelia. He remained stiff for the first several exchanges. Then Marjorie declared his manner too solemn and attempted to strike the shuttlecock directly at his chest.

Benedict returned it with surprising force. Marjorie shrieked with delight and within minutes, all dignity was lost. Amelia laughed when Benedict missed. Marjorie accused him of using his height unfairly. Sophia struck the shuttlecock into a rosebush and insisted the bush had moved.

By the time they abandoned the game, Benedict’s hair had fallen slightly across his brow, and his collar was no longer perfectly arranged. Sophia found the disorder dangerously becoming.

They spread the picnic beneath the cedar. Benedict inspected the ground before allowing anyone to sit, though he performed the examination discreetly enough that Sophia pretended not to notice.

Cook had sent cold chicken, small pies, strawberries, seed cake, and lemonade. Marjorie ate two pies and claimed the third was necessary after vigorous exercise. Amelia gave Benedict the largest strawberry.

He looked at it, then at her. “You need not surrender the best one.”

“I know.” She placed it upon his plate anyway. Something softened in his face.

After the meal, Sophia opened the book she had brought. It was a tale involving a ruined castle, a secret inheritance, and a heroine whose judgment was considerably better than that of every gentleman around her. Marjorie approved immediately.

At first, Benedict sat at a proper distance against the cedar trunk. The twins sat before Sophia upon the blanket. As the story continued, Marjorie shifted backward until her shoulder rested against Benedict’s knee. He glanced down but did not move her.

A few pages later, Amelia leaned against his side. Benedict adjusted his arm carefully around her. Sophia continued reading, though the words blurred for a moment.

The garden had grown quieter. Afternoon sunlight fluttered through the cedar branches, touching the girls’ hair and Benedict’s dark sleeve. Bees moved lazily among the clover. The air smelled of warm grass and crushed strawberries.

Amelia’s eyes began to close. Her head slipped slowly onto Benedict’s shoulder. He went still, as though any movement might wake her. Then he tilted his head lightly against her hair.