Page 88 of A Duchess for his Family

“It may belong to someone.”

“It was hiding beneath a bush,” Marjorie reminded him. “People who own kittens ought not to store them beneath bushes.”

“We shall inquire among the tenants.”

“And if no one claims it?” Sophia asked.

Benedict looked at the animal. It closed its eyes and tucked its head beneath Sophia’s chin. She supported it with one hand while the other gently smoothed the mud-damp fur between its ears. The tenderness of the gesture was inconveniently affecting.

“It is not coming into the house.”

The twins reacted as though he had announced the creature’s immediate execution.

“Not into the house?” Marjorie repeated in horror.

“But it is only a kitten,” Sophia said.

“It is muddy.”

“It may be washed.”

“It will scratch the furniture.”

“It has scarcely enough strength to scratch a handkerchief.”

“It will grow.”

“That is generally what young creatures do.”

Benedict fixed her with a look. Sophia met it without the least sign of retreat, though amusement hovered at the corners of her mouth.

Marjorie moved nearer. “It may sleep in the nursery.”

“No.”

“Under Amelia’s bed.”

“No.”

“Upon my bed?”

“Certainly not.”

“In my wardrobe?”

Amelia spoke with quiet hope. “Perhaps it might remain in the kitchen.”

“No animals in the house.”

“There are mice in the pantry,” Marjorie pointed out. “The kitten could persuade them to leave.”

Sophia lowered her face, but Benedict saw her shoulders move.

“You are encouraging this,” he said.

“I have said very little.”

“You have said ‘it is only a kitten’ in precisely the tone most likely to undermine my authority.”