Page 90 of A Duchess for his Family

“He is becoming spoiled.”

“He has had a difficult childhood.”

He frowned. “He has been here four days.”

“They have been very eventful days.”

Amelia spread marmalade carefully across her toast. “Mr. Harris says Admiral caught a beetle.”

Marjorie nodded proudly. “His first victory.”

“The beetle escaped,” Benedict said.

“No, it was released as an act of mercy.”

Sophia said nothing, but her eyes shone above her teacup.

Benedict maintained his position. The kitten belonged outside. The matter was settled. Therefore, when a faint meow interrupted his work several afternoons later, Benedict assumed he had imagined it.

He continued reading the tenant report before him. The study was quiet except for the scratch of his pen and the steady ticking of the mantel clock. Sunlight crossed the carpet in long golden bars, carrying the faint warmth of late afternoon into a room more accustomed to shadows.

“Meow.”

His pen stopped. Benedict looked toward the open door. The corridor beyond was empty.

“Marjorie?”

No answer came. Then, a movement upon the desk drew his attention. Admiral was sitting between the inkstand and a stack of correspondence.

Benedict stared. The kitten stared back.

“How did you get in here?”

Admiral stepped onto a letter from his solicitor.

“No.”

The kitten walked across the page.

“That is an important document.”

Admiral placed one paw directly into the ink. Benedict moved with greater speed than dignity and caught him before he could leave black footprints across the estate accounts. The animal twisted in his hands with astonishing determination, placed one paw against Benedict’s waistcoat, and began climbing.

“Stop that.”

Admiral did not. He scrambled down the front of Benedict’s coat, dropped into his lap, and turned twice before settling into a muddy-gray circle.

Benedict looked toward the doorway. No twins appeared. No stifled laughter sounded from the corridor. Whoever arranged the invasion possessed sufficient sense to retreat. He reached down to remove the kitten. Admiral placed his chin upon Benedict’s wrist and began to purr. The sound was absurdly loud for so small a creature.

Benedict sighed. “This changes nothing.” The kitten closed its eyes. “You are not remaining here.”

Admiral tucked his paws beneath himself. Benedict returned to the report. The animal’s head rested against his wrist, making the movement of his pen inconvenient. He adjusted the kitten slightly, read the next paragraph, and discovered his hand settled between its ears.

Without thinking, he stroked its head. Admiral’s purring deepened.

The figures before Benedict required careful attention. He read the same line twice, moved the kitten when it began to slide from his knee, and continued stroking its fur with slow, absent movements.

A small dark mark remained upon the creature’s paw where it had stepped in the ink. Benedict rubbed it away with his thumb.