Page 91 of A Duchess for his Family

“You are a considerable nuisance,” he murmured.

Admiral stretched one paw across his waistcoat and went to sleep. At that exact moment, a shadow fell across the doorway. Benedict looked up only to find Sophia standing in the corridor. She was staring at the kitten, then at Benedict’s hand resting upon its head, and then at the papers arranged protectively beyond the reach of its paws.

Benedict froze. Admiral continued purring.

For one prolonged moment, Sophia said nothing. Her lips twitched.

Benedict straightened in his chair. “This is not what it appears.”

Her gaze dropped to the sleeping kitten curled contentedly in his lap.

“No?”

“It entered without permission.”

“Of course.”

“I was about to remove it.”

“Indeed.”

Admiral pressed more firmly against Benedict and purred with renewed satisfaction.

Sophia’s smile slowly escaped her control.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Dinner at Rivermere generally proceeded with a dignity proportionate to the length of the table, the gleam of the silver, and the number of servants required to deliver a dish of vegetables. That evening, dignity survived until the second course.

“The kitten may remain in the house.” Benedict made the announcement while cutting his roast with the composed air of a man remarking upon the weather.

Across the table, Marjorie’s fork stopped halfway to her mouth. A piece of potato remained balanced upon it, suspended before her open lips. Amelia froze with her glass raised in both hands. Sophia, who had been reaching for the salt, left her fingers resting uselessly in the air.

For several seconds, no one spoke. Benedict continued cutting his meat. Marjorie slowly lowered her fork. The potato slipped from it and landed upon her plate with a soft, buttery thud.

“Really?” The question emerged as a whisper, as though any greater volume might frighten the permission away.

Benedict looked up. “Provided that⁠—”

The twins were already moving. Amelia placed her glass down with such haste that water splashed over the rim. Marjorie pushed back her chair, caught her skirt beneath one shoe, freed herself, and darted toward the door.

“Where are you going?” Benedict demanded.

“To bring him inside!” Marjorie called.

“Now?”

“You may change your mind!”

“I do not generally—” The dining room door closed behind them. Benedict stared at it.

Sophia pressed her napkin to her lips. From the doorway, Peters maintained the solemn expression expected of a senior footman, though the muscles near his mouth appeared to be suffering considerably.

Benedict set down his knife. “They have not finished dinner.”

“I do not believe hunger is presently their most urgent concern,” Sophia smiled.

“They might at least have waited for the conditions.”