Page 93 of A Duchess for his Family

Benedict’s sternness lasted no more than a breath.

“The kitten may stay in the house.”

Both girls beamed. Amelia’s delight was quieter than her sister’s, but no less complete. Her eyes shone as she reached up to stroke Admiral’s head. Marjorie pressed a kiss between his ears, which he accepted as his due.

Before anyone could decide what ought to happen next, a young footman appeared carrying a shallow china bowl filled with milk. Sophia stared as the servant placed it upon the floor near the hearth.

“Cook thought the little gentleman might be hungry, Your Grace.”

Benedict looked toward Peters, who studied the opposite wall with deep professional interest.

“Apparently,” Benedict spoke slowly, “the entire household was informed before I was.”

“No one was informed,” Sophia replied. “They merely hoped.”

“With unusual preparation.”

The kitten was set down beside the bowl. He sniffed the milk, placed one white paw upon the rim, and began drinking with such enthusiasm that droplets gathered upon his whiskers. The twins crouched beside him at once, their abandoned dinner forgotten.

“He likes it,” Amelia whispered.

“Of course he likes it,” Marjorie said. “It is house milk.”

Sophia glanced at Benedict. “Is milk different indoors?”

“I suspect she believes everything is superior when forbidden.”

“That has frequently been my experience,” Marjorie replied without looking up.

Benedict closed his eyes briefly. The girls continued petting Admiral as he drank. Amelia smoothed the fur down his back with careful fingers, while Marjorie informed him of every room he would be expected to inspect before bedtime.

Sophia watched them, a quiet tenderness filling her chest. Only days earlier, the dining room had felt strained by silence. Now a kitten was drinking from one of the good china bowls by the hearth while two children knelt on the carpet, laughing.

And Benedict allowed it. More than allowed it, she suspected.

She turned toward him. He was watching the girls, too. His expression was composed, but the familiar severity softened around his eyes.

Sophia leaned slightly closer. “Is this because Admiral has chosen you as his favorite human?”

Benedict’s head turned sharply. “Of course not.”

Marjorie looked up from the hearth. “He has.”

“He has not.”

“He follows you,” Amelia said.

“He entered my study by accident.”

“He climbed into your lap,” Sophia reminded him.

“That was also an accident.”

“And purred.”

Benedict gave her a level look. “Cats purr indiscriminately.”

Admiral lifted his milk-damp face at the sound of Benedict’s voice. With a small, eager mew, he abandoned the bowl and trotted across the carpet directly toward him. The room went silent. Admiral sat beside Benedict’s chair and placed both front paws against his boot.