Page 94 of A Duchess for his Family

Marjorie’s smile became triumphant. Amelia covered her mouth. Sophia raised her eyebrows.

Benedict looked down at the kitten. The kitten looked up at Benedict.

“No one,” Benedict gave a mock order, “is to interpret this.”

Admiral began to purr, and Sophia’s laughter escaped before she could prevent it. Around the room, several servants became intensely occupied with not smiling.

Benedict bent and lifted the kitten, placing him upon his knee with the weary resignation of a man accepting a burden forced upon him by circumstances entirely beyond his control.

Admiral curled up at once.

Marjorie returned to her chair. “His favorite human.”

“Finish your dinner,” Benedict said.

That same evening, Benedict paused outside the twins’ bedchamber and knocked. It was an unnecessary courtesy in his own house, but the room no longer belonged only to children and servants. Sophia made the evening hour her own, and he found himself oddly unwilling to intrude upon it.

“Come in,” she called.

He opened the door. The chamber glowed with firelight and the soft gold of two bedside candles. Amelia and Marjorie sat beneath the coverlet in their nightgowns, their dark hair brushed loose around their shoulders. Admiral occupied the space between them with the satisfied expression of a creature who had achieved every ambition. Sophia sat in the chair beside the bed, with an open book resting in her lap. She looked up. Something quiet passed through Benedict at the sight of her there.

“Uncle Benedict!” Marjorie cried.

Admiral startled awake and gave an offended meow.

Amelia smiled. “Have you come to hear the story?”

“I came to bid you good night.”

“You may do both,” Marjorie urged.

Benedict glanced at Sophia. “I would not wish to disturb your routine.”

“You would not,” Amelia assured him.

“You have already disturbed it,” Marjorie added. “So you may as well stay.”

He almost smiled. “That is not generally how manners work.”

“It is how bedtime works.”

Benedict remained near the door. He had no objection to stories in principle, but the room seemed arranged around an intimacy he had not earned. Sophia read to the girls each evening. It was their custom now, one chapter, no matter how persistently Marjorie argued for two. He did not wish his presence to make the girls quieter or Sophia self-conscious.

“You should continue,” he said. “I shall see you at breakfast.”

Marjorie’s face fell. Amelia’s disappointment was less dramatic but somehow more effective.

Then Sophia spoke. “Stay.” The word was soft. Benedict looked at her. “There is a chair beside the fire,” she said. “And you have been mentioned in the story twice already, though not favorably.”

“I have not been mentioned at all,” he replied.

“There is a stern magistrate.”

Marjorie nodded. “He forbids dancing.”

“Ah,” he nodded. “A sensible man.”

“He is also secretly working for the villain,” Amelia informed him.