Chapter 36
Chapter Thirty-Six
Six Months Later
Benedict stood in the entrance hall of Rivermere and wondered when his house had become capable of producing this much noise.
Sophia’s family had arrived within the same quarter hour.
The first carriage brought Lord and Lady Keswick, followed so closely by Emma and Philip that the footmen had scarcely cleared the steps before another set of wheels sounded upon the drive.
Frances and Andrew arrived last, with Frances emerging from the carriage already speaking and continuing without any apparent need to pause for breath.
Nathaniel, who had arrived earlier and therefore considered himself part of the welcoming committee, stood beside Benedict, both hands clasped behind his back.
“This is magnificent,” he murmured.
Benedict glanced at him. “What is?”
“You.”
“I am standing in my own hall.”
“Precisely. Six months ago, this many Nortons entering Rivermere at once would have sent you directly to your study.”
“It would not.”
Nathaniel considered. “The library, then.”
Benedict ignored him. Sophia descended the staircase just as her mother entered. Her face changed immediately.
“Mama.”
Lady Keswick barely had time to remove her gloves before Sophia embraced her.
Benedict watched the greeting with quiet amusement.
Sophia had spent the morning insisting there was no reason to make any particular fuss over a family dinner.
She had then changed the flowers in the drawing room twice, personally inspected the dining table, and asked Benedict three separate times whether he thought the west guest room was too cold.
Frances crossed the hall next and caught Sophia by both hands.
“Look at you.”
Sophia laughed. “What about me?”
“You look disgustingly content.”
“Frances.”
“It is a compliment.”
Emma came nearer and kissed Sophia’s cheek.
“She does,” she said more gently.
Sophia’s smile softened. For a brief moment, Benedict saw her through her sisters’ eyes, not the quiet youngest daughter standing slightly behind everyone else, not the woman who once wondered whether there was any place in the world truly meant for her.
The Duchess of Rivermere stood in the middle of her own hall with servants moving comfortably around her, her family gathering close, and the unmistakable ease of someone who no longer wondered whether she belonged. Benedict felt something warm settle in his chest.
Nathaniel leaned toward him. “You are doing it again.”
Benedict did not turn. “Doing what?”
“Looking at your wife as though you have recently discovered marriage.”
“I have been married for some months now.”
“And yet the astonishment persists.”
Benedict gave him a flat look. Nathaniel smiled pleasantly.
Across the hall, Marjorie came running from the drawing room.
“They’re here!”
Amelia followed at a more dignified pace, carrying Admiral against her chest.
The kitten was no longer quite a kitten. He had grown into a long-legged young cat with an inflated opinion of his importance and no improvement whatsoever in his manners. Marjorie immediately relieved Amelia of him.
“You must see how large he is now.”
Lord Keswick barely removed his hat before Admiral was presented to him.
“He has learned several things,” Marjorie announced.
Amelia sighed. “She has been telling everyone that.”
“Because he has.”
“What has he learned?” Emma asked.
Marjorie looked down at the cat. Admiral looked back.
“He can open the pantry door.”
“That is not a skill we encourage,” Benedict said.
Nathaniel nodded gravely. “Innovation is rarely appreciated in its own time.”
Sophia laughed. As Benedict looked around the crowded entrance hall, at Sophia beside her sisters, the twins trying to show off Admiral to every new arrival, Nathaniel already stirring trouble, and Lord Keswick arguing with Marjorie over whether pantry theft counted as intelligence, he realized that Rivermere had become almost unrecognizable. He had never loved it more.
By the time dinner was announced, Admiral had been shown to everyone in the room at least twice.
Marjorie insisted he attend the meal. Benedict refused.
Sophia negotiated. Admiral was permitted to remain in the adjoining drawing room, provided he did not enter the dining room.
He entered twice. The second time, Philip caught him beneath the table.
“No one saw anything,” Philip said, lifting the cat.
“I saw it,” Benedict replied.
“Benedict,” Sophia murmured beside Benedict, “perhaps we might preserve diplomatic relations.”
“With the cat?”
“With my brother-in-law.”
Philip inclined his head. Benedict sighed.
“Remove the animal.”
Marjorie whispered loudly to Amelia. “He means Admiral.”
“I am aware.”
“You looked worried.”
“I was not worried.”
Nathaniel raised his glass. “An excellent family resemblance develops.”
Benedict ignored him. Conversation moved easily around the table. Emma and Frances asked Sophia about Rivermere, though Benedict suspected they already knew most answers through letters.
“You truly like it here?” Frances asked.
Sophia glanced at Benedict.
“I do.”
“Even in winter?”
“Yes.”
“With him forbidding things?”
Benedict looked at Frances. Sophia’s mouth trembled.
“He forbids fewer things now.”
“I have become more reasonable,” Benedict explained amusedly.
The entire table went silent. Then Nathaniel laughed so loudly Lord Keswick nearly spilled his wine.
“I beg everyone’s pardon,” Nathaniel cleared his throat. “Something improbable occurred.”
Sophia covered her smile with her napkin.
Benedict leaned slightly toward her. “You are encouraging them.”
“I have done nothing.”
“You are smiling.”
“That is not an offense.”
“Not yet.”
Sophia’s eyes warmed. Beneath the table, her hand found his. Benedict turned his palm upward and threaded his fingers through hers. No one noticed, or perhaps everyone did and chose not to comment… except Nathaniel.
Nathaniel noticed everything that was inconvenient. His gaze dipped briefly toward the tablecloth, then returned to Benedict’s face. He smiled. Benedict stared at him until he wisely turned away.
After dinner, everyone returned to the drawing room. Marjorie announced that a game would be played. No one had agreed to this. That appeared irrelevant.
“You must all participate,” she declared.
“What game?” Andrew asked cautiously.
“Charades.”
Nathaniel brightened. “Excellent.”
Benedict did not. “No.”
Marjorie turned toward him. “Uncle Benedict.”
“No.”
“It is a family game.”
“I am aware.”
“You are family.”
“So I have been informed.”
Sophia laughed softly. Benedict looked toward her. She was standing near the doorway, one hand resting briefly against her middle.
Only Benedict noticed. He had begun noticing that gesture several weeks ago. The knowledge attached to it still felt astonishing… private and precious. Sophia met his eyes. Something passed between them. Then she slipped quietly into the corridor.
Benedict waited perhaps twenty seconds. Nathaniel noticed.
“Go,” he murmured.
Benedict gave him a look. “I have no idea what you mean.”
“Of course not.”
Benedict left anyway. The corridor beyond the drawing room was quiet. The sounds of their families softened through the closed doors behind him: laughter, Marjorie arguing about rules she had apparently made up herself, Nathaniel offering advice no sensible person should accept.
Sophia stood beside the long window overlooking the gardens. Moonlight silvered the glass.
Benedict approached. “Escaping?”
She looked over her shoulder. “Only briefly.”
“You are becoming very good at it.”
“I learned from you.”
“That is slander.”
Sophia smiled. Benedict stopped beside her. For several moments, they simply stood there. The house sounded different when one listened from outside a crowded room.
He remembered Rivermere after the funerals.
He remembered the terrible silence and the rooms that seemed to hold their breath.
He remembered believing his duty was to protect what remained.
He had not understood then that protection alone could not preserve life without restoring it. Sophia taught him the difference.
Benedict reached for her hand. She gave it without hesitation. His thumb moved across her wedding ring.
“Do you hear that?”
Sophia tilted her head.
From the drawing room came a burst of laughter followed by Marjorie shouting. “That was not the clue!”
Sophia laughed. “It is difficult not to.”
Benedict looked toward the closed doors. “Rivermere never sounded like that before you. This place finally feels like home.”
For a heartbeat, she said nothing. Then her fingers tightened around his. “It feels like home to me, too.”
The words settled somewhere deep inside him. Even now, after months of waking beside her, arguing with her, laughing with her, discovering that she stole blankets and left books in impossible places, Benedict occasionally felt startled by happiness.
He no longer mistrusted it. That might have been the greatest change of all.
He lifted her hand to his lips. Sophia stepped closer.
“You are becoming sentimental.”
“Do not repeat that.”
“To whom?”
“Anyone.”
“Nathaniel already suspects.”
Benedict frowned. “Nathaniel suspects everything.”
She chuckled. “And usually announces it.”
He rolled his eyes. “A grave character defect.”
Sophia smiled. Benedict touched her cheek, then kissed her. It was meant to be brief. Most kisses involving Sophia began with sensible intentions. Experience had taught him how rarely they remained so.
Her hand rested against his chest. His moved to her waist, drawing her nearer. Sophia laughed softly against his mouth.
Then a voice spoke behind them. “I knew it.”
They separated. Nathaniel stood at the end of the corridor with both arms folded. Sophia blushed. Benedict did not remove his hand from her waist.
Nathaniel shook his head. “I have been sent to retrieve you.”
“By whom?”
“Two very determined little girls who are presently organizing charades.”
Sophia smiled. Nathaniel pointed toward the drawing room.
“They are ready to play, and apparently neither of you is permitted to escape.”
“I did not agree to play,” Benedict reminded him.
“Yes, but Marjorie has assigned you a team.”
“That does not constitute consent.”
“Marriage has made you optimistic if you believe consent has any bearing upon games organized by your nieces.”
Sophia laughed. Nathaniel looked between them. His gaze lingered for one second upon Benedict’s hand at Sophia’s waist. Then his grin became unbearable.
“I shall tell everyone you were discussing estate business.”
“Nathaniel,” Benedict warned.
“I am going.” He turned. Then called over his shoulder. “You have approximately thirty seconds before Marjorie comes herself.”
Benedict watched him disappear. Sophia leaned against him, laughing.
“I believe he has become worse.”
“He has.”
“You love him.”
“I tolerate him,” he corrected her affectionately.
“That is what Amelia says liking means in this family.”
Benedict sighed. Sophia smiled up at him. He looked at her, then his gaze dropped, instinctively, to the gentle curve still hidden beneath her gown.
His expression softened. Sophia followed his glance.
Her own smile changed. They had known for almost three weeks.
Three weeks of keeping the news between them.
Three weeks in which Benedict had occasionally awakened in the night merely to place his hand carefully against her stomach and marvel that something so small could already rearrange his understanding of the future.
Once, the thought of loving another person terrified him because love created something else to lose.
Now the knowledge of their child filled him with fear of an entirely different kind.
It was a tender fear. It was also a hopeful fear, the kind one accepted because the alternative was never loving anything enough to be frightened for it.
Sophia touched his hand. “We should go back.”
“Yes.”
Neither moved. She raised an eyebrow. He kissed her forehead, then offered his arm. Sophia slipped her hand through it. Together they walked toward the drawing room. Before Benedict opened the door, he stopped.
Sophia looked up at him. His heart gave the same deep, impossible pull it had given when she first told him. There would be another child… their child, another voice inside Rivermere, another person to love without guarantee. He found he would not have traded the terror of it for safety.
“Come along, Duchess,” he whispered lovingly. “I believe it is time we told everyone about the baby.”