Page 120 of Duke of Sapphire

Henry saw the way her shoulders strained as she held the boy.

She has spent months making him laugh. And now she has to let him go.

Ian pulled back, eyes bright and wet. “I’ll come back,” he said. “Soon. I promise. As soon as Da says.”

“I shall hold you to that,” Charlotte replied. “Though I may beat you to it and visit you first.”

“Nay, I’ll come first,” Ian insisted. “I’ll come all the way with Tam.”

Charlotte smiled. “Then I shall be waiting for both of you.”

Ian sniffed, then gave a watery smile. “I’m glad to be goin’ home, though,” he admitted. “But I’ll miss Sappherton.”

“We shall miss you,” Charlotte said.

Henry felt something twist under his ribs.

We shall miss you. She is including me.

Ian turned toward Henry and marched across the gravel. “Ye have to hug me,” he said.

“That sounds like an order,” Henry replied.

Ian held out his arms.

Henry crouched and pulled him in. The boy’s small arms wrapped around his neck.

“I’ll write,” Ian said against his shoulder. “About dragons. An’ sheep. An’ if Da falls off his horse again.”

“That will make valuable reading,” Henry said.

“Ye have to visit,” Ian added. “Ye promised afore. Ye cannae take it back.”

Henry’s throat felt tight. “I will come,” he said.

I would come even if I had to walk.

He rose and turned to Eleanor. “Allow me.”

He offered his arm and helped her into the carriage, careful of the sling. Ian hopped in after her, squeezing past to claim the seat at her side.

Nathan clapped Henry’s shoulder again. “Write often,” he said. “Else I’ll think ye’ve forgotten us.”

Henry’s mouth curved. “I doubt anyone could forget you.”

Nathan climbed in. The door closed with a solid click. Mr. Gedge signaled the driver.

Henry stepped back.

Charlotte moved to stand beside him as the carriage jolted forward. Ian’s face appeared at the window; hands pressed to the glass. Eleanor’s profile, Nathan’s hat, all fit in one crowded frame.

They watched until the carriage turned out through the gates and vanished down the lane.

For a moment, the drive was quiet.

Charlotte turned at last. Henry caught the small movement of her hand toward her face, the white scrap of a handkerchief, the quick dab at her eyes.

His heart twisted.