Page 25 of Duke of Sapphire

Lady Charlotte’s cheeks colored. It was a faint thing, quickly controlled, and he chose not to comment on it.

Ian looked at him with the particular blankness of a child deciding whether to remain where he was or remove himself. He did not move. He did not speak. But he did not leave, and that was more than Henry had managed in the kitchen garden, so he counted it as progress and he did not push for more.

“Forgive the interruption,” Henry said.

Charlotte rose, smoothing her skirts. “Not at all.” She looked down at Ian. “I shall be back shortly. Will you keep those soldiers safe for me?”

Ian glanced at the row of repaired figures. “Aye.”

“Thank you.” She touched his shoulder briefly, and he let her. Then she crossed the room, and Henry stepped back from the doorway to let her pass.

In the hallway, she pulled the door behind her. Not shut. Just enough.

“How is your ankle?” Henry said.

“I barely feel it now.”

“You were sitting on the floor.”

“The floor was perfectly adequate.” She folded her hands. “I wanted to speak with you about something.”

He waited.

“Ian,” she said. “He needs consistency. He needs someone who will be here when he wakes up and still be here at supper. Not a series of tutors who leave after a fortnight.” She met his eyes directly. “I would like to stay on as his governess. For as long as you need. I have no immediate plans, and Scotland is considerably far from Bedfordshire.”

Henry said nothing.

“I am aware it is unconventional,” she said. “And I am aware that you already have reason to doubt my capacity for sensible decisions. But I can reach him. You saw it.”

He had. That was precisely the problem with dismissing this new proposal.

“You have no formal training as a governess,” he said.

“No. But I read extensively, I speak French tolerably, I know enough arithmetic to make it useful, and I have just spent an hour convincing a six-year-old to make a solemn vow over wooden soldiers. I am not entirely without qualification.”

Henry considered it. He did not do so for long, because the picture assembled itself quickly and the logic was difficult to argue. Ian had allowed her in. Ian had smiled. If she remained—if there was a consistent presence, someone familiar who did not carry the weight of a guardian’s authority—it would give the household time to stabilize. It would give Henry time to manage the estate properly without Ian’s situation consuming every other obligation.

This new arrangement solved matters that were beyond Henry’s control. Several things at once. He did not like how much it rearranged them, because the reasons it solved them were beginning to exceed the reasonable.

He opened his mouth.

“Your Grace.”

The butler, Mr. Evans, appeared at the far end of the hallway. He stopped a respectful distance away. “I beg your pardon. Mr. Dunmore has arrived. One of the estate solicitors. He says he has documents that require your attention directly.”

Henry looked at Lady Charlotte.

“Go,” she said.

“I will give your suggestion consideration,” he said. “Serious consideration.”

“That is all I am asking.”

He held her gaze a moment longer than was necessary, then turned toward the solicitor.

Nathan’s study was a room that had not been touched since he left. Henry was sure of this because papers were in an ordered stack, a half-finished letter pushed to one side, the pen still resting in the inkwell as though its owner had stepped away for a moment and was expected back.

Henry did not look at the letter. He sat in the chair across from the desk rather than behind it, because sitting in Nathan’s chair felt like a presumption he was not prepared to make.