Page 28 of Duke of Sapphire

She was not thinking about London.

She was not thinking about it very intently, and with great concentration, and she had been not thinking about it for the better part of two hours.

A soft knock at the door startled her out of her reverie.

She eased out from under Ian’s weight and moved to the door. The footman in the hallway held out a folded note.

She took it and unfolded the parchment:

I request your company in the library at your earliest convenience.

—S

She stood in the hallway for a moment with the note in her hand.

Then she went back in, transferred Ian’s weight to the pillow with care, pulled the blanket up, and looked at the row of repaired soldiers she had set along the windowsill. They stood in a crooked, determined line.

She went to find the library.

The Duke was standing when she arrived. Not seated at the desk, not bent over papers. Standing by the window, hands at his sides, which was, for Sappherton, as close to restless as she had seen him.

He turned when she entered.

“Thank you for coming,” he said.

Charlotte took a seat in the armchair near the hearth, keeping her weight off her healing ankle. “Your note was brief, Your Grace, but the solicitor's sudden arrival looked pressing. Has something happened regarding Ian?”

Henry moved away from the window, his expression drawn and serious. "Ian must return to London with me. The deed of guardianship Nathan lodged with Chancery requires it. The residence terms are legally binding, and there is no room for negotiation."

Charlotte looked at the fire.

She had known this was coming—had known it from the moment the solicitor arrived, from the particular quality of the silence afterward—and knowing it had not made any difference at all to the feeling in her chest when the Duke said it plainly.

“I see,” she said.

“The arrangement you proposed…” Henry paused. “You cannot accompany us as his governess.”

“No,” she said. “I imagine not.”

“London is not Scotland. Your father’s inquiry is running through the offices there. Redmont’s men—you know what they were doing on the post roads. The moment you stepped into Mayfair under an assumed name, someone would identify you. I refuse to see you delivered into the hands of a man as unscrupulous and controlling as Vincent Carrington. Nor will I leave you stranded here when Ian has finally found solace in your care.”

“I understand the reasoning.” She looked up. “You are quite right. And I am not arguing with you, but you cannot manage his grief alone.”

The Duke opened his mouth. Then he closed it.

“I am not criticizing you. He is a child in difficult circumstances. But you must admit that your approach has certain limitations.”

“I was making progress,” the Duke said.

Charlotte nodded. “He told me the last tutor had cold hands. The one before that smelled of cabbage. You will find the next one in a month’s time, and he will last a fortnight, just as the others did, and Ian will eat meals alone and climb things, and it will be very efficient and very correct and nothing at all like what he needs.”

The Duke looked at her steadily. Then he said, “I know.”

She had not expected that. She had expected defense. He said it plainly, without qualification, and it landed like the first note of something she had not been anticipating.

“I understand,” he said again. “That is the reason I have arrived at a decision.”

Charlotte waited.