Page 4 of Duke of Sapphire

“Ian,” Henry said, “has already bitten a footman and attempted to escape out a third-story window.”

Tristan let out a long, low whistle. “He is Drummond’s child.”

“Obviously.”

“Has anyone told him his parents might not be coming back?”

Henry glanced up. “They are missing, not dead.”

Tristan arched a brow. “Very reassuring, coming from you.”

“I have spent every hour since the news arrived petitioning every friend and functionary north of Yorkshire. There is no evidence they are gone.”

“Yet no evidence they are alive,” Tristan said, dropping into a chair. “That is what troubles you.”

Henry closed the portfolio with a snap. “What troubles me is how quickly everything degenerates when a single link fails. If I do not reach Drummond by Thursday, the estate will openly revolt.”

“And you, of course, are the only person in England equipped to prevent it.”

Henry’s hand curled on the desk. “It is my obligation. Not only is Nathan my cousin, but Ian is my godson.”

Tristan studied him, one leg crossed over the other. “Is that what you tell yourself about all your obligations, or just the ones that keep you from sleeping?”

“I do not see the point of your visit if all you intend is to analyze my emotional state.”

“I have not even begun to analyze your emotional state. That will happen when you return and drink yourself insensible.”

Henry stacked the papers in a tight block. “When I return, I will have a ward. I will not have time for insensibility.”

Tristan’s smirk faded. “Henry.”

He did not want to hear it, whatever it was. He swept the stack into the trunk and closed the lid. “Thank you for stopping by.”

Tristan rose, stretching like a cat. “You will make a dreadful parent, you know. All rules, no warmth.”

“I am not meant to be a parent. I am meant to keep the estate from ruin until Nathan is found or confirmed lost.”

“Children do not respond to estate management. They need other things.”

“I shall pretend you do not have any expertise in the matter.”

Tristan’s smirk faded. "Pretend all you want. But I know what it looks like when a child is left behind to carry grief alone. I have watched you do it to yourself ever since your father died."

Henry felt the jab but did not flinch. “I am not a child.”

“No. But you manage loss exactly as a child would. By refusing to feel it and burying yourself in work.” Tristan ran a finger along the spines of the books on the shelf. “How old were you, when your father died?”

“I was two-and-twenty...”

“Old enough to inherit. Not old enough to know what to do with it.”

Henry shut the trunk with a firm hand. “My father is irrelevant to the current problem.”

“Is he? Or is this all the same thing, repeating forever?”

“I appreciate the concern,” Henry said, “but it is wasted on me. I have a schedule to keep. If you are finished, I should like to prepare in silence.”

Tristan shrugged, making for the door. “Remember to eat something. Or at least drink water. Lavinia will never forgive me if you die of dehydration.”