Page 40 of Duke of Sapphire

“Tam could come later,” Ian said, as if he was trying the idea out. “When there’s a proper stable.”

“That is a very sound arrangement.”

He dismounted from his horse and scooped one of his toy soldiers out of a toy chest. Ian looked at the soldier in his palm. Then he nodded once, the way he had when she had first asked him to make the solemn vow over the broken toys—small, certain, decided.

“All right,” he said.

They went downstairs.

The afternoon had been consumed by the practical machinery of departure. Two maids were ferrying trunks to the front entrance with the focused efficiency of people on a deadline. The solicitor’s papers had been laid out across the dining room table in careful sequence, and Charlotte had signed her name three times in increasingly legal company while Henry explained each document to her without being asked, which she appreciated more than she intended to admit.

She was crossing the hallway with her traveling cloak when Henry appeared from the study.

“I have met with the stewards. Nathan divided his affairs between too many parties, and I have remedied that situation. Now, there is one man in charge and that steward has his instructions,” he said. “The estate should run adequately in my absence.”

“Adequately,” Charlotte repeated. “What a ringing endorsement.”

“It is a capable estate, and the situation is under management.”

“You say that,” Charlotte said, “as though you have any idea what Ian is going to do in a London townhouse.”

Henry glanced toward the staircase where Ian had just disappeared around the upper landing with something tucked under his arm that had not been there before.

“I have some idea,” Henry said.

“You have very little idea.” She pulled on her glove. “But I expect you will learn quickly.”

He looked at her for a moment with the expression she had decided was his version of amusement—not quite a smile, something more contained, but present if a person knew where to look.

“I generally do,” he said.

On the drive, the household had assembled again.

It was smaller than the morning crowd. The outdoor staff had returned to their posts, and what remained was the core of the indoor household—the butler, the housemaids, the nursery maid who had packed Ian’s things under Mrs. Wick’s close supervision and looked slightly winded by the experience. Ian appeared at the front door with his coat on and the repaired soldier tucked into his breast pocket.

“All aboard,” Henry said.

Ian made for the carriage step without ceremony.

Mrs. Wick was standing near Charlotte’s elbow.

Charlotte turned towards her, and Mrs. Wick took her hands in both of hers. They were warm and very sure. She did not say anything. She held Charlotte’s hands for the space of three breaths, looked at her with those sharp, kind eyes, and then released her.

Charlotte swallowed.

“Thank you,” she managed. “For everything.”

Mrs. Wick gave a single nod. She stepped back.

Charlotte turned to the carriage before she did something unforgivable like cry.

Ian had already installed himself in the forward-facing seat with his coat arranged neatly and his soldier visible above the pocket. He wore an expression that suggested he had been waiting some considerable time. Henry stood at the carriage door and offered Charlotte his hand.

She took it and climbed in.

They settled across from Ian. Charlotte arranged her cloak. Henry straightened his coat. Ian watched them both as if deciding whether the seating arrangement was satisfactory.

“Is there food?” Ian said.