Page 63 of Duke of Sapphire

“You are a girl who ran away from home,” the Earl said, “and ended up in the house of a man who clearly had very little difficulty taking advantage of⁠—”

“That is enough.” Henry did not move from the window. But the Earl stopped speaking at once.

Henry let the silence stand for a second. “Charlotte made her own choices.”

“Charlotte is three-and-twenty and has no idea⁠—”

“She is three-and-twenty and she is my wife,” Henry said. “And she made a choice. You may disagree with it. You are not required to approve of it. But she made it.”

“She made it without my consent.” The Earl turned to face him fully. “I had settlements in place. A contract. A match that was agreed upon by both responsible parties. She threw it over because she—” He stopped. His jaw worked once. “Because she decided her preferences were more important than her obligations.”

“They were,” Henry said. “They are.”

The Earl stared at him.

“I will tell you plainly, Ashford,” Henry said. “I do not particularly care whether you approve of this marriage. It is done. It is legal. It will not be undone.” He held the man’s gaze. “Charlotte is not going anywhere with you today, or any other day, unless she chooses to.”

“She is my daughter.”

“She is my wife.” Henry stepped away from the window. “And she is the Duchess of Sappherton. I would ask you to remember both facts.”

The Earl turned back to Charlotte. “You see what you have done. You see what it is you have brought on yourself.” His voice had dropped, and it was worse for it. “You have always been willful. Your mother indulged you entirely and you have never once⁠—”

“Do not,” Charlotte said. She said it quietly. But the Earl heard it.

“Do not what?”

“Do not speak of my mother.” Her voice was still quiet. Her hands had gone white against her skirts. “Not to make a point against me.”

The Earl’s mouth flattened. “You will come home. Your place is with⁠—”

“Her place,” Henry interrupted, “is wherever she chooses it to be.”

The Earl looked at him. Henry looked back.

The room was very still.

“She has a husband,” Henry said. “A household. A legal standing in this Society that is considerably greater than what she had under your roof. You have come to this house and spoken to her as though she was a piece of furniture you have misplaced.” He kept his voice entirely level. It was not difficult. The cold had come up very neatly, the same cold he used for contracts, negotiations, and men who sat across tables and thought their money gave them the right to say whatever they liked. “I will ask you not to do so again.”

The Earl’s color had risen. “You are very certain of yourself.”

“Yes,” Henry said. “I am.”

A long silence.

Then the Earl looked at Charlotte. Not with warmth. Not with apology. He looked at her the way he might look at a problem he had decided was not worth further effort today. “This is not finished,” he said.

“Then we bid you good day,” Henry said.

The Earl left without saying another word.

* * *

The door had barely shut before Charlotte sat down. Not gracefully. She simply sat, in the chair nearest the desk, as though her legs had made a unilateral decision. She pressed one hand to her mouth for a moment, then took it away. She was staring at the pattern on the carpet.

Henry said nothing. He gave her a moment.

Then she looked up.