Page 68 of Duke of Sapphire

“I am attending to the room.”

“You have been attending to every gentleman who has spoken to me for the last half hour.” She glanced at him. “It is very attentive of you.”

“I am simply vigilant.”

“You are remarkably vigilant.” But she said it with a smile that was entirely for him, quick and private, and he looked at the floor.

“Is it always like this?” Charlotte asked.

“The first ball is always watched more closely. After tonight it will be less.”

“Less,” she repeated. “Not none.”

“You are a duchess. It is never none.”

She absorbed that. “I suppose I had better get used to it.”

“You are doing perfectly well at it already.”

She looked at him again, and this time the smile was different. He did not want to think of what that meant. He’d developed the tendency, as of late, to give meaning to every one of his interactions with his wife.

He saw it before she did. He saw it because he had been scanning the room by habit all evening, the way one scanned shipping rosters for anomalies, and Vincent Carrington, the Marquess of Redmont, was an anomaly he had been half-expecting and half-hoping to avoid for the entire evening.

Redmont was moving through the crowd toward them. He was as Henry remembered—tall, impeccably dressed, and moved with the kind of ease in a ballroom that looked born rather than learned. He was smiling. He was always smiling.

Charlotte turned.

She went still. Henry felt it through her arm.

“Easy,” he said, very quietly.

She said nothing.

“Your Grace.” Redmont arrived with his hands behind his back and his smile at full deployment. “How extraordinary an occasion. My heartfelt congratulations.” He turned to Henry and extended his hand. “Sappherton. I trust you will forgive my tardiness in calling. The last several weeks have been rather… eventful.”

Henry shook the hand. “Redmont.”

“A most unexpected marriage.” Redmont managed to make the words sound entirely friendly. “Though I suppose the most interesting ones always are.”

“Quite,” Henry said.

“Your Grace.” Redmont turned to Charlotte. His eyes were warm. They had always been warm. That was the particular quality of them, the warmth that sat on the surface and went no deeper. “You are looking exceptionally well. London clearly suits you.” He paused. “Though I confess we were all rather… concerned, during the period of your absence. Your father especially. It caused considerable difficulty.”

Charlotte said, “I am sorry to hear that.”

“Are you?” He said it pleasantly. “Well. All’s well that ends well, as they say. Though I must admit—and forgive me, for I say this only as someone who had a particular investment in the matter—there are one or two details left somewhat unresolved. Between us.” He glanced at Henry with an expression of perfect good humor. “I am certain Sappherton understands. Matters of this kind rarely tie up neatly. Settlements, correspondence, certain… understandings that were formed in good faith and never formally dissolved.”

Henry was aware of two ladies standing three feet to his left who had stopped talking entirely.

“I was not aware,” Henry said, “of any unresolved matters.”

“Of course not.” Redmont’s smile did not move. “You would not be.” He looked at Charlotte. “But I am sure Her Grace knows precisely what I mean.”

The two ladies exchanged a glance.

Henry placed his hand at Charlotte’s back, flat and firm, and drew her gently toward him. She came without resistance. She was very still, her chin was still up, and whatever she was feeling she had locked behind her eyes.

CHAPTER 19