Page 73 of Duke of Sapphire

“What.”

“You were jealous,” she teased, holding back her smile.

“I was protective of my wife, which is an entirely different thing.” He looked up. His eyes were very direct. “And I would thank you not to conflate the two.”

“They seem rather closely related.”

“They are not.”

He held her gaze for one long moment, and Charlotte had the distinct impression that he was selecting a response with some care. Then: “The jam is at your elbow.”

She laughed. She could not help it. “That is not a counterargument.”

“I have decided the conversation is concluded.”

“By offering me jam.”

“The strawberry, I believe. Unless you prefer the other.”

She was still laughing when she heard the sound.

It was exceedingly small. A slight scuff of a boot sole on the threshold and then silence. Charlotte turned.

Ian was in the doorway. He was still in his night clothes, which meant he had come down before the nursery maid had gotten to him, and he was holding his wooden toy horse by the neck with both hands. He was not looking at either of them. He was looking at a spot approximately six inches to the left of Charlotte’s shoulder.

“Ian.” Charlotte pushed her chair back slightly and turned to face him fully. “Come in.”

He came, but slowly, the way he moved when something was sitting heavy on him. He came to stand beside her chair, and she did not rush him. After a moment, he lifted the toy horse and held it out toward her.

Charlotte took it. She turned it over once in her hands. The painted coat was worn at the nose from many years of being carried just this way.

“Ian,” she said gently. “What is it?”

“We left Tam.”

Charlotte kept her voice even. “Yes. He will come when the stable is ready.”

“But he’s not here.” Ian looked at the toy horse in her hands. “I keep dreaming about him. About feeding him sugar and—" He stopped. “I just wish we’d brought him. That’s all.”

Henry was already on his feet.

Charlotte looked up, startled. He had not said a word. He had simply stood, set his napkin on the table, and was already at the door. Then he was through it. His footsteps went quickly down the hall.

Charlotte sat very still for a moment.

Ian watched the door.

“Did I do somethin' wrong?” His voice was careful, the way it got when he was worried and trying not to show it.

“No.” Charlotte turned back to him. “Absolutely not.” She held out her arm, and he stepped into it without ceremony, leaning against her side. “Henry is not displeased with you. Not even a little.”

“He left very quickly.”

“He did.” She tucked her hand around his shoulder. “But that is not because of anything you said.”

Ian took the toy horse back when she offered it. “He was more pleased yesterday than today,” Ian said.

“That,” Charlotte said, “is a very astute observation, but I assure you that he is not displeased with you.”