Page 94 of Duke of Sapphire

“Twelve,” he breathed. He looked up. “There are twelve.”

“There are a few more to find,” Charlotte said.

Ian closed the box with great care and tucked it under one arm. “Where?”

Henry nodded toward the far end of the garden. Ian went.

The atlas was under the elm tree, wrapped in brown paper and tied with string that Ian attacked without patience and had off in under ten seconds. He opened it to the middle and stared down at the spread of the British Isles for a long moment.

“Scotland,” he said. He put his finger on it. Then he moved his finger south. “England.” He looked at the distance between them. Something moved across his face, the small private arithmetic of a child calculating miles. Then he looked up. “This is how far away they are. Me mam and da.”

Henry said, very steadily, “Yes.”

Ian closed the atlas. He did not say anything else. He tucked it under his other arm, alongside the soldiers, and he came back up the path with both of them.

* * *

Tea was in the small dining room, because Charlotte had decided the formal dining room was excessive for a birthday and had informed Henry of this with a tone that meant she had already arranged it and was letting him know as a courtesy. He had not objected.

The cake arrived on a platter. Cook had done the lemon sponge justice. The raspberry jam was visible between the layers, and there were candles, seven of them in a circle.

Ian stared at it.

“Seven?” he said.

“You are turning seven,” Charlotte confirmed.

“I ken.” He kept staring. “I didnae think there would be candles.”

“There are always candles,” Charlotte said. “Your mother would have insisted on them. I insist on them in her absence.”

Ian looked at her. His chin did not wobble this time. He only accepted it, the way he accepted most things Charlotte said to him, with a seriousness that sat very old in a seven-year-old’s face.

Then he blew out every candle on the first try and looked extremely pleased with himself.

He ate two slices and three iced biscuits and asked twice if the soldiers were waterproof, which Charlotte said she did not think they were, and Henry said he would look into it, and Ian accepted this as satisfactory.

“There is one more thing,” Henry said.

Ian put down his biscuit. He had the expression of a child who has decided the day was already sufficient, and anything further would be excess, and was prepared to be politely grateful for it regardless. “More?”

“Come with me.”

Henry led him out through the side hall and across the kitchen garden and around to the stable block. Charlotte fell into step beside Henry.

At the stable door Henry stopped and opened it. Ian walked in.

The pony was in the third stall. He was the familiar gray with the white nose, sturdy and even-tempered, looking with recognition at the small boy now standing in front of him with his mouth open.

Ian said nothing and stood completely still. His mouth was open and he said absolutely nothing for a period of time that Henry began to find slightly concerning.

“Ian,” Charlotte said.

Ian closed his mouth. Then he swallowed. He opened it again. “Tam?”

“Yes,” Henry said.

“He’s here?”