Chapter 28
“You have not heard a word I’ve said,” Tristan remarked.
Henry kept his gaze on the open field. “I heard every word.”
“Really?” Tristan shifted on the rug and reached for a slice of cold chicken. “What did I just say?”
Henry regarded him. “You proposed driving to Scotland twice a year instead of once.”
“That was ten minutes ago.” Tristan grinned. “Since then I have outlined a scheme to invest in a new mill, complained about the quality of London air, and remarked that your ward has the energy of three boys. You responded to none of it.”
Henry glanced toward the stream. Ian was racing across the grass, wooden sword in hand, shouting something to Tristan’s three-year-old son James about dragons. James toddled behind him, with the intent of keeping up, his curls bouncing with each step.
“They are entertaining,” Henry said.
“They are exhausting,” Tristan replied. He wiped his fingers on a napkin. “So. Why are you staring at your wife as if she is about to vanish?”
Henry’s eyes shifted, almost against his will.
Across the picnic blanket, under the shelter of a broad oak, Charlotte sat with Lavinia and Sophia.
Charlotte had removed her bonnet and set it beside the basket.
Sun filtered through the leaves above, touching her hair.
She was laughing at something Lavinia had said, one hand curved around a cup of lemonade.
Henry looked away. “I am not.”
“You are,” Tristan said. “You have been doing so for half the afternoon. In fact, I am inclined to believe your heart is succumbing to your wife.”
Henry reached for the ledger he had abandoned near the basket. “We are supposed to be enjoying a family outing.”
“I am enjoying it.” Tristan tipped his head back and closed his eyes. “My son is attempting to duel a stream. My daughter is enjoying a picnic. My wife is content. And my best friend is trying hard to pretend he is not losing his mind.”
Henry cut a slice of cheese with calm care. “I am quite composed.”
“Hmm.” Tristan watched Ian and James race past a clump of buttercups. “You know, when I married Lavinia, I did not spend our first months together staring from a distance like an admirer at a musicale. I spoke. I acted. I kissed her on purpose rather than by accident in a broom closet.”
Henry gave him a flat look. “This is not comparable.”
“You are married. She is your Duchess. You share a house, a carriage, and a ward. The situation is more than comparable.” Tristan leaned closer. “Henry. You care for her. Anyone with eyes can see it.”
Henry kept his gaze on the food. The hills rose gently beyond them, green rolling into paler sky, and a narrow stream cut through the meadow in a quiet line. Care for her. Certainly. She has brought the proverbial sunshine to a household that was bleak. She has steadied Ian. She has…
He stopped himself. “We have an arrangement.”
“Everything is an arrangement,” Tristan said. “Marriage merely adds paperwork.”
Henry did not smile. “This marriage is one of convenience. I have told you that.”
“Convenience does not explain why you look murderous when someone upsets her,” Tristan said. “Nor why you spent last week arguing with a solicitor about her jointure until he nearly cried.”
Henry’s hand stiffened on the knife. “The solicitor was incompetent.”
“Ah. Of course.” Tristan nodded, then plucked a strawberry. “You know what I have observed today?”
Henry did not ask. Tristan told him anyway.
“You have spoken to me. You have spoken to Lavinia. You have spoken to Sophia. You have scolded Ian twice and James once. And yet you have spent more time watching Charlotte than participating in any conversation.”
Henry’s jaw tightened.
I am not watching. I am…
He did not find a better word. “You imagine things.”
“I do,” Tristan agreed. “But even my imagination could not improve upon that scene.”
He gestured toward the oak. Charlotte was listening to Lavinia, eyes bright, head bent slightly. Sophia was arranging wildflowers in a small jug, her fingers deft.
Henry followed the motion before he caught himself. He looked away. “Lavinia wished for fresh air. I provided it.”
“And placed your wife where you could see her from every vantage.” Tristan chuckled. “Tell me, Henry. Has anything changed?”
“Nothing has changed.” Henry aligned the cheese on the plate. “I am simply more aware of my responsibilities.”
“Responsibilities do not look like that,” Tristan said. “They do not involve staring at your Duchess every time she removes her bonnet.”
Henry kept his expression neutral. Inside, something shifted.
I saw her laugh with Ian yesterday. I watched her face when George Ashford left. That is awareness. Not attraction.
“You are wrong,” Henry said.
Tristan gave him a maddeningly patient look. “If you say so. But you have spent half the afternoon watching Charlotte instead of joining us. I am going to tell Lavinia. She will be delighted.”
“You will not,” Henry said sharply.
“There now.” Tristan sat back, satisfied. “At last. Something that has changed. You used to let me tell Lavinia anything.”
Henry stared at him.
He is insufferable.
“You should attend to your children.”
“My children are busy conquering the hill.” Tristan rose, stretching. “Come. We are about to be conscripted into some ridiculous game. You may continue pretending nothing has changed while throwing a ball for my son.”
Henry watched Tristan walk toward the oak. His gaze moved, following, and settled on Charlotte again before he could stop it.
She had turned her head toward the field, watching Ian. A smile curved her mouth, quick and fond.
Henry looked down at his hands and set the knife aside.
Nothing has changed. Except, perhaps, everything.
* * *
“I am beginning to suspect marriage is very confusing,” Charlotte said.
Lavinia laughed softly and reached for a slice of cake. “Oh, it inherently is in the beginning.”
Charlotte took a sip of lemonade to hide the way her chest tightened. The air was warm. A breeze lifted the edges of the blanket. Ian’s shouts carried faintly from the far end of the meadow, mingled with James’s smaller cries.
“How so?” Charlotte asked.
Sophia shrugged one shoulder. “You look…different. More settled. Less as if you are planning your escape at every moment.”
Charlotte smiled. “I have fewer trees to climb now.”
“You are welcome to climb ours,” Lavinia said. “Evermere has several that would oblige you.”
Charlotte set down her cup.
Do I look different? Perhaps. I feel different. Less alone. Less as if every decision is being made in another room without me.
She picked up a strawberry. “Marriage is odd. Henry says extraordinarily little. Yet somehow, I see more in what he does than in anything he might say.”
Lavinia watched her. “That sounds promising.”
“I am not certain.” Charlotte plucked a stem from the fruit. “He is forever insisting this is a practical union. A solution. A way to keep Ian safe and my father at bay. He reminds me often.”
“And yet?” Lavinia prompted.
Charlotte looked toward the field. Henry and Tristan were near the edge of the blanket, discussing something, while the boys darted about with the kind of energy that made her palms itch with concern.
Ian had found a stick and was waving it as if it were a sword.
James followed, chanting some nonsense about dragons.
“And yet he does things,” Charlotte said quietly.
“Small things. He keeps Ian’s favorite biscuits in his study and pretends not to know how they appear.
He brings me accounts to look at. He listened to me about the northern venture.
He stood between me and my father until the Earl could not take a single step toward me.
” She paused. “He wrapped my ankle when I was foolish near that coaching inn.”
Sophia’s eyes widened. “He wrapped your ankle himself? Not the footman?”
“Yes.” Charlotte looked down at the blanket.
His hands were steady. He did not scold when he touched me. He only muttered about my inability to follow instructions.
“That is not a small thing,” Lavinia said. “That is care. Henry expresses himself poorly with words. He has always done so. You may have noticed.”
“I have,” Charlotte said. “He claims he experiences nothing. Then he looks at Ian when the boy laughs and it is all over his face.”
Lavinia smiled. “Then believe his actions. Look for his heart there. Men like Henry hide it behind ledgers and schedules. They forget that they are seen.”
Charlotte toyed with the fringe of the rug.
Look for his heart within his actions. He asked me to marry him like a business proposition. Then he kissed my hand at the altar as if it mattered more than he wished to admit. He told my father no one would take me from Sappherton. He does not treat that as a contract. He treats it as truth.
“It is difficult,” she said. “To know what is real and what is duty.”
“Duty can be real,” Lavinia replied. “But it is different from affection. Affection rearranges everything. It makes a man leave his papers to sit on the grass and watch his wife talk.”
Charlotte glanced toward Henry. He was standing now, arms folded, as Tristan gestured toward the stream. She found his profile. He was not looking at the food. He was looking at her.
Her breath caught.
There it is again. The way his gaze finds me, as if he is checking that I have not vanished.
“He watches you,” Lavinia said, very mildly.
Charlotte’s cheeks warmed. “It is not as it appears.”
“Is it not?” Lavinia raised one dark eyebrow. “Your actions and your husband’s would suggest otherwise, my dear.”
“Then perhaps I should ask him why he watches me.”
Lavinia touched her hand. “You may not need to ask. Just listen when he forgets to guard himself. It happens more often than he thinks.”
A shout interrupted them. “Charlotte! Come play!”
Ian was sprinting toward them, wooden sword held high. James trailed after, clutching a leather ball nearly as large as his head.
Lavinia sighed. “Here we are. Drafted into battle again.”
“What is it this time?” Charlotte called as Ian skidded to a halt near the blanket.