Chapter 32
“Ye’ve given us back our boy,” Nathan said. “I daenae ken how to thank ye for that.”
Henry stood at the foot of the steps, watching the carriage being readied. “You might begin by getting in the carriage on time,” he said.
Nathan laughed. “Aye, that too. But truly, Henry. Ye can have yer old life back now.”
Henry’s fingers tightened behind his back.
My old life. Ledgers. Silence. No dragons in the nursery. No wooden swords in the corridors. Do I want it?
Ian bounded across the gravel. Charlotte had crouched in front of him, her skirts pooling, bonnet ribbons loose. Her arms were already open.
“I daenae want to go,” Ian said. He threw himself on her neck. “I like it here.”
Charlotte wrapped him close. “You are going home,” she said. “Home is worth liking too.”
Henry saw the way her shoulders strained as she held the boy.
She has spent months making him laugh. And now she has to let him go.
Ian pulled back, eyes bright and wet. “I’ll come back,” he said. “Soon. I promise. As soon as Da says.”
“I shall hold you to that,” Charlotte replied. “Though I may beat you to it and visit you first.”
“Nay, I’ll come first,” Ian insisted. “I’ll come all the way with Tam.”
Charlotte smiled. “Then I shall be waiting for both of you.”
Ian sniffed, then gave a watery smile. “I’m glad to be goin’ home, though,” he admitted. “But I’ll miss Sappherton.”
“We shall miss you,” Charlotte said.
Henry felt something twist under his ribs.
We shall miss you. She is including me.
Ian turned toward Henry and marched across the gravel. “Ye have to hug me,” he said.
“That sounds like an order,” Henry replied.
Ian held out his arms.
Henry crouched and pulled him in. The boy’s small arms wrapped around his neck.
“I’ll write,” Ian said against his shoulder. “About dragons. An’ sheep. An’ if Da falls off his horse again.”
“That will make valuable reading,” Henry said.
“Ye have to visit,” Ian added. “Ye promised afore. Ye cannae take it back.”
Henry’s throat felt tight. “I will come,” he said.
I would come even if I had to walk.
He rose and turned to Eleanor. “Allow me.”
He offered his arm and helped her into the carriage, careful of the sling. Ian hopped in after her, squeezing past to claim the seat at her side.
Nathan clapped Henry’s shoulder again. “Write often,” he said. “Else I’ll think ye’ve forgotten us.”
Henry’s mouth curved. “I doubt anyone could forget you.”
Nathan climbed in. The door closed with a solid click. Mr. Gedge signaled the driver.
Henry stepped back.
Charlotte moved to stand beside him as the carriage jolted forward. Ian’s face appeared at the window; hands pressed to the glass. Eleanor’s profile, Nathan’s hat, all fit in one crowded frame.
They watched until the carriage turned out through the gates and vanished down the lane.
For a moment, the drive was quiet.
Charlotte turned at last. Henry caught the small movement of her hand toward her face, the white scrap of a handkerchief, the quick dab at her eyes.
His heart twisted.
Go to her. She has just given up a child. She has earned comfort if anyone has.
His feet did not move.
What if she does not want comfort from me? What if she would prefer it from someone whose marriage did not begin as an arrangement drawn on paper? She deserves more than a man still trying to decide whether to keep his own heart involved.
She tucked the handkerchief away and walked toward the house.
Henry followed after a moment. The hall door closed behind them.
Sappherton House felt empty.
* * *
“His Grace shan’t be joining you tonight,” Mr. Gedge said.
Charlotte looked up from her seat at the end of the dining table. “Again?”
“I believe he is detained with business,” Mr. Gedge replied. “He asked that you not wait.”
“Very well,” she said.
He bowed himself out. The door shut softly.
She stared at the bowl in front of her.
He is always detained now. Three nights. I am eating alone in a room meant for a household. I should not mind. I did it at Ashford often enough.
She picked up her spoon and tasted the soup. It sat flat on her tongue.
It tasted like nothing.
Apparently, I do mind. How inconvenient. I am being sentimental over soup.
She finished the course slowly, because some part of her still believed that at any moment Henry might walk in and say he had changed his mind about correspondence. He did not.
As she stood to leave, voices sounded in the hall. Mr. Gedge again. Henry’s lower tones, saying something about a dispatch rider and a shipment.
She froze.
Stay and see him. Or leave. You have been avoiding him since he began avoiding you. This is childish. You are an adult. You are his Duchess. You should be able to share a corridor without feeling your heart drop to your ankles.
The conversation ended. The footsteps moved toward the staircase.
Charlotte stepped quickly out of the dining room in the opposite direction.
Coward.
She made for the library. A book. Any book. Something large enough to distract her while she lay awake.
She opened the library door and stopped.
Henry sat by the fire.
He was not in his usual place at the desk. He was in one of the armchairs, legs long, a glass on the small table beside him. The fire cast light on his face.
Charlotte’s hand tightened on the doorknob.
Turn around. Leave. You have done fairly well at avoiding him. You can continue.
She shifted, ready to retreat.
“Charlotte,” Henry said.
He rose.
She stilled.
“I wish to speak with you,” he said.
Her stomach knotted.
You kissed me by a stream and then began eating in other rooms. Now you wish to speak. This cannot be good.
She stepped in and closed the door behind her. “Very well.”
They took the chairs by the fire. Not too close. Not too far. The distance felt wrong no matter what she did with it.
Henry rested his forearms on his knees. “Ian has gone,” he said, as if she might have forgotten.
“Yes,” she replied. “I was present.”
He winced faintly. “Of course.”
She looked at the flames because glancing at his face felt like too much.
Say what you came to say. If it is going to hurt, better quickly than slowly.
“Now that Ian has left,” Henry said, “we should discuss what comes next.”
Her heart dropped. It was almost a physical sensation. “What comes next,” she repeated.
“Yes.”
She forced herself to look at him. His expression was guarded. Too guarded.
He is going to unravel it. The marriage. The arrangement. He has realized that his duty has ended and that he has no further need for a duchess who climbs trees.
“What do you wish to do?” she asked.
His jaw tightened. “I do not know.”
She stared. “If you do not know what you wish to do, why are we having this conversation?”
He looked momentarily cornered. “It seemed…necessary.”
“For whom?” she asked.
He did not answer.
Charlotte sat back, her fingers digging into the arm of the chair.
He wants me to go, and he does not know how to say it. So he invites me to invent the future myself. How very tidy. How very Henry.
She took a slow breath. She would do it for him and leave before he asked. She had done harder things; had run from an Earl with her hair pinned beneath a cap. Now, she could leave the Duke’s house with her head held high instead of waiting to be dismissed.
But Charlotte did not say any of that aloud.
Not yet.