Page 10 of The Duke’s Christmas Redemption

Behind them, Margaret’s quiet laugh at something Viscount Parrington had said served as a reminder of their observers. William became aware that they had been standing rather close to each other, nearly shielded from view by the rose arbour, though still within all bounds of propriety.

“The light is fading,” he noted, offering his arm once more. “Shall we rejoin the others?”

Lady Charlotte’s hand returned to his sleeve, her touch whisper-light, yet somehow more noticeable than before. As they turned towards the house, she paused, looking up at him with disarming directness.

“I hope, Your Grace, that you will not find my tendency to form plans too presumptuous. I do understand that everything must naturally await your approval.”

William studied her face in the fading light, noting the blend of strength and uncertainty in her expression.

“Being capable of independent thought is hardly a fault, Lady Charlotte. I would expect no less from the future Duchess of Alverton.”

Something flickered in her blue eyes - relief, perhaps, or a deeper emotion he wasn’t prepared to name.

“Thank you, Your Grace. That is... most reassuring.”

They rejoined their chaperones, and returned to the house, finding Lord Westbridge waiting in the drawing room doorway. The Earl’s expression held quiet satisfaction as he observed their return.

“I trust that the gardens met with your approval, Your Grace?”

“Indeed.” William glanced at Lady Charlotte, who had moved to stand near her brother. “Lady Charlotte’s knowledge of horticulture is quite impressive.”

“My sister has many hidden depths, Your Grace,” Viscount Parrington commented, his protective stance softening slightly. “One must simply take the time to discover them.”

The subtle challenge in the Viscount’s tone did not escape William’s notice. Before he could respond, Margaret stepped forward.

“The light is fading rapidly. We should return home before it grows too late.”

The leave-taking progressed with proper formality. William found his attention caught, again, by the graceful way that Lady Charlotte performed her curtsey, the quiet dignity in her bearing that spoke of inner resources he had not anticipated. Perhaps this would all be easier than he had thought it might be – even though, when he bowed over her hand, he noticed again a slight tremor in her fingers, whilst her voice remained steady.

“Good evening, Your Grace.”

“Good evening, Lady Charlotte.”

In the carriage returning home, Margaret remained unusually quiet until they were halfway to their destination.

“Well, brother?”

“Well, what?”

“Don’t pretend obtuseness, William. It doesn’t suit you.” His sister’s dark eyes held knowing amusement. “What did you think of her?”

William considered the afternoon’s revelations, remembering Lady Charlotte’s thoughtful observations about the conservatory, her gentle handling of the roses, the quiet strength beneath her proper demeanour. He sought words which would satisfy Margaret, without encouraging her to think him to be considering anything more than practicality.

“She appears... adequately suited to the role of Duchess.”

“Adequately suited?” Margaret’s tone sharpened. “Is that truly all that you noticed?”

The carriage passed by a lamp which hung at the front of an imposing residence, briefly illuminating the interior, catching a glint from Margaret’s eyes. William recalled how the sunlight had caught Lady Charlotte’s hair, and the intelligence in her blue eyes when she’d challenged his assumptions about duty and joy. Something unfamiliar stirred, again, in his chest - an awareness he had not expected, and one which he did not particularly welcome.

“She is more practical than I had anticipated,” he conceded. “And possesses a refreshing directness, when permitted to express it.”

Margaret’s smile held a touch of triumph.

“And she’s prettier than you expected, I’d warrant.”

William chose not to dignify that with a response, though he could not entirely dismiss the memory of Lady Charlotte’s genuine smile, which had transformed her features from merely pleasing to genuinely lovely.

Such observations were irrelevant to their arrangement.

The carriage turned onto their street, and William found himself already considering the necessary preparations for the wedding. There would be contracts to review, arrangements to make, duties to fulfil. Yet underneath his practical planning, Lady Charlotte’s words echoed in his mind: “Isn’t there room for both pragmatism and hope?”

The question, like thoughts of the woman who had asked it, refused to be easily dismissed.