Page 28 of The Duke’s Christmas Redemption

Chapter Seven

Late August 1817

The study at Alverton Grange hummed with tension as Charlotte presented her carefully compiled evidence to William. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, highlighting the papers spread across his normally pristine desk – household records, Physician Morton’s preliminary report, Mrs Walden’s list of affected families.

“Twelve households already show symptoms,” Charlotte said, keeping her voice steady despite the rapid beating of her heart. “Physician Morton believes it to be the same influenza that struck the village of Millbrook last month.”

William’s expression remained carefully neutral as he examined the documents, but Charlotte had begun to recognise the slight tightening around his eyes that betrayed his concern. His fingers, usually so steady, drummed once against the edge of Physician Morton’s report before falling still again.

“And you say that the Fletcher infant shows the worst symptoms?” he asked, his tone measured.

“Yes. Mary Fletcher reports that the child’s fever has risen steadily these past two days.” Charlotte clasped her hands tightly in her lap to prevent herself from reaching for William, wanting to smooth away the worry line forming between his brows. “Physician Morton fears... he fears that without proper care, the outcome may be grave.”

William rose abruptly, moving to stare out of the window towards the distant fields where men worked at harvesting the early wheat. His broad shoulders were tense beneath his perfectly tailored coat, and Charlotte ached to understand the thoughts churning behind his stern facade.

“The harvest cannot wait,” he said finally, still facing the window. “If too many fall ill...”

“Precisely why we must act quickly,” Charlotte ventured. “Proper care now might prevent the spread—”

“Care requires resources,” William interrupted, turning back to face her. “Resources that—”

A sharp knock interrupted them, and Mrs Walden entered with uncharacteristic haste.

“Your Grace – both Your Graces – I apologise for the intrusion, but two more families have now reported illness. The Bennetts’ youngest has taken a turn for the worse, and Mrs Harris at the home farm has collapsed.”

Charlotte saw the moment that William’s resistance crumbled, the moment that, internally, he reordered his priorities. His shoulders straightened as years of responsibility and training took over, pushing personal concerns aside in favour of duty.

“Send for Physician Morton immediately,” he ordered. “Have Thompson ride to Millbrook – Physician Wilson there has experience with this illness. Perhaps he can offer additional insight.” He strode to his desk, pulling fresh paper towards him. “We’ll need to establish a proper quarantine area. The old granary, perhaps...”

“The granary has poor ventilation,” Charlotte said quietly. “But the wool storage shed near the home farm stands empty until shearing season. It’s well-built, with good air flow, and close enough to the well for easy water access.”

William’s quill paused mid-stroke. He looked up at her with an expression she couldn’t quite read – surprise, perhaps, or reassessment.

“You’ve considered this carefully.”

“I have.” Charlotte met his gaze steadily, hoping that he could read both her competence and her concern. “I’ve also spoken with Mrs Walden about converting the still room to prepare medicinal teas and broths. We’ll need—”

“Your Grace!” A footman’s urgent voice interrupted from the doorway. “Begging your pardon, but Widow Morris is here. She says the Fletcher baby’s fever has worsened considerably. She’s asking for help.”

Charlotte rose swiftly, her heart clenching. But William’s voice stopped her before she could move towards the door.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“To see the child, naturally.” Charlotte turned back to face him, lifting her chin. “Someone must—”

“Someone must, yes. But not the Duchess of Alverton.” William’s tone was firm. “You cannot risk exposure to illness. The estate needs—”

“The estate needs its Duchess to do her duty,” Charlotte interrupted, her voice quiet but determined. “These are our people, William. They look to us for care and protection. How can I ask servants and neighbours to help if I’m not willing to face the risk myself?”

William stared at her for a long moment, and Charlotte watched emotions war across his usually controlled features. Fear was predominant, she realised with a start. Not anger or disapproval, but genuine fear for her safety.

“Charlotte...” He stepped closer, close enough that she could see the flecks of darker grey in his eyes. “I cannot... I will not risk—”

“You cannot prevent me from doing what is right,” she said gently. “Any more than I could prevent you from doing your duty to Alverton.”

Something changed in his expression then – a softening around his mouth, a new warmth in his gaze that made her heart flutter despite the gravity of their situation.

“At least allow me to establish proper precautions first,” he said finally. “Give me an hour to organise things appropriately. Mrs Walden can send one of the maids to sit with the child until then.”