Page 29 of The Duke’s Christmas Redemption

Charlotte nodded, recognising the concession for what it was.

“One hour. But I will need your support in this, William. We must show a united front if we’re to manage this crisis effectively.”

“Very well.” He turned back to his desk, but not before she caught a glimpse of something like admiration in his expression. “Mrs Walden, please have the housekeeper’s room prepared for an emergency meeting. We’ll need the butler, the cook, and all other senior staff present.”

“Yes, Your Grace. And shall I send for Lady Margaret? She had some experience with nursing during the Millbrook outbreak.”

“An excellent suggestion,” Charlotte said before William could object. “Her assistance would be invaluable.”

*****

The next hours passed in a whirlwind of activity. William proved as methodical in crisis as he was in business, addressing each aspect of the situation with careful precision. Charlotte found herself repeatedly surprised by the depth of his practical knowledge – from the proper organisation of quarantine spaces to the most effective methods of smoke fumigation for contaminated items.

“The late Duke may have been careless with finances,” Mrs Walden murmured as they supervised the preparation of the wool shed, “but he did ensure that His Grace received a thorough education in all aspects of estate management.”

Charlotte nodded, noting how the servants responded to William’s quiet authority. He issued orders with calm confidence, never raising his voice, yet somehow conveying the urgency of each task. Even amidst the crisis, he maintained the dignity of his position, while showing genuine concern for those under his protection. The sight of him directing the rearrangement of wool racks to create separate spaces for the ill stirred something warm in her chest.

This was the man she had glimpsed occasionally during conversation at dinner – intelligent, capable, dedicated to his responsibilities. Why did he so often hide these qualities behind cold reserve?

“Your Grace?” Peters approached, touching his hat respectfully. “Physician Wilson has arrived from Millbrook.”

The physician stepped forward with a bow to her, just as another voice came from behind her.

“Excellent.”

Charlotte turned to find William already striding towards them, his coat discarded in deference to the warm afternoon. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, and a light sheen of perspiration on his brow spoke to his physical involvement in the preparations.

“Physician Wilson.” William’s bow was precise, despite his less formal appearance. “We appreciate your swift response to our situation.”

The Millbrook physician, a sturdy man in his fifties, bowed in return.

“I am happy to be of service, Your Grace. Though I wish the circumstances were different.” He turned to include Charlotte in his greeting. “Your Grace, I understand that you’ve already begun preparations for quarantine?”

“Yes.” Charlotte gestured towards the newly organised wool shed. “We thought proper ventilation essential, based on reports from Millbrook. I hope you’ll approve our arrangements?”

“Most sensible,” Physician Wilson agreed, his experienced eye assessing the space. “Though you’ll want to consider separate areas for those showing early symptoms versus advanced cases. And perhaps a recovery space for those beginning to improve...”

*****

The sun was setting by the time Charlotte finally reached the Fletcher cottage, its golden light casting long shadows across the muddy lane. William had insisted on accompanying her, though he maintained a carefully proper distance as they walked.

“The infant’s fever has lessened slightly,” Physician Morton reported, meeting them at the door. “The willow bark tea seems to have had some effect. But she’s still quite weak.”

Inside, Mary Fletcher sat beside her child’s cradle, her own face nearly as pale as her baby’s.

She tried to rise when Charlotte entered, but Charlotte gestured for her to remain seated.

“Please, don’t disturb yourself,” she said softly. “How is little Emma?”

“A bit cooler, Your Grace.” Mary’s voice trembled with exhaustion. “Thanks to Your Grace’s kindness in sending Physician Morton...”

“We take care of our own at Alverton,” William said from the doorway, his deep voice gentler than Charlotte had ever heard it. “You must focus on the child now, Mrs Fletcher. Thompson will bring more supplies before nightfall.”

Charlotte knelt beside the cradle, her heart aching at the sight of the flushed infant. Emma’s breathing seemed easier than Mary had described earlier, but her small face still showed signs of distress.

“She’s a fighter,” Physician Morton said quietly. “Like her mother.”

“Like all of Alverton’s people,” Charlotte replied, reaching to squeeze Mary’s trembling hand. She felt William’s presence behind her, solid and reassuring despite their earlier disagreement. “We’ll see this through together.”