Page 3 of The Duke’s Christmas Redemption

“The Duke of Alverton? But I’ve never even been introduced to His Grace.”

“That will be remedied tomorrow afternoon.” Her father rose, moving to stand before the window that overlooked the garden of their London townhouse. The morning light cast his figure in silhouette, reminding Charlotte painfully of similar scenes with her mother, who had loved to watch the gardeners tend her roses. “His Grace has expressed interest in forming an alliance with our family, and I have accepted on your behalf.”

“Without consulting me?”

The words escaped before Charlotte could stop them, sharper than was entirely proper.

She immediately pressed her lips together, conscious of her father’s disapproving frown as he turned back to face her. The sunlight now illuminated his expression fully, showing the deep lines that responsibility had carved around his mouth.

“My dear, while your sensibilities do you credit, you must understand that such an opportunity cannot be dismissed for want of a prior acquaintance. The Duke of Alverton is one of the most eligible men in England. His restoration of his family’s fortunes shows remarkable capability. The connection would be advantageous for all concerned.”

“But Father-” Charlotte stopped, gathering her thoughts. Her hands twisted the handkerchief, creating creases she knew her maid would later struggle to press out. “Surely there should be some... some mutual regard before such a step is taken? Some opportunity to determine if we might suit?”

The Earl’s expression softened marginally, and for a moment, Charlotte glimpsed the father who had once swung her onto his shoulders in this very room, before duty and loss had hardened him.

“Ah, Charlotte. You have clearly read too many novels. A love match is a pleasant notion, but a marriage of mutual respect and compatible status is far more likely to bring lasting contentment. The Duke offers stability, position, and the protection of one of England’s oldest titles. What more could a young woman wish for?”

Love, Charlotte thought, but she knew better than to voice such a sentiment. Instead, she spoke quietly, striving for the grace that her mother had recommended.

“When is it to be?”

“The marriage will take place in late July. His Grace prefers a small, dignified ceremony, which suits our circumstances admirably.” Her father returned to his desk, his tone becoming brisk as he shuffled through the papers before him. “The Duke’s sister, Lady Margaret Hawthorne, will accompany him tomorrow when he calls on me to allow the completion of the formal arrangements. I believe that you met the lady, briefly, during your Season?”

Charlotte cast her mind back through the whirl of social encounters, remembering a quiet, dark-haired young woman who had stood slightly apart from the crowds at Lady Ashworth’s musicale.

“Yes, at Lady Ashworth’s. She seemed very gracious, though rather reserved.”

And lonely, Charlotte had thought at the time, recognising in Lady Margaret’s practiced calm posture something of her own carefully maintained composure.

“A proper demeanour for a Duke’s sister,” her father commented approvingly. “You would do well to emulate her dignity, Charlotte. Your new position will require…”

“Father.” Edmund’s voice cut through the lecture from the doorway. Charlotte turned to see her brother, Viscount Parrington, standing there, his usually mischievous expression uncharacteristically serious. The morning light caught the golden highlights in his fair hair - so like their mother’s - and Charlotte felt a rush of gratitude for his timely intervention. “Might I have a moment with Charlotte?”

The Earl considered his heir for a long moment before nodding dismissively.

“Very well. Charlotte, you may go. I trust that you will spend the afternoon preparing yourself for tomorrow’s meeting. The Duke of Alverton is not a man to appreciate frivolity. Edmund, stay with me a moment.”

Charlotte rose, and executed a perfect curtsey, though her legs felt unsteady. The butler materialised to open the door, his experienced eye noting her pallor, but maintaining the discreet silence that marked a superior servant. She forced herself to walk sedately through the corridors, past the watchful eyes of housemaids dusting the family portraits, until she reached the garden door, assuming that her brother would follow, once their father released him.

The June morning had bloomed into glorious warmth, the kind of day that usually found Charlotte sketching in the garden or practicing her piano with the windows open to catch the breeze. Today, however, the beauty felt like a mockery of her tumultuous emotions.

She made her way to her mother’s rose garden, where the flowers were in full bloom, their sweet fragrance filling the air, then sank onto a stone bench, her rigid posture finally crumpling as the tears she had held back began to fall.

“Oh, Mama,” she whispered, touching the delicate petals of a pink bloom her mother had particularly loved, “I wish you were here. How am I to be a Duchess? From what little I’ve heard of the Duke of Alverton, he’s terribly stern and cold. They say that he barely participates in society beyond what duty requires, that he cares for nothing but his estates and his family’s position.”

“Now, don’t go believing everything you hear about the man before you’ve met him.” Edmund settled beside her on the bench, his concern evident in the gentle hand he placed over hers. “Though I must admit, his reputation for severity does precede him. But then, they say the same about Father, and we know there’s more to him than that.”

Charlotte’s laugh emerged as a half-sob.

“Did you know about this? Before today?”

“Father mentioned it yesterday evening, after you’d retired. I argued for giving you more time, but he’s quite determined.” Edmund pulled out his handkerchief and offered it to her, the fine linen still carrying traces of his favoured lemon water. “The Duke’s reputation is excellent, Lottie, despite his reserve. He’s transformed Alverton’s fortunes in just six years - no small feat, considering the state his father left them in.”

“I don’t care about his fortune, Edmund. I care that Father has arranged my entire future without a word to me. The Duke clearly views this as nothing more than a business transaction. His Grace didn’t even court me properly - just negotiated with Father as if I were... were...”

“A prized filly at Tattersall’s?” Edmund suggested, earning another watery laugh. His expression grew serious as he studied her face. “I give you my word, Lottie - if he proves unkind, you need only tell me. Duke or no Duke, he’ll answer to me if he mistreats you.”

“What could you do? Father would never allow me to cry off, even then. The scandal would be unthinkable.”