Page 32 of The Duke’s Christmas Redemption

“The fever fights us still,” he reported quietly. “But she’s taking small sips of the willow bark tea now, which is something.”

Inside, Mary Fletcher’s drawn face told its own story of exhaustion and fear. She tried to rise at their entrance, but Charlotte hurried forward to prevent the motion.

“Please, stay with Emma,” she urged, settling onto the rough bench beside the younger woman. “We’ve brought another lantern, and some of Cook’s strengthening broth.”

William stepped forward, his height seeming to fill the small space. But rather than overwhelming the humble room, his presence somehow lent it dignity. He spoke quietly with Physician Morton while Charlotte helped Mary coax tiny spoonsful of broth between the baby’s cracked lips.

“Your Grace...” Mary’s voice trembled. “I don’t know how to thank you... both of you... for such kindness.”

“Hush now,” Charlotte soothed, though her own heart ached at the mother’s distress. “This is no more than our duty. You must save your strength for Emma.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw William watching them, his expression unreadable in the shadowed light. But something in his stance had softened further, and when he finally spoke, his voice held none of its usual stern authority.

“Physician Wilson suggests that, based on what happened at Millbrook, cases which survive the third night often recover fully,” he said quietly. “Emma seems to have your strength, Mrs Fletcher. We must trust in that.”

The simple words, delivered with such gentle certainty, brought fresh tears to Mary’s eyes. Charlotte felt her own throat tighten at this evidence of William’s compassion. How had she ever thought him cold?

The night crept forward with agonising slowness. Charlotte lost track of time as they settled into a rhythm – checking Emma’s fever, administering tiny sips of tea and broth, speaking quiet words of encouragement to Mary. William remained a steady presence, somehow making the small cottage feel safer simply by being there.

Near dawn, Emma’s fever finally broke.

The baby’s breathing eased, and a more natural sleep replaced her previous restless state. Physician Morton’s relief was palpable as he confirmed the improvement.

“She’s past the worst now, I think,” he said, packing away his medical bag. “Though she’ll need careful watching for several days yet.”

Mary had finally succumbed to exhaustion, dozing in her chair beside the cradle. Charlotte stood slowly, her own fatigue making her movements stiff. She nearly stumbled, but William’s hand caught her elbow, steadying her with that same unconscious protectiveness he’d shown all night.

“You’re exhausted,” he murmured, pitching his voice low to avoid disturbing Mary. “Let me take you home.”

The word ‘home’ in his voice did strange things to Charlotte’s heart. Or perhaps it was just fatigue making her fanciful. Either way, she found herself leaning slightly into his support as they made their way out into the pre-dawn grey.

The walk back to Alverton Grange felt both longer and more intimate than their journey out. Perhaps it was fatigue that made Charlotte more aware of William’s steadying presence, or perhaps the night’s shared vigil had shifted something fundamental between them. Either way, she found herself treasuring each small gesture – the way he guided her around muddy patches in the lane, his careful attention to her inevitably flagging steps. The first hints of dawn painted the eastern sky in delicate rose and gold, lending a dreamlike quality to their progress. When Charlotte stumbled slightly on a loose stone, William’s arm was there instantly, supporting her with gentle strength.

“Lean on me,” he said softly. “You’ve done more than enough for one night.”

The words carried a weight beyond their surface meaning, making Charlotte’s heart flutter despite her exhaustion.

“We both have,” she replied, daring to glance up at his profile. “I... I thank you, William, for supporting my wish to help. It meant a great deal to Mary, having you there.”

His arm tightened slightly where it supported her.

“I begin to see that there may be more than one way to protect Alverton’s interests.” The admission seemed to cost him something, but his voice held no resentment. “Your methods, while different from mine...”

“Need not conflict with yours,” Charlotte finished quietly. “Perhaps they might even complement them?”

William’s step faltered almost imperceptibly. When he spoke again, his voice held a note she’d never heard before – something almost vulnerable.

“I have grown too used to managing everything alone,” he said. “It is... not an easy habit to break.”

“No,” Charlotte agreed, her heart aching for the young man who’d shouldered such heavy burdens at nineteen. “But you are not alone now.”

They had reached the house, where early-rising servants were already stirring. William led her to the morning room, where a fresh pot of tea waited – Mrs Walden’s thoughtfulness at work again.

“You should rest,” William said, pouring tea with his own hands rather than summoning a servant. “We have much to do when you wake.”

Charlotte accepted the cup, noting how his fingers brushed hers in the transfer.

“Will you rest as well?”