Page 39 of The Duke’s Christmas Redemption

Chapter Ten

Charlotte stood frozen in the morning room doorway, her mind racing. What could Sir Geoffrey possibly mean about William’s father’s debts? And why did the threat of revelation disturb her usually unshakeable husband so deeply? Nothing that William had said about Sir Geoffrey before had ever hinted at the sort of contention that she had just witnessed.

Charlotte remained standing in the morning room doorway for several long moments, her thoughts in turmoil. The pleasant warmth of their earlier interaction had vanished, replaced by a chill that seemed to seep through the house. Even the sunlight streaming through the windows felt somehow dimmer, as though Sir Geoffrey’s presence had cast shadows that lingered in his wake. She moved to her writing desk, pulling out a fresh sheet of paper with trembling fingers. Her father had taught her to approach difficulties methodically – to gather information before acting. Yet how was she to help William if he remained closed away in his study, wrapped in whatever dark memories Sir Geoffrey’s visit had stirred?

A quiet tap at the door revealed Lady Margaret, her usually serene expression touched with concern.

“Charlotte? I heard... that is, I was passing through the hall when Sir Geoffrey departed.”

“Come in, dear sister.” Charlotte gestured to a chair, grateful for Margaret’s steadying presence. “I confess, I find myself quite disturbed by his manner.”

Margaret settled herself with characteristic grace, though Charlotte noted the way that her fingers twisted in her lap – a habit Charlotte had come to realise, that emerged only when she was truly troubled.

“Sir Geoffrey has ever been... difficult. Even when we were children, his visits to Alverton held a particular tension.”

“Do you know anything of these supposed debts he mentioned?”

“Very little.” Margaret’s dark eyes, so like her brother’s, held shadows of old worry. “I was too young to understand much when Papa died. William shouldered everything himself – the estate’s management, the creditors’ demands, even my care and education. He never spoke of the details, but...” She hesitated, choosing her words with obvious care. “There were times, in those early years, when his face held the same expression that I saw on it just now.”

Charlotte’s heart ached at the thought of William at nineteen, suddenly responsible for not only an estate in financial crisis but also a young sister’s welfare. How that weight must have shaped him, moulded him into the controlled, careful man she had married.

“Surely there must be some record,” she mused, half to herself. “The estate’s books...”

“William keeps almost everything relating to Papa’s time locked in his private study.” Margaret’s voice held a note of caution. “He never speaks of those years, never allows anyone to examine the old records. Even Mr Harrison, as man of business, seems reluctant to discuss anything from before William assumed the title.”

Before Charlotte could respond, Mrs Walden appeared with fresh tea and a plate of small cakes. The Housekeeper’s expression suggested that she had heard at least part of their conversation.

“Begging Your Grace’s pardon,” she said as she arranged the refreshments, “but perhaps... perhaps it might be wise to send word to the Earl of Westbridge? His lordship’s experience with estate matters... Before, His Grace would have been unlikely to accept advice, but now… since he married you, Your Grace, perhaps…”

The suggestion stirred something in Charlotte’s memory.

Her father had mentioned Sir Geoffrey once, she realised – some passing reference to questionable business practices that had caused concern among neighbouring landowners.

“Yes,” she said slowly. “Yes, I believe I shall write to Papa. Though...” She glanced towards the closed study door, visible through the morning room door. “I wish William would confide in me. How can I help him if he insists on bearing this burden alone?”

Margaret reached across to squeeze her hand.

“Give him time, dearest. This past month has shown such improvement in his manner towards you. Perhaps...”

But whatever comfort she might have offered was interrupted by the sound of William’s study door opening. Charlotte rose instinctively, moving to the morning room door. Her husband stood in the hallway, his expression carved from marble as he spoke quietly with Phillips.

“Have the carriage brought around,” she heard him instruct. “And send word to Mr Harrison that I require his immediate attention.”

Something in his rigid posture, in the carefully controlled way that he held himself, sent fear curling through Charlotte’s chest. Whatever Sir Geoffrey’s threats meant, they had the power to shake William’s composure in a way that she had never witnessed before.

As though sensing her regard, he turned, their eyes meeting across the hall. For a moment, his careful mask slipped, revealing such raw anguish that Charlotte’s breath caught. Then it was gone, replaced by his usual stern authority.

“Charlotte.” He crossed to the morning room door, though he did not enter. “I find that I must go out on urgent business. Pray do not wait dinner.”

“William...” She took a step towards him, one hand half-raised in an unconscious gesture of comfort. “Please, let me help. Whatever troubles you...”

“This is not your concern.”

His voice held no warmth now, none of the gentle intimacy that they had begun to share. Yet something flickered in his eyes as he looked at her – fear, she realised with growing dread. Not of Sir Geoffrey’s threats, but of her reaction to whatever secret those threats might reveal.

“William.” Charlotte softened her voice, taking another careful step towards him. “Whatever burdens you bear, you need not carry them alone. We are partners in this, are we not?”

For a moment, something in his expression wavered. His hand twitched at his side as though he might reach for her, and the look in his grey eyes made her heart ache with its complexity of emotion.