Page 56 of The Duke’s Christmas Redemption

Chapter Fifteen

Late October 1817

The morning mist still clung to Millhampton’s narrow streets as Charlotte’s carriage rolled to a stop before Mr Harrison’s offices. The solicitor’s brass nameplate gleamed dully in the weak autumn sunlight, its polished surface speaking of the same careful attention to detail that had helped William restore Alverton’s fortunes. Edmund handed her down from the carriage, his usually cheerful face set in lines of careful gravity that reminded her painfully of their father. They had left Alverton very early, using the excuse of shopping in Millhampton to mask their true purpose. The guilt of such deception sat heavy in Charlotte’s stomach, warring with her determination to protect William from Caldwell’s machinations.

“Are you certain about this?” Edmund asked quietly as they mounted the worn stone steps. “Once we begin this investigation, there can be no turning back.”

Charlotte smoothed her dove-grey travelling dress, chosen deliberately for its quiet respectability.

“I have never been more certain of anything,” she replied. “After the assembly... Edmund, you didn’t see William’s face when Caldwell made those accusations. The pain he tries so hard to hide...”

Her voice caught, remembering how William had looked on their return from the assembly. Though he had promised to tell her everything, subsequent days had seen him withdraw again, spending long hours in his study with documents she knew must relate to his father’s time as Duke. The distance between them, so recently breached, had begun to widen once more.

Mr Harrison’s clerk, a thin young man with ink-stained fingers, looked up as they entered the outer office. His eyes widened slightly at the sight of the Duchess of Alverton in his modest workplace.

“Your Grace! My Lord!” He scrambled to his feet, nearly overturning his inkwell in his haste to bow. “Mr Harrison is engaged with another client at present, but if you would be pleased to wait...”

“We shall wait,” Charlotte said firmly, seating herself on the offered chair with practiced dignity. “Though perhaps you might inform Mr Harrison that I have come regarding a matter of some urgency?”

The clerk bobbed another bow before disappearing through the inner door. Charlotte sat quietly, her gloved hands folded in her lap, though her heart raced beneath her composed exterior. The office’s familiar scents of ink, paper, and leather bindings reminded her painfully of William’s study. Would he see this investigation as another breach of trust? Or would he understand that she acted out of love, not mere curiosity?

“You’re thinking too hard,” Edmund murmured, standing beside her chair in a posture of casual attendance that nevertheless allowed him to watch both doors. “I can practically hear the wheels turning in that clever head of yours.”

“I cannot help but think of consequences,” Charlotte replied softly. “If Caldwell’s documents prove genuine...”

“Then we shall face that challenge together,” Edmund finished firmly. “But first, we must know the truth.”

Mr Harrison emerged moments later, his lined face betraying surprise at finding the Duchess of Alverton in his outer office.

He bowed deeply, years of dutiful service to the Alverton estate evident in his measured movements.

“Your Grace. My Lord.” His eyes darted between them with barely concealed curiosity. “Please, come through to my private office. Simmons, see that we are not disturbed.”

The inner office held the same careful organisation that Charlotte had observed in William’s study – leather-bound ledgers arranged by year, documents filed in precise order, everything speaking of meticulous attention to detail. A fire crackled in the small grate, taking the autumn chill from the air.

“How may I be of service?” Mr Harrison asked as they settled into the offered chairs.

His tone held careful neutrality, though Charlotte saw the way that his eyes lingered on her face, perhaps searching for some hint of her purpose.

She drew the folded document from her reticule – Caldwell’s supposed proof, which she had obtained as a result of Margaret’s careful observation during the assembly. Her hands trembled slightly as she placed it on the polished desk.

“I require your professional opinion, Mr Harrison,” she said quietly. “Regarding certain signatures and their authenticity.”

The solicitor’s face remained carefully blank as he unfolded the document, though something flickered in his eyes as he scanned its contents. His fingers, ink-stained from years of legal work, traced the elaborate signature at the bottom with delicate precision.

“This purports to be the late Duke’s hand,” he said finally, his voice holding a note Charlotte couldn’t quite interpret. “Though I confess, I find certain elements... troubling.”

Edmund leaned forward slightly.

“What elements, precisely?”

Mr Harrison rose, moving to a large cabinet against the far wall.

From within, he withdrew several leather folders, each marked with dates from the previous Duke’s time. The careful way that he handled them spoke volumes about their importance.

“The late Duke’s signature was quite distinctive,” he explained, laying out several documents for comparison. “Note the particular flourish on the ‘A’ of Alverton, and the specific angle of the cross on the ‘t’. Small details, perhaps, but ones that remained consistent throughout his life.”

Charlotte studied the documents with careful attention, her heart beginning to race as she noted the differences Mr Harrison indicated. The signature on Caldwell’s document, though similar at first glance, showed subtle variations which seemed glaringly obvious once pointed out.