Page 66 of The Duke’s Christmas Redemption

“No.” She lifted her chin, though tears threatened to freeze on her cheeks. “You never asked for any of this, did you? You arranged a marriage, not expecting a wife who refuses to stay properly distant, or feelings that complicate your carefully ordered life.”

“That’s not...” He ran one hand through his hair in a rare gesture of frustration. “You cannot understand what is at stake. If Caldwell’s accusations should gain credence, if any hint of impropriety should attach to Alverton’s dealings...”

“Then we would face it together!” Charlotte’s voice cracked with the emotion that she could no longer contain. “That’s what marriage means, William. Not this careful distance, this polite fiction of Duke and Duchess, but true partnership in all things - good and ill alike. Did Mr Harrison tell you about the documents that I now have? About his opinion of them? They are things we should discuss… together…”

A muscle worked in his jaw as he stared at her, something raw and vulnerable flickering behind his stern expression. For a moment, Charlotte thought that he might actually respond, might finally speak of the feelings that seemed to crackle in the air between them. But then Phillips’ approaching footsteps intruded on the fragile moment. The butler’s usually composed face held distinct concern as he hurried across the frost-rimed grass.

“Your Grace, begging your pardon, but Sir Geoffrey Caldwell has arrived. He insists upon seeing you immediately. And...” He hesitated, glancing between them. “He appears most agitated.”

William’s expression shuttered instantly, all trace of vulnerability vanishing behind his Ducal mask.

“Where is he?”

“In the entrance hall, Your Grace. I took the liberty of not showing him to the study, given his... state.”

Charlotte watched the transformation with an aching heart - how quickly her husband disappeared behind the carefully constructed walls of his position. Even his stance changed, shoulders squaring as though preparing for battle.

“Very well.” William’s voice held the tone of control that always masked his deepest emotions. “I shall attend him directly.”

“William.” Charlotte reached for his arm before he could turn away. “Let me come with you. Whatever Caldwell intends...”

“No.” The word emerged sharper than she had ever heard from him. Then, more gently, “Please, Charlotte. Allow me to deal with this in my own way.”

“As you handled the assembly?” The words escaped before she could stop them. “Standing alone while he spread his poison through the entire neighbourhood?”

Something flickered in his eyes - pain or anger, she couldn’t tell which.

“You think me incapable of defending my own honour?”

“I think you shouldn’t have to defend it alone!” Her fingers tightened on his sleeve. “William, please. Whatever he says, whatever accusations he brings, let me stand beside you. Let me help.”

“Help?” His laugh held no humour. “Like you helped by investigating behind my back? By giving Caldwell more ammunition to use against us?”

The bitter words struck home with devastating accuracy. Charlotte’s hand fell from his arm as though burned.

“Is that truly what you believe? That I made things worse?”

William stared at her for a long moment, something complicated and painful working behind his controlled expression.

Finally, he spoke quietly.

“I believe that you acted from good intentions. But good intentions, my dear, can destroy as surely as malice.”

Before she could respond, Caldwell’s voice carried from the house - sharp with that edge of desperate calculation she had come to recognise.

“Really, Alverton! Keeping a gentleman waiting in your entrance hall? What would society say about such lack of proper courtesy?”

William’s jaw tightened. Without another word to Charlotte, he turned and strode towards the house, each step measured and precise. She watched him go, her heart breaking at the rigid set of his shoulders, the careful way that he held himself against whatever fresh attack awaited.

Behind her, the winter wind rattled through the rose garden’s bare canes again, their thorns casting strange shadows across the frost-touched grass.