Page 20 of The Duke’s Christmas Redemption

Chapter Five

Early August 1817

The last of the morning mist still clung to the grounds of Alverton Grange as Charlotte guided her mare along the estate’s main road. A groom followed at a discreet distance, his presence both proper chaperone and practical necessity as she learned the boundaries of her new home.

Her first week as Duchess had settled into a careful routine. Mornings were spent with Mrs Walden, learning the intricacies of household management in this very large estate. Afternoons often found her writing letters or making the first of her social calls on neighbouring families. Evenings brought formal dinners with William, followed occasionally by shared time in the library, though he frequently excused himself to work in his study instead.

Today, however, she had risen early, determined to see more of the estate’s outer reaches. The tenant cottages particularly interested her - their condition would tell her much about both the estate’s prosperity and its master’s priorities. As they rounded a bend in the road, a small stone cottage came into view. Charlotte drew her horse to a halt, frowning at the obvious disrepair before her. The roof clearly leaked - she could see patches where the thatch had worn thin - and one window was roughly boarded over rather than provided with solid shutters.

“Thompson,” she called to the groom, “whose cottage is this?”

“That’d be Widow Morris’ place, Your Grace. She lives there with her daughter and son-in-law, Tom Fletcher. He works the home farm.”

Charlotte studied the building with growing concern. The stone walls were solid enough, but years of neglect showed in every sagging beam and crumbling bit of mortar. How had this escaped William’s notice during his restoration of the estate?

“Do all the tenant cottages require such attention?”

“Some are better, some worse, Your Grace.” Thompson shifted uncomfortably in his saddle. “His Grace has focused on getting the farms productive again, meaning to see to the cottages once the estate’s income was more secure.”

A practical approach, Charlotte supposed, but surely now that Alverton’s prosperity was restored, such basic repairs should take priority? The autumn rains would only make that roof worse, and winter would bring harsh winds through that broken window.

She turned her mare back towards the house, her mind already forming plans. William usually spent his mornings in his study - perhaps he would be willing to discuss the matter now, before his day became too crowded with other concerns.

*****

“Absolutely not.” William’s tone brooked no argument as he looked up from his correspondence. “The harvest preparations must take priority. We can consider cottage repairs once the crops are in.”

Charlotte stood before his desk, her riding habit still dusty from her morning exploration.

“But surely some immediate attention to the worst problems wouldn’t significantly impact the harvest budget? The Morris cottage’s roof-”

“Will last another season.” William’s quill scratched across paper with decisive strokes. “I’m well aware of the cottage’s condition, Charlotte. Everything on this estate is carefully monitored and maintained according to priority.”

“Priority?” Charlotte fought to keep her voice level. “Is not the basic comfort and safety of your tenants a priority?”

William set down his quill, his grey eyes hardening.

“The best way to ensure their comfort and safety is to maintain the estate’s productivity. Sentimental impulses must not override practical considerations.”

“Sentimental impulses?” Charlotte felt heat rise in her cheeks. “Your Grace, there is nothing sentimental about wanting to prevent rain from soaking a family’s beds! Widow Morris’ daughter has a young child, and that roof-”

“Has been adequately patched for the current season.” William rose from his chair, his height lending additional authority to his stern tone. “I do not make decisions about this estate’s resources without careful consideration, madam.”

The formal address stung.

“I am not suggesting that you do. But surely now that Alverton’s finances are secure-”

“Secure?” William’s laugh held no humour. “Do you imagine that six years of careful management have erased generations of debt? That we can suddenly indulge in every charitable impulse that catches your fancy?”

“Charitable impulse?” Charlotte’s own temper flared. “Is that how you see basic maintenance of your tenants’ homes? As charity?”

“I see it as one of many competing demands on limited resources.” William began to pace behind his desk. “The home farm needs new equipment before harvest. The south field’s drainage requires attention before autumn planting. The mill wheel’s bearing is showing signs of wear. Would you have me neglect these vital repairs in favour of a roof that, while not perfect, remains functional?”

“I would have you consider that every delay in maintaining the cottages only increases the eventual cost of repairs,” Charlotte countered. “And that healthy, comfortable tenants are more productive than those distracted by domestic hardships.”

William stopped pacing to stare at her. For a moment, something like surprise flickered in his expression before his stern mask returned.

“You sound like your father.”