Page 49 of The Duke’s Christmas Redemption

Chapter Thirteen

Early October 1817

The morning brought an unexpected visitor to Alverton Grange. Charlotte stood at her sitting room window, watching her brother Edmund’s familiar figure dismount in the courtyard below. His fair hair caught the early sunlight, so like their mother’s that it made her heart ache with sudden homesickness.

“Sarah,” she called to her lady’s maid, who was arranging fresh flowers by the fireplace, “please have tea brought up. And inform His Grace that my brother has arrived.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” Sarah paused at the door. “Though... His Grace rode out early to inspect the boundary markers. He mentioned that he might not return until afternoon.”

Charlotte’s fingers tightened on the window frame. These morning inspections had grown more frequent since Sir Geoffrey’s threats, though William never spoke directly of his concerns. Their newfound warmth, born of that tender conversation beneath the oak tree, seemed to falter whenever Caldwell’s name arose.

“Very well.” Charlotte smoothed her morning dress, a subtle green muslin that William had once praised. “Please have Lord Parrington shown up when he’s ready.”

She used Edmund’s formal title deliberately, reminding herself that even with family, certain proprieties must be maintained. Yet when her brother entered a few minutes later, his familiar grin broke through all ceremony.

“Lottie!” He swept her into an embrace that would have scandalised any proper society matron. “How well you look! Marriage clearly agrees with you, despite that stern Duke of yours.”

“Edmund.” Charlotte returned his embrace briefly before stepping back to study him properly. “What brings you to Alverton? Surely Papa hasn’t sent you to check on me again?”

Her brother’s expression shifted slightly – a tell she remembered from childhood games of cards.

“Can’t a man visit his favourite sister without raising suspicion?”

“I’m your only sister,” Charlotte pointed out dryly. “And you have that look about you – the one that always preceded some scheme or other that required my help to succeed.”

Edmund dropped into a chair with his usual casual grace, though something in his manner suggested that her observation had struck home.

“Perhaps I simply missed our conversations. It’s dreadfully dull at home without you there to share news and gossip.”

“Since when have you cared for gossip?” Charlotte seated herself opposite him, noting how his eyes darted about the room as though checking for listeners. “Edmund, what’s wrong? Has something happened at home?”

Edmund’s easy smile faltered under his sister’s steady gaze.

“Nothing’s wrong at home, precisely. But I’ve been hearing... that is to say, certain rumours have reached me that I felt should be investigated.”

The arrival of tea provided a momentary reprieve from his scrutiny. Charlotte poured with careful precision, the familiar ritual steadying her nerves as she noted the shadows beneath her brother’s usually bright eyes.

Edmund had ever been the family’s sunshine – quick to laugh, slow to worry. This uncharacteristic gravity sent chills down her spine.

“What sort of rumours?”

She passed him a cup prepared exactly as he preferred it – two sugars, no milk, just as their mother had taken hers.

Edmund accepted the cup but did not drink, instead studying the delicate pattern on the Wedgwood china as though it might provide answers.

“There’s talk in London about Sir Geoffrey Caldwell. About significant debts, about properties mortgaged nearly to ruin. And alongside these whispers, I keep hearing Alverton’s name mentioned.”

Charlotte’s hands trembled slightly as she set down the teapot.

“I see.”

“Do you?” Edmund leaned forward, all pretence of casual interest abandoned. “Because I’ve also heard that Sir Geoffrey has been making veiled threats about some connection between his current difficulties and the late Duke of Alverton’s financial dealings. Lottie...” His voice softened with genuine concern. “What’s really happening here?”

The morning sunlight streaming through the window seemed suddenly colder.

Charlotte rose, moving to stand before the fireplace where a small blaze took the autumn chill from the air. How much could she share without betraying William’s confidence? The trust growing between them felt as delicate as a soap bubble – one wrong move might shatter it forever.

“Sir Geoffrey has been... difficult,” she said carefully. “He makes certain claims about documents from the late Duke’s time, though William... that is, His Grace, believes them to be without merit.”