Page 61 of The Duke’s Christmas Redemption

“You know nothing of my family’s affairs,” he snarled, his mount dancing beneath him as he jerked the reins. “Nothing of what was stolen from us by men like your precious Duke’s father.”

“I know more than you think.”

Charlotte’s fingers tightened on her reticule, feeling the evidence within that could destroy his schemes. Yet something in his manner gave her pause - a desperate edge that spoke of more than mere malice.

“Do you?” Caldwell’s laugh held no humour. “Then perhaps you know how your husband truly secured his fortune? How convenient that all evidence of his father’s creative bookkeeping vanished after the old Duke’s death. How many sets of accounts were burned, I wonder, before the new Duke of Alverton presented his miraculous recovery plan to his creditors?”

Edmund shifted beside her, but Charlotte again laid a restraining hand on his arm. Her mind focused, picking apart Caldwell’s words. The bitterness in his tone spoke of old wounds, festering grievances that went beyond mere financial matters.

“You speak of theft,” she said carefully, “yet I wonder - who truly stole from whom? My husband was nineteen when his father died, Sir Geoffrey. Barely more than a boy, facing responsibilities that would have broken a lesser man. While you...”

“While I watched everything that my family had built crumble to dust!” His voice cracked like a whip. “Thanks to men like the late Duke, with their false promises and their carefully concealed ledgers. Did you never wonder, Your Grace, why your noble husband insisted on such a substantial dowry? Why he chose a bride from a family known for its impeccable financial management?”

The barb struck deeper than Charlotte cared to admit. She had wondered, in those early days of their marriage, whether William had chosen her purely for her father’s connection to London’s banking houses. Yet she remembered his face when he’d spoken of partnerships, of trust so carefully rebuilt... She could not believe him capable of the things that Sir Geoffrey accused him of.

“Your Grace.”

Edmund’s voice held quiet warning. Through the rain, she could see another rider approaching - one of Caldwell’s men, by the look of him. They were alone on the road, far from any assistance should matters turn ugly. Caldwell noticed the approaching rider as well. Something in his manner shifted subtly, a new confidence entering his bearing as he guided his mount a step closer to their carriage.

“We find ourselves at something of an impasse,” he said, his voice dropping to intimate levels that somehow felt more threatening than his previous anger. “You have certain... documents from Harrison’s office. I have certain other documents that His Grace would prefer remained private. Perhaps we might reach an arrangement?”

Charlotte’s chest tightened at his tone, and breathing was suddenly difficult. She could feel Edmund’s tension beside her, his protective instincts warring with the social constraints that prevented him from acting against a supposed gentleman.

“What sort of arrangement did you have in mind?”

She was playing for time as her mind sorted through possibilities. The second rider drew steadily closer, and something about his purposeful approach sent chills down her spine.

“A simple exchange.” Caldwell’s smile reminded her of a snake about to strike. “You will return what you took from Harrison’s office - all copies, mind you - and I shall ensure that certain other documents never see the light of day. Documents that might cast interesting light on your brother’s gambling habits, for instance.”

“I don’t gamble,” Edmund said flatly.

“No?” Caldwell’s eyes glittered with malicious amusement. “How fascinating. Then these markers I hold must be forgeries as well. Though I wonder if your father would investigate too closely, given the scandal such accusations might cause? The Earl of Westbridge’s heir, caught up in a tangle of gaming hells and moneylenders...”

“You bastard,” Edmund breathed, half-rising before Charlotte’s grip on his arm stopped him.

“Now, now.” Caldwell clicked his tongue in mock reproach. “Such language before your sister. Though perhaps Her Grace has grown accustomed to crude behaviour, given her husband’s... common tendencies. The current Duke does lack his father’s polish, does he not? All that tedious attention to estate management, that dreary focus on tenant welfare...”

The contempt in his voice when speaking of the very qualities Charlotte most admired in William sparked something deep inside her. Before she could respond, however, the second rider drew alongside Caldwell’s mount.

“They were seen leaving Harrison’s office by the back way, sir, not long after you arrived there.” the man reported in a carrying voice. “Before you arrived, they had nearly an hour with the documents.”

Caldwell’s expression darkened.

“An hour? Time enough to make copies, to see... What exactly did Harrison show you, Your Grace? What conclusions did that interfering old man draw about certain things?”

Charlotte felt the weight of the evidence in her reticule like a burning coal. One word from her, and his entire scheme might unravel. Yet something in his manner - that edge of desperate calculation - made her hesitate. She chose not to respond to his question at all, simply waiting to see what he would say next. The rain continued to pour down around them, drumming against the carriage roof with increasing intensity. Through the grey curtain of water, Charlotte could just make out the distant bulk of Alverton’s home farm. So close to safety, yet somehow, she knew that they would not reach it without resolving this confrontation.

Caldwell’s mount shifted closer still, until she could see the water dripping from his greatcoat onto the carriage step.

“Come now, Your Grace. Surely we can reach some arrangement? For everyone’s protection?”

“Protection?” Charlotte kept her voice steady with supreme effort. “Or blackmail, Sir Geoffrey? Should we not name things accurately?”

“Such an ugly word.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice further. “Think carefully, Your Grace. Your noble husband has worked so hard to restore Alverton’s reputation. Would you see it all fail now? Over some misplaced sense of moral outrage?”

The rain plastered Charlotte’s travelling dress to her side, where it drove in through the open window, yet she felt flushed with an inner heat as anger warred with fear in her breast - not fear of Caldwell himself, but of the damage his words might do to the fragile trust growing between her and William.

“The documents I saw in Mr Harrison’s office,” she said carefully, “suggested something rather different about Alverton’s reputation. And about who had truly conspired to damage it.”