Page 7 of The Duke’s Christmas Redemption

“I had my chance at love.” The words emerged harshly. “It ended with my betrothed running off with a cavalry officer two weeks before our wedding. I have learned my lesson well, Margaret. Duty and honour are far more reliable companions than passion.”

Margaret rose, crossing to lay a gentle hand on his arm.

“William, you were nineteen when Elizabeth betrayed you. You’ve spent six years proving yourself more than capable of managing our estates and the title. Perhaps it’s time to consider that happiness needn’t compromise duty.”

William stared out at the morning bustle below, remembering another June morning when his world had shifted. The letter announcing Elizabeth’s elopement had arrived with his morning correspondence, her careless words destroying his youthful belief in love and trust. He had thrown himself into saving the estate instead, finding comfort in ledgers that balanced and crops that yielded predictable returns.

“Lady Charlotte seems genuinely kind,” Margaret ventured. “When we met at Lady Ashworth’s musicale, she showed remarkable sensitivity in steering the conversation away from marriage when she noticed my discomfort with the topic.”

This caught William’s attention.

“You never mentioned meeting her.”

“You never asked.” Margaret’s smile held a touch of reproof. “She plays the pianoforte beautifully, though with more emotion than technical precision. And she has a lovely way of making everyone around her feel at ease.”

“Social grace is certainly an asset in a Duchess.”

William turned back to his desk, but Margaret wasn’t finished.

“Is that all you see when you look at her? An asset?”

The question, again, struck uncomfortably close to thoughts he’d been avoiding. In truth, his one distant glimpse of Lady Charlotte had left an impression he found difficult to dismiss.

There had been something compelling about the way she’d listened to an elderly Dowager’s lengthy story, her attention genuine rather than merely polite. He had noticed how her eyes sparkled when she laughed, and how gracefully she’d dealt with an over-eager suitor’s attention.

“What I see,” he said carefully, “is a young woman of good breeding and intelligence, who will make a suitable Duchess. That is sufficient.”

Margaret sighed.

“And if she hopes for more?”

“Then she will learn, as I did, that practical considerations make for a more stable foundation than romantic dreams.” He picked up the settlement papers again. “The meeting is at four. You will accompany me? I would like to provide an opportunity for you to assess her, and her family.”

“Of course.” Margaret moved towards the door, then paused. “Just... try to remember that while you’ve had six years to build walls around your heart, she’s had less than a day to adjust to the idea of marrying a stranger.”

*****

The afternoon found William’s carriage drawing up before the Earl of Westbridge’s London residence. The butler admitted them promptly, leading them to a formal drawing room where Lord Westbridge awaited them with his son, Viscount Parrington.

“Your Grace.” The Earl stepped forward to greet him. “Lady Margaret, you are most welcome. I have asked my daughter to join us shortly.”

William performed the necessary courtesies with practiced ease, noting the protective way that Viscount Parrington regarded him. Clearly, Lady Charlotte’s brother harboured some concerns about the match.

“I trust that the settlement papers meet with your approval, my Lord?” William enquired, once they were seated.

“Most generous, Your Grace.” Lord Westbridge’s tone was approving. “I’ve had my man of business review them thoroughly. Everything appears to be in perfect order.”

“Excellent.” William removed the final copies from his portfolio. “Then we need only…”

He broke off as the drawing room door opened. Lady Charlotte entered, her golden hair catching the afternoon light. Her pale blue gown emphasised both her youth and her innate elegance, but it was her expression that caught William’s attention. Despite her obvious nervousness, she held herself with quiet dignity.

“Your Grace.” Her curtsey was perfect, her voice steady. “Lady Margaret, welcome.”

William rose, bowing over her hand.

“Lady Charlotte.”

Her fingers trembled slightly beneath his, but her composure never wavered. Something unexpected stirred in his chest - admiration, perhaps, for her courage in facing this situation with such grace.