Page 8 of The Duke’s Christmas Redemption

“Please, be seated,” William said, watching as the afternoon light caught golden highlights in her hair as she moved to the settee beside her father. Her eyes, when they briefly met his, were a clear, intelligent blue that seemed to look straight through his carefully maintained facade.

Margaret took the seat beside Lady Charlotte, smoothly opening a conversation about mutual acquaintances. William found his attention divided between Lord Westbridge’s discussion of the settlement terms and the soft musical quality of Lady Charlotte’s voice as she responded to his sister’s questions.

“I understand that you’re quite accomplished at the pianoforte,” Margaret was saying. “Perhaps you might play for us?”

A faint blush coloured Lady Charlotte’s cheeks.

“I enjoy music greatly, though I fear that I play with more enthusiasm than skill.”

“Nonsense,” Viscount Parrington interjected from his position by the fireplace. “You play beautifully, Lottie. Your Grace, you’ll find my sister’s modesty does her a disservice in many areas.”

William caught the subtle warning in the Viscount’s tone.

“Then I look forward to hearing Lady Charlotte play at some future time.” He turned back to the Earl. “Shall we review the final points of the settlement?”

As the men discussed business, William found his gaze repeatedly drawn to his future bride. She sat with perfect posture, her hands folded gracefully in her lap, but there was nothing artificial in her manner. When Margaret mentioned their mother’s favourite roses, Lady Charlotte’s expression softened with understanding.

“We have a rose garden here as well,” she said quietly. “My mother planned it herself. I find it brings me closer to her memory, especially in June when her favourite blooms are at their peak.”

The gentle empathy in her voice stirred something unexpected in William’s chest. He had not considered that they shared this loss - a mother taken too soon, leaving behind adult responsibilities and quiet grief.

Lord Westbridge cleared his throat.

“Perhaps, Your Grace, you might escort Lady Charlotte to view those very roses? The afternoon light is particularly fine in the garden at this hour.”

William recognised the suggestion for what it was - a chaperoned opportunity to speak with his future bride. He rose, offering his arm to Lady Charlotte.

“If you would do me the honour, my Lady?”

Her small hand rested like a butterfly on his sleeve. A footman materialised to open the French doors leading to the garden, while Margaret and Viscount Parrington followed at a discreet distance.

The rose garden was indeed beautiful, planned with an artist’s eye for colour and form. Lady Charlotte paused beside a particularly fine pink bloom, its petals just beginning to unfurl.

“This was Mama’s favourite variety,” she said softly. “She called them her sunrise roses, because the colour deepens as they open, like dawn touching the clouds.”

William found himself studying her profile, noting the genuine fondness in her expression as she spoke of her mother.

“You must miss her greatly.”

“Every day.” She glanced up at him, something vulnerable flickering in her eyes before her composure reasserted itself. “But she taught me that duty need not preclude joy. That even the most practical tasks can hold beauty if we approach them with the right spirit.”

The words struck him with unexpected force, as they echoed Margaret’s words of earlier that day. How long had it been since he’d looked for beauty in anything? Since he’d seen his duties as more than a series of obligations to be met?

“An interesting philosophy,” he said carefully. “Though perhaps somewhat idealistic?”

“Perhaps.” She turned slightly, facing him more fully. “But isn’t there room for both pragmatism and hope, Your Grace? Surely one need not entirely exclude the other.” William found himself momentarily at a loss for words, held by the quiet conviction in her voice. Before he could formulate a response, a gentle breeze stirred the roses, carrying their sweet fragrance around them. Lady Charlotte reached out instinctively to steady a heavy bloom, her slender fingers gentle on the delicate petals. “These gardens require constant attention,” she said, smoothly filling the silence. “Each variety has its own needs, its own season of glory. Rather like an estate, I imagine.”

The astute comparison caught his interest.

“You have experience with estate management, my Lady?”

“I do – at least a little. After Mama...” She paused, collecting herself. “Father allowed me to assist with the household accounts and some of the charitable works among the tenants. I found satisfaction in seeing how small improvements could make significant differences in people’s lives.”

William studied her with growing curiosity. This was not the frivolous young woman he had expected.

“And what improvements did you implement?”

“A new roof for the village school, for one.” Her eyes brightened with remembered achievement. “We found that by repairing it properly, rather than merely patching it each spring, we actually saved money over time. The children could attend more regularly without fear of rain, and their education progressed more smoothly.”