Page 85 of The Duke’s Christmas Redemption

“Music.” William’s grip tightened fractionally on her hand. “My mother used to play the pianoforte in the evenings, especially during Christmas week. Father would...”

He stopped abruptly, swallowing hard.

“Would what?”

Charlotte prompted him softly when the silence stretched between them.

“Would sing,” he admitted roughly. “Terribly off-key, but with such enthusiasm that no one dared complain. Even the servants used to gather in the hallway to listen, though they thought we didn’t notice.”

Mrs. Walden’s quiet knock at the breakfast parlour door made them both start slightly. The Housekeeper entered with her usual calm dignity, though something in her expression suggested that she had been waiting for just such a moment.

“Your Grace,” she addressed Charlotte with careful formality, “Cook wishes to know if she should begin preparing the traditional plum puddings? She says they must be started today if they are to be properly aged by Christmas.”

“Plum pudding,” William repeated softly, the words holding the weight of memory. He turned towards the window, though his hand maintained its careful grip on Charlotte’s. “Mother always insisted that it be stirred thirteen times widdershins for luck...”

“The tradition continues, Your Grace,” Mrs. Walden offered quietly. “Though naturally, if you prefer not to observe such customs this year...”

Charlotte felt William’s slight tensing at the Housekeeper’s words.

Yet when he turned back from the window, something had cleared again in his expression – there was a brightening, as if the better memories were predominating.

“No,” he said quietly, his grey eyes meeting Charlotte’s with tender gravity. “Perhaps it is time to restore certain traditions. Though,” he added with gentle emphasis that brought heat to her cheeks, “I believe that my wife should oversee such preparations? To ensure that we create new memories alongside the old?”

Mrs. Walden’s long practiced composure could not quite mask her satisfaction.

“Then perhaps Your Grace might wish to tour the house? To determine which rooms should be prepared for family guests, and where decorations might be most appropriately placed?”

“Yes,” Charlotte agreed softly, full of delight as William’s thumb traced a gentle arc across her knuckles. “Though first, might we walk in the gardens? To see about gathering that holly ourselves?”

“In this weather?” William’s stern features softened with that rare smile which never failed to make her pulse quicken. “When snow falls so thickly that one can hardly see the path?”

“The prettiest berries grow just out of easy reach,” Charlotte reminded him gently. “And I find myself quite determined to help create new memories for Alverton this Christmas.”

But by the time they left the house, the snow had stopped, and the winter air held crystalline clarity as they made their way towards the holly trees, their boots leaving clear tracks in snow unmarked save for birds’ delicate footprints.

Charlotte’s hand rested in the crook of William’s arm with an easy familiarity that still sent awareness shivering through her, even through layers of wool coat and kid leather gloves. She wondered if he ever felt that same acute awareness of her.

“Here.” William’s voice softened as they approached the ancient holly, its dark leaves gleaming with winter’s kiss. “Mother always said that the southern branches held the finest berries - something about the sun’s warmth making them particularly bright.”

Charlotte studied his profile as he gazed up at the tree, noting how the winter light softened his stern features.

These glimpses of his childhood memories, freely shared rather than carefully guarded, made her heart swell with happiness.

“We must be cautious of the thorns,” he added, reaching for one particularly fine cluster. “Even through gloves they can — Charlotte!” His warning came too late as she reached for her own branch. A sharp point found its way through her glove, drawing from her a most unladylike exclamation which made William’s expression shift from concern to unsuccessfully concealed amusement. “You are always so eager to grasp what you desire,” he observed softly, taking her hand in his to examine the damage. “Regardless of any thorns in your path. Rather like your approach to breaching my careful walls, wouldn’t you say?”

Heat rose in Charlotte’s cheeks at the tender observation, though she maintained her composure as he stripped off her glove with careful precision.

“Perhaps,” she admitted, watching as he examined the small puncture with grave attention. “Though I would argue that both prizes proved worth the risk of a few thorns.”

The look that William gave her held such deep emotion that time seemed to stop. In the distance, a single bird cried as it flew by, and there was the soft sound of some snow dropping from the branches they had disturbed, but all else was utterly still and quiet. For a long moment they stood thus, her bare hand cradled in his gloved ones, while winter sunshine caught the copper glints in his dark hair and turned the snow around them to diamond dust.

“Indeed?” The word emerged barely above a whisper, yet Charlotte felt its impact as a physical warmth spreading through her chest. “And what other risks might you be willing to take, my brave Charlotte? What other traditions might you restore, despite my stubborn resistance?”

“Whatever ones bring joy back to Alverton,” she said softly, letting her free hand rest against his chest where she could feel the steady thunder of his heart beneath layers of wool. “Though perhaps with more attention to thorns in future?”

His quiet laugh held none of the reserve that had once marked their every interaction.

“Then we should quickly gather some leaves and berries and return to the house,” he murmured, though his hands lingered on hers with gentle reluctance. “Before more holly thorns find their way through your gloves. And perhaps...” He paused, something vulnerable flickering across his stern features. “Perhaps you might share more of your plans for Christmas? I find myself quite unable to resist your subtle persuasion.”