Page 9 of The Duke’s Christmas Redemption

“A practical solution with broader benefits,” William acknowledged, watching how animation transformed her features. “You surprise me, Lady Charlotte.”

She glanced up at him, a hint of challenge in her blue eyes.

“Because I can think practically, Your Grace? Or because you expected something else entirely?”

The question was bold, but her tone remained perfectly proper. William found himself fighting an unexpected urge to smile.

“Perhaps both.”

Behind them, Margaret and Viscount Parrington maintained their position as chaperones, tenuous though that idea was, given that Margaret was still young and unmarried, while engaging in their own quiet conversation.

A footman stood discreetly by the garden door, all of which maintained propriety while giving them the illusion of privacy.

“I believe,” Lady Charlotte said carefully, “that we may both find ourselves surprised, Your Grace, if we allow for the possibility.”

The subtle emphasis on ‘allow’ did not escape him. William looked down at her upturned face, noting the intelligence in her eyes, the quiet strength in her bearing. For the first time since arranging this marriage, he felt something shift in his carefully ordered world.

“You speak your mind quite directly, my Lady.”

“When given the opportunity, Your Grace.” She paused, then added softly, “I hope you will not find that too great a fault in a wife.”

“On the contrary.” The words emerged before he could consider them fully. “I prefer honesty to artificial charm.”

A genuine smile curved her lips, transforming her from merely pretty to truly beautiful.

“Then we have found one point of agreement already.”

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the garden, gilding Lady Charlotte’s hair and softening the formal lines of her dress. William was acutely aware of her presence beside him, of the delicate scent of lavender water mingling with the roses’ heady perfume. It was a disconcerting moment, for it was many years since any woman’s presence had affected him in the slightest.

“Tell me, Your Grace,” she ventured, her voice carrying just far enough for their chaperones to hear, “what is Alverton Grange like? I confess to curiosity about my future home.”

The question stirred an unexpected pride in William’s chest.

“It’s a substantial estate in Derbyshire. The house, which is primarily Tudor with some later additions, sits on a rise overlooking the valley, with excellent water and good hunting in the surrounding woods.”

“And the gardens?”

“Extensive, though perhaps not as artfully arranged as these. The previous Duchess - my mother - preferred wilder plantings.” He paused, memories surfacing of his mother’s joy in her rambling flower beds. “There’s a conservatory that needs attention, but the kitchen gardens are productive.”

Lady Charlotte’s eyes lit with interest.

“A conservatory? What sort of attention does it require?”

“The glass needs repair in several sections, and the heating system is inefficient. The flowers still grow, but not as well.” William found himself warming to the topic, even though it touched on aspects of the choices he had needed to make which still did not sit entirely well with him, drawn in by her genuine curiosity. “I’ve focused on more pressing matters these past years.”

“Of course,” she said softly. “One must prioritise essentials.” Her gaze dropped to a rain-damaged rose bloom. “Though sometimes, what seems purely decorative can have deeper value. A conservatory might provide flowers for the house year-round, perhaps even fresh fruit out of season.”

William blinked, struck by her practical assessment.

“You’ve experience with such things?”

“Only theoretical knowledge from books and observation,” she admitted. “But I’ve always found that beauty and utility need not be enemies.” She glanced up at him through long lashes. “Rather like your view of duty and joy being incompatible - perhaps they simply need proper cultivation to thrive together.”

The observation was again surprisingly astute, challenging his assumptions while maintaining perfect propriety. William found himself studying her with growing interest, noting how the fading sunlight caught those golden glints from her hair, and how gracefully she carried herself, even in this potentially awkward situation.

“You’ve given this considerable thought,” he said carefully.

“I’ve had several hours to consider my future life, Your Grace.” A touch of gentle humour coloured her tone. “It seemed wise to begin forming plans, even before knowing all of the particulars.”