Page 12 of The Duke’s Christmas Redemption

“She insisted on coming early to help you prepare.” Edmund’s tone held approval. “I believe that she feels the lack of a mother’s presence today as keenly as you do, Lottie.”

Fresh tears threatened. Charlotte took a steadying breath, touching the pearls again.

“Would you ask her to come up? If Morton is nearly finished with my hair...”

“Just one moment more, my Lady,” Morton assured her, deftly arranging the final strands.

Edmund nodded.

“I’ll send her up directly. And Lottie?” He paused at the door. “His Grace may be reserved, but I saw how he looked at you when he thought that no one would notice. Perhaps there’s hope for romance yet.”

Before Charlotte could respond, he disappeared, leaving her to ponder his words. Had she imagined that moment of connection in the rose garden? The way that the Duke’s stern countenance had softened ever so slightly when she’d spoken of finding beauty in practical things?

Lady Margaret arrived moments later, carrying a bouquet of white roses and delicate summer blooms.

“Good morning, Lady Charlotte. I hope you don’t mind my early arrival, but I thought...” She hesitated. “Well, I remember how much I wished for a sister’s support when my own mother passed.”

Charlotte felt her composure waver.

“You are very kind, Lady Margaret. Please, won’t you sit? Morton has just finished with my hair.”

“And done a beautiful job of it,” Margaret approved, settling onto the small settee. “The pearls will be perfect with that style. Shall I help you dress?”

Morton began laying out the necessary underpinnings while Mrs Winters, who had just returned to the room, discreetly removed the barely-touched breakfast tray – but not without first shaking her head gently in Charlotte’s direction. Charlotte found herself studying Margaret’s reflection in the dressing table mirror, noting the genuine warmth in her future sister-in-law’s expression.

“Lady Margaret,” she ventured, “might I ask... that is...”

She paused, uncertain how to phrase her question.

“You wish to know more about William?” Margaret’s understanding smile held a touch of sadness. “My brother builds walls to protect himself, Lady Charlotte, but behind them beats a heart capable of great devotion. He just needs someone patient enough to help him remember that duty and love need not be enemies.”

Charlotte’s fingers twisted in her lap.

“He seems so... certain about everything. As though feelings have no place in his decisions.”

“Ah.” Margaret moved to help Morton with the intricate lacings and tiny buttons of the wedding dress. “William learned too young that feelings can deceive. When our father died, leaving mountains of debt that threatened everything our family had built over generations, William set aside his own grief to save us all. He was barely nineteen.”

The silk whispered around Charlotte as she stepped into the gown, its weight settling on her shoulders like the mantle of responsibility she was about to assume.

“Your brother has accomplished remarkable things.”

“At a cost,” Margaret said softly. “He forgot how to trust in anything but ledgers and crop yields. Even before Elizabeth’s betrayal, he was learning to lock his heart away.”

Charlotte stilled.

“Elizabeth?”

Margaret’s hands paused in their adjustment of the gown’s elaborate folds.

“Perhaps I shouldn’t... but you ought to know. Elizabeth was William’s first betrothed. She eloped with a cavalry officer two weeks before their wedding.”

“Oh.”

The single syllable carried worlds of understanding. How much worse must that betrayal have felt, coming so soon after his father’s death and the discovery of their estate’s near ruin?

“There,” Morton announced, securing the final tiny button. “If you’ll permit me, my Lady, I’ll fetch your shoes.”

As the maid stepped out, Margaret moved to adjust Charlotte’s pearl necklace.