Page 13 of The Duke’s Christmas Redemption

“I tell you this not to distress you, but to help you understand. William values honour and loyalty above all things, because he learned their worth through their lack in others.”

Charlotte met her future sister-in-law’s eyes in the mirror.

“Thank you for trusting me with this.”

“I trust you with more than that,” Margaret replied. “I trust you with my brother’s happiness, though he would scoff at such a notion. I’ve watched him these past weeks, you see. When you speak, he listens - truly listens, not merely out of courtesy. I haven’t seen that since before Father died.”

A tap at the door announced Edmund’s return.

“Lottie? Father’s asking if you’re nearly ready. The carriages are waiting.”

Charlotte’s heart began to race. This was real, then. In less than an hour, she would walk into the church as Lady Charlotte Wyndham and emerge as Her Grace, the Duchess of Alverton. The thought should have terrified her, yet somehow, Margaret’s words had transformed her nervous anticipation into something more complex - a determination to prove worthy of not just the title, but the trust being placed in her.

“Tell Father I’ll be down directly,” she called, turning to check her appearance one final time.

*****

The morning light in St. George’s Hanover Square fell in soft colours through the high windows, creating patterns on the ancient flagstones. Charlotte stood just inside the church doors with her father, waiting for the signal to begin their procession. The familiar scent of beeswax and stone surrounded them, yet somehow the church where she had attended countless services felt alien today.

“You look very like your mother,” the Earl said quietly, his usual stern demeanour softening for a moment. “She would have been proud to see you today, my dear.”

Charlotte tightened her grip on his arm, unable to speak past the lump in her throat. Ahead, she could see William’s broad shoulders as he stood at the altar, his stance as rigid as if he were preparing for battle rather than his wedding. Lady Margaret had taken her place in the front pew, while Edmund stood ready in his role as supporter.

The church was barely half full - His Grace had been adamant about a small, dignified ceremony. Looking at the scattered guests, Charlotte felt a fresh wave of grief for her mother’s absence.

The Countess would have filled these austere walls with flowers and joy, somehow making even William’s studied restraint feel less forbidding.

The organ began to play, and Charlotte felt her father’s arm tense beneath her fingers. This was it, then. Each step would take her closer to her new life, her new responsibilities, her new husband. She forced herself to breathe steadily, to maintain the serene expression expected of a Duke’s bride.

William turned as they approached, and for an instant, something flickered in his grey eyes - surprise, perhaps, or some deeper emotion quickly masked. But perhaps she imagined it. He was undeniably handsome in his formal attire, his dark hair and stern features lending him an air of nobility that suited the solemn occasion.

The ceremony passed in a blur of formal responses and sacred obligations. Charlotte heard her own voice promising to love, honour, and obey, while William’s deep tones repeated similar vows with precise clarity. His hand, when he placed the ring on her finger, was steady and warm, though he released her perhaps more quickly than necessary.

Only once did his composure slip. As the vicar pronounced them man and wife, William turned to look at her properly for the first time since she’d entered the church. Their eyes met, and Charlotte saw something unexpected in his expression - a vulnerability quickly hidden, but unmistakably present.

The moment shattered as they turned to face their guests, now officially His Grace, the Duke of Alverton and Her Grace, the Duchess. Charlotte felt the weight of her new title settle around her shoulders like a heavy cloak as they moved down the aisle, William’s arm rigid beneath her hand.

The small wedding breakfast, held at Alverton House, proved as formal as the ceremony. William performed his duties as host with impeccable courtesy, though Charlotte noticed that he barely touched his own plate. She found herself watching him when she thought that no one would see, trying to reconcile Margaret’s revelations with the stern man who now stood beside her chair.

“Your Grace.” Sir Geoffrey Caldwell’s voice cut through her thoughts as he approached their table. “My congratulations to you both.”

His sharp features held a calculating expression that made Charlotte uncomfortable, though his manners were perfectly correct.

“Sir Geoffrey.” William’s tone held a hint of frost. “I trust that you found the ceremony satisfactory?”

“Indeed. Though one might have expected more... celebration… for such an auspicious union.” Caldwell’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Still, I understand your preference for efficiency in all things, Your Grace.”

Charlotte saw William’s jaw tighten and found herself speaking before she could consider the wisdom of it.

“His Grace knows that true worth lies in substance rather than show, Sir Geoffrey. Much like farming - it’s the quality of the crop that matters, not the celebration of its planting.”

Both men turned to look at her with surprise. William’s expression held something almost like approval, while Caldwell’s smile grew slightly fixed.

“Your Grace is most astute,” Caldwell said, after a moment. “I look forward to making your better acquaintance as a neighbour at Alverton.”

As he moved away, Charlotte felt William’s gaze on her.

“You carry yourself well,” he said quietly.