Page 34 of The Duke’s Christmas Redemption

Mrs Walden’s quiet ‘Very good, Your Grace’ held approval as she directed two maids to bring another chair.

The Housekeeper had witnessed their gradual shift from cold formality to cautious partnership, and Charlotte had not missed her subtle efforts to encourage such moments of cooperation.

“Perhaps His Grace might assist with the medicinal herbs?” Mrs Walden suggested. “They require careful counting, and Your Grace’s experience with estate ledgers would be most valuable.”

Charlotte watched as William settled himself at the worktable, his tall frame somewhat incongruous among the bundles of dried herbs and neatly labelled jars. Yet he showed no sign of discomfort, accepting the task with the same quiet competence he brought to all of his responsibilities.

They worked in companionable silence for a time, broken only by the soft rustle of herbs and the quiet murmur of maids at their tasks. Charlotte found her attention drawn repeatedly to William’s hands – strong and capable, yet surprisingly gentle as they sorted through delicate stems of feverfew and chamomile.

“I had no idea that you knew so much about medicinal herbs,” she ventured finally.

“My mother maintained an extensive herb garden,” William replied, his voice holding an undertone she couldn’t quite interpret. “She believed that every master of an estate should understand the basic principles of caring for those under his protection.”

The admission startled Charlotte. William rarely spoke of his parents, and never with such quiet reverence.

“She sounds like a remarkable woman.”

“She was.” His fingers stilled briefly on a sprig of lavender. “She would have approved of your efforts here, I think.”

The praise, indirect though it was, brought heat to Charlotte’s cheeks. Before she could respond, however, a commotion at the door drew their attention.

Phillips stood there, his usual composure somewhat ruffled.

“Begging your pardon, Your Grace – both Your Graces – but the supply wagon from York has arrived early. With rain threatening, we thought it best to unload immediately, but there’s quite a lot...”

“Indeed there is,” came another voice from the corridor, and Lady Margaret appeared behind the flustered groom. “Really, William, did you order half the apothecary’s shop?”

William rose smoothly from his chair.

“Better to have supplies in excess than to find ourselves lacking.” His glance at Charlotte held something that might have been apology. “I took the liberty of sending to York three days ago, when you first mentioned our dwindling stocks.”

Charlotte stared at him, warmth blooming in her chest. He had listened, then, to her quiet concerns. More than that, he had acted on them without feeling the need to inform her – not out of high-handedness, she realised, but from a genuine desire to ease her burden.

“We should help with the unloading,” she said, rising perhaps too quickly. The room swam alarmingly, and she might have stumbled had William not been suddenly there, his hand beneath her elbow.

“You,” he said firmly, “will remain seated and continue your inventory. I believe that I can manage to count boxes without requiring supervision.”

His tone held that note of command which she had once found so off-putting, but now she heard the concern beneath it. When she looked up to protest, the warmth in his grey eyes stole her breath.

“I assure you, I am perfectly capable—” Charlotte began, but William’s slight tightening of his fingers on her elbow silenced her protest.

“You have done more than enough these past weeks,” he said quietly. “Allow others to share the burden occasionally.”

Something in his voice – a gentleness she’d never expected to hear from the stern Duke of Alverton – made her throat tight with emotion.

Before she could gather her thoughts to respond, Lady Margaret stepped fully into the room.

“The clouds look positively threatening,” she announced, her dark eyes moving knowingly between her brother and his wife. “We really must hurry if we’re to get everything inside before the rain begins.”

“Then we shall make haste,” William replied, though his hand lingered a moment longer on Charlotte’s arm before he stepped away. “Phillips, get Thompson to have the stable boys assist with the heavier crates. Margaret, perhaps you might help Mrs Walden determine where best to store everything?”

Charlotte watched him take command of the situation with his usual efficiency, though there was a new quality to his leadership – less stern authority, more considerate partnership. When had that change begun? She could not pin down the exact moment, yet somehow the cold, distant Duke she’d married had started to transform into someone else entirely.

The next hour passed in near chaos as servants hurried to unload the wagon before the threatening storm broke, yet somehow, everything stayed as it should be, and everything was unloaded quickly. Charlotte remained at her inventory, though her attention frequently strayed to the corridor where she could hear William’s deep voice directing operations.

When the first heavy drops began to fall, she rose to close the stillroom windows. The motion set her head spinning again, but she forced herself to focus on the task. She would not prove William right about her exhaustion, no matter how her limbs trembled.

“Charlotte!”

His voice came to her, sharp with alarm, just as her knees buckled. Strong hands caught her before she could fall, and she found herself pressed against the solid warmth of his chest.