Page 68 of The Duke’s Christmas Redemption

“You loved him too much to remain passive in the face of his pain,” Margaret finished quietly. “Oh, my dear. No wonder William reacts so strongly. You’ve managed to strike directly at his most carefully guarded weakness.”

Charlotte looked up sharply, her heart thundering beneath her morning dress.

“Weakness? William is the strongest person I know.”

“Is he?” Margaret’s smile held gentle understanding, tinged with old sorrow. “Strength and weakness often spring from the same root, especially where matters of the heart are concerned. And William’s heart...” She paused, choosing her words with absolute precision. “William’s heart has been carefully walled away since long before you knew him.”

The quiet observation struck deeper than any accusation could have done. Charlotte rose, moving to stand before the fire. The flames’ warmth did nothing to disperse the chill that had settled in her chest. Margaret watched her sister-in-law’s restless movement, something like pain crossing her features.

“Do you know why William’s first betrothal ended?”

“I understand that Elizabeth eloped with another.” Charlotte’s hands twisted together before she forced them still. “Though I confess, I know few details. William never speaks of it.”

“No, he wouldn’t.” Margaret’s voice held old hurt. “It happened not long after Papa died, you see. When everything was in chaos, when creditors circled like vultures and society whispered about our family’s disgrace. William was barely nineteen - one day a carefree young man whose greatest concern was which horse to ride, the next responsible for an estate in ruins and a sister not quite out of the schoolroom.”

Charlotte returned to her seat, drawn by the pain in Margaret’s voice. The fire cast dancing shadows across the walls, lending an almost theatrical quality to the scene - two women separated by a sofa’s width, united by love for a man who seemed determined to stand alone against the world.

“Elizabeth had been a friend since childhood,” Margaret continued, her fingers tracing the delicate pattern on her teacup. “She knew William before he became Duke, before he had to assume that carefully controlled facade that he shows the world. When Papa died, when the true extent of our difficulties became clear, she promised to stand by him through whatever came.”

“But she didn’t.”

Charlotte’s heart ached, imagining William at nineteen - suddenly thrust into responsibilities that would have broken a lesser man.

“No.” Margaret’s fingers stilled on her cup. “She waited until William had begun to resolve the worst of the financial tangle, until society’s whispers had started to die down. Then she fled with Lord Rutherford’s second son - a man with no responsibilities, no estate to rescue, no...” She stopped, swallowing hard. “No broken trust to rebuild.”

“She was a fool,” Charlotte said fiercely, surprising herself with the vehemence in her voice.

“Was she? She was barely eighteen, faced with a betrothed who had transformed almost overnight from a carefree young man into someone driven by duty and responsibility. William was...” Margaret paused, gazing into the fire as though seeing those difficult days reflected in its flames. “He became so focused on protecting everyone, on living down Papa’s mistakes, that he forgot how to let anyone close enough to help shoulder the burden.”

“As he has still forgotten now,” Charlotte whispered, remembering William’s rigid stance in the garden, the careful way that he’d held himself apart, even as pain radiated from every line of his body.

“As he still does now,” Margaret agreed, her voice softening. “Though perhaps with one crucial difference.”

“Oh?”

Charlotte forced the word past the tightness in her throat.

“He never looked at Elizabeth the way that he looks at you when he thinks no one is watching.” Margaret set her cup down with careful precision. “I have been here for most of the time since your marriage, you know. I’ve seen him in the library - how his eyes follow your every movement, how his hands clench at his sides as though he is physically restraining himself from reaching for you. Even now, when he believes himself betrayed...”

She trailed off as Charlotte rose abruptly, moving back to the window. The rain had intensified, turning the formal gardens into a watercolour painting of muted greys and greens. Somewhere out there, William rode alone through this deluge, choosing physical discomfort over the possibility of encountering his wife.

“That was before,” Charlotte said softly, pressing one hand against the cold glass. “Before my ill-judged visit to Mr Harrison, before Caldwell’s latest threats. You cannot know how he looked at me in the garden three days ago, Margaret. Such disappointment, such carefully controlled pain...”

“And why do you think that pain needs such careful control?” Margaret’s reflection appeared beside Charlotte’s in the window glass. “William has faced worse scandals, worse threats to Alverton’s stability. Yet I’ve never seen him so affected, so... undone… by anything as he is by this breach between you.”

“Because I proved myself untrustworthy?”

Charlotte’s voice caught on the word.

“Because you proved yourself willing to fight for him, even at the cost of his good opinion.” Margaret laid one hand on Charlotte’s shoulder. “When was the last time that anyone, apart from me, cared enough about William to defy his wishes for his own good? To risk his anger out of love rather than self-interest?”

The question hung in the rain-chilled air between them.

Charlotte stared at their reflected faces in the window glass - two women who loved William in different ways, both seeking to penetrate the walls he had built around his heart.

“I’ve watched him these past months,” Margaret continued softly. “I’ve seen how he changes when you enter a room - how his voice softens when he speaks your name, how his careful control slips just slightly when you’re near. Even his laugh... Charlotte, do you know how long it had been since I heard William truly laugh before you came to Alverton?”

Charlotte turned from the window, meeting Margaret’s concerned gaze directly.