Page 70 of The Duke’s Christmas Redemption

“If you have actual evidence to present, Sir Geoffrey, I suggest that you do so through the proper channels. Otherwise, I believe that we are finished here.”

“Oh, we’re far from finished, Alverton.” Caldwell’s voice carried clearly as he moved towards the front door, each word falling like a hammer blow in the hushed house. “Ask your Duchess about what she discovered in Harrison’s office. About the documents that disappeared with young Simmons. About the real reason she’s been investigating your father’s affairs.”

The sound of the front door closing echoed through Alverton’s halls with dreadful finality. Charlotte stood frozen, her fingers white-knuckled where they gripped Margaret’s supporting hand. Every nerve in her body strained to hear William’s movements in the corridor. Instead of his usual swift retreat to his study, she heard his footsteps approaching the morning room with measured precision. Each step seemed to match the thundering of her heart.

“Charlotte.” Margaret’s voice dropped to barely a whisper. “Caldwell seeks to drive the two of you apart, for if you do not trust each other, you will each more easily believe his lies. Remember what I said. William pushes hardest against those who matter most. Some battles are worth fighting, no matter the cost.”

“And if I lose?” Charlotte’s voice emerged rough with suppressed emotion. “If by trying to protect him, I’ve destroyed any chance of...”

“Of what?” Margaret’s grip tightened briefly. “Of a marriage built on careful distance? Of watching him retreat further into solitude with each passing year? Or do you fear losing the chance of something real between you - something worth fighting for?”

Before Charlotte could respond, the morning room door opened.

William stood framed in the doorway, his riding clothes still damp from the rain, his dark hair slightly dishevelled.

Sir Geoffrey must have arrived at almost the same instance that William had returned home. Something about William’s disarray, so unlike his usual precise appearance, made Charlotte’s heart ache anew.

His grey eyes moved from Charlotte to his sister, then back again. The neutral expression that he wore did nothing to mask the turbulent emotions that Charlotte had learned to read in the slight tension around his mouth, the way that his hands flexed briefly at his sides.

“Margaret.” His voice held careful courtesy. “I was not aware that you had planned to return home today.”

“Clearly not.” Margaret rose with fluid grace, gathering her pelisse. “Though perhaps my presence is providential. You and Charlotte appear to have matters requiring discussion.”

William’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.

“Margaret...”

“No, William.” His sister’s voice held a quiet authority that reminded Charlotte forcefully of their mother’s portrait in the gallery. “You’ve had three days to hide in your study and brood. Enough.”

She moved to the door, pausing briefly beside her brother. Whatever she whispered to him made his rigid composure crack slightly. Then she was gone, leaving husband and wife alone with the rain drumming against the windows and years of carefully constructed walls trembling between them.