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I hope you will forgive me one day for what I’ve done. I am so sorry for hurting you, but please know that I still care for you.

I wish you well in your forthcoming marriage.

Lenora

He crumpled the letter and tossed it into his desk drawer. Though he knew he ought to get rid of it, he couldn’t quite bring himself to burn the note.

Instead, he shoved back his anger, replacing it with cool ice. It didn’t matter what Lenora felt for him—only that she’d married another man. And damn it all, Alaric didn’t know why. She certainly hadn’t bothered to give him the reason.

None of it mattered now, anyway. He intended to marry Lady Charlotte within the week.

Which reminded him…she was here at the estate, wasn’t she? He seemed to recall his footman saying something about her planting tulip bulbs. He’d allowed her to visit often during the past fortnight, though he’d paid little attention. Maybe he should see her today.

He rose from his desk and walked towards the hallway, stepping past a few buckets that had caught the rainfall from last night. With any luck, he could begin repairs on the roof within a fortnight.

Although it was frosty outside, Alaric didn’t intend to stay long, so he ignored the need for a coat. He could see his breath in the air as he walked down the stone steps leading to the gardens. From this distance, he could see dead vines covering the brick wall and weeds overtaking the shrubbery. He couldn’t quite tell where the grass left off and the flowerbeds began.

The last thing he expected to find was Lady Charlotte kneeling beside one of the beds, a small trowel in one hand. Her blonde hair was tucked within her bonnet, and she wore a brown day dress and a heavy apron. Beside her was one of the maids, who passed a bulb to her. Charlotte planted the bulb, covering it with soil.

He’d thought she might ask a servant to do the planting or pull weeds. It startled him to see her working with her hands in the freezing dirt. Lenora would never have done such a thing.

His footsteps crunched on the gravel before he stepped onto the icy grass. His bride seemed to sense his presence, and she turned to him.

‘Good morning, Your Grace.’ Charlotte rose from her position, removing the heavy work gloves. Her cheeks were bright from the cold, despite the smudge of dirt. The smile on her face illuminated her green eyes. ‘How are you?’

The sight of her smile and the unexpected joy caught him off-guard. She truly did love gardening, didn’t she?

Alaric removed his glove and reached out to wipe the dirt from her cheek. ‘You’ve been busy.’

Charlotte touched the place where he’d brushed off the dirt, blushing before she seemed to shake off the slight touch. ‘I have.’ She pointed towards the flowerbed and said, ‘I asked one of the maids to help me. We’ve planted one hundred tulips.’ But the maid stepped discreetly away, giving them privacy.

It had been weeks since he’d seen Charlotte, but he noticed that there was no betrothal ring upon her left hand. He frowned but then saw it hanging on a chain around her neck. The heavy gold ring had a large ruby, and it occurred to him then that her betrothal ring completely overwhelmed her hand.

At the time, he’d simply sent a note to the jeweller to give him a ring befitting a duchess.

Now, he was starting to think it was the wrong choice entirely. ‘You’re not wearing your ring.’

Charlotte caught his gaze and reached for the necklace, offering a rueful smile. ‘I fear it gets in the way when I work in the garden.’

‘Does it fit?’ he asked.

Colour tinged her cheeks. ‘Not really. It’s a bit…large. But I suppose I can wrap it with thread to make it smaller.’

He offered his arm, and she took it, leaving the trowel and gloves on the ground. ‘You should have told me sooner. The jeweller can resize it.’

‘If that’s what you prefer.’

Her words startled him, for it wasn’t about his preference. ‘What sort of ring did you want?’

She shook her head. ‘I have worn jewels all my life, Your Grace. They are all unique in their own way. I do not have an opinion, truly.’

He noticed then that she wasn’t wearing jewellery now—though he remembered she’d worn an emerald ring a few weeks ago and then a diamond necklace at the first ball they’d attended.

She picked up her gardening gloves and asked, ‘Did you need anything, or shall I return to London now that I’ve finished?’

He ought to let her go, but he supposed they should speak about the wedding beforehand. ‘Have you had luncheon?’

She shook her head. ‘No, not yet.’