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‘Then you will dine with me before you return home.’

‘But I am not dressed for luncheon. My clothes…’ She looked down at her apron and gown with dismay.

‘Your gown doesn’t matter.’ He left no room for argument, deciding the meal could be a way to take his mind off Lenora’s note and focus on his own future. He found himself needing the distraction.

Alaric offered his arm, and Charlotte hastily removed the dirty apron, holding the soiled gardening gloves in her other hand before she passed them to the maid and took his arm. ‘I’ll need to wash beforehand.’

‘If you wish.’

Alaric opened the door for her, and she walked inside, noting the line of wooden buckets and the steady dripping from the ceiling. Though it was nothing new, it still wasn’t the impression he wanted to give her of Severn.

She paused in front of one of the buckets, as if considering whether to wash her hands in it.

‘Not here,’ he said quietly. ‘I’ll take you to a room upstairs where you can wash in private.’

He ordered Braxton to arrange for luncheon to be served and then he led Charlotte up the stairs to one of the smaller bedchambers. It seemed too soon to introduce her to the duchess’s chambers.

Inside, he pointed out the basin and pitcher of water. ‘You can wash in here.’

She hurried towards it and poured the water into the basin. He went into the next room and found a cake of rose-scented soap that he brought over to her. ‘Here.’

‘I’m…sorry,’ she said quietly as she took the soap. ‘I know it’s inappropriate for me to be alone with you like this.’

‘We’re getting married in a week,’ he reminded her. ‘It hardly matters.’

‘I suppose you’re right.’

She dipped her hands in the water, lathering up her palms. Then she poured more water and washed her face. It was a strangely intimate moment to watch her while she was performing her ablutions.

Abruptly, he imagined what she might look like rising from her bath, the water droplets sliding over that bare skin. He blinked away the vision and passed her a linen towel. When she dried her face and hands, he realised that this was the sort of thing he might see more often, after he became her husband. Her blonde hair was slipping free of its knot, and the tendrils framed her damp face. Her green eyes were bright and her cheeks rosy from the cold. Charlotte was a lovely young woman, and he couldn’t deny that she was pleasing to look at.

Which confused him, because how could he even think such a thing when he’d had feelings for Lenora only months ago? He’d believed she loved him, and he’d wanted to marry her.

His reaction to Charlotte was only physical, he told himself. It meant nothing, any more than it was pleasant to look upon a beautiful painting or a wood carving. If he intended to live with a wife, he supposed it was nice to wed someone attractive.

‘Thank you,’ she said as she folded up the towel. ‘Now at least I won’t feel so dirty when we dine.’ Her expression turned wry. ‘I’ll admit that I wasn’t expecting to stay longer. I thought I would simply work in the gardens and return home.’

‘Severn will be your home in another week,’ he pointed out. ‘You may as well get used to it.’

‘True.’ She followed him outside the bedchamber and back into the hallway. As they walked together, she added, ‘There’s something else I’ve been wondering about.’

He waited for her to continue as he escorted her. ‘Go on, then.’

‘Is there a particular time each day that you would like to meet for our hour of companionship?’

He didn’t truly understand the question. Hour of companionship? ‘What do you mean?’

She rested her palm on his arm as they walked towards the dining room together. ‘I mean that I usually meet with my parents at six o’clock each evening. That is when we converse about our day. I wondered whether you would prefer that time or another.’

Did she mean that they only conversed once each day? He frowned, wondering if he was hearing her correctly. ‘What about during meals?’

‘Oh, we don’t eat together as a family. We never have.’

‘Am I to understand that you only spent an hour each day with your family?’ he clarified.

‘With my parents, yes. Well, sometimes less when my brother and sister were there. Then, I had only twenty minutes to speak.’ She turned to him. ‘I wondered if you preferred such an arrangement?’

Although he knew that many families sent their children to be raised by servants and only spoke with them at limited periods throughout the day, he couldn’t imagine such a controlled existence. His mother had never kept him at a distance. She’d often come to the nursery and played tin soldiers with him, ruffling his hair and catching him in an embrace.