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When they reached the main hallway, all the servants were lined up for introductions. Charlotte startled him when she gave a cry of delight and released his hand, hurrying to one of the maids. ‘Moreen! I’m so glad you’re here.’

Her maid beamed and bobbed a curtsy as Charlotte took her hands. ‘Your mother sent me over this morning.’ With a glance at her appearance, Moreen said, ‘Your Grace, I can help you change your gown, if you wish. Your trunks have already been taken upstairs and unpacked.’

Before Charlotte could follow her, Alaric caught his wife’s hand again. ‘Before you go, allow me to introduce the other staff to you.’

‘Of course.’

He was entirely conscious of how few servants remained, but he introduced each of them to her, including the housekeeper, Mrs Newton. And inwardly he hoped to bring back many of the servants he’d had to let go.

Charlotte was gracious as she spoke with each one, never letting her smile falter. An invisible burden seemed to lift when he realised how comfortable she was with them—as if she’d governed a household her entire life. Most likely she had been brought up to do just that.

After she had met all of them, he told her maid, ‘I will show the duchess to her rooms first, and then you may come upstairs in half an hour.’ Although he could have let her maid escort her, he wanted to see Charlotte’s response when he brought her into her room.

He led his wife up two of the staircases, and she stopped to admire a large window at one of the landings. ‘Severn truly is a beautiful place.’

‘It is,’ he agreed. ‘But I prefer it when it’s not snowing.’

She gave a slight laugh, but he hadn’t meant it as a joke. His father’s debts had transformed Severn from an ageing estate into utter disrepair—because they could no longer afford the necessary renovations. Neither he nor his brother Thornton had known the extent of their father’s poor choices. Of course, Nathaniel had grieved after his wife died, but in the past year it had seemed as if he’d slipped into madness. Sometimes he’d spoken as if Marianne were still alive. Then he’d consoled himself with gambling and poor investments.

But all of that would change now, Alaric told himself. He would rebuild Severn from the ashes until it shone once again.

He escorted Charlotte down the hallway to their rooms, opening the door to the duchess’s bedchamber.

A warm fire burned in the hearth when they entered the room. The curtains were open, revealing the last of the afternoon sunlight. His mother’s escritoire was near the window, and he still remembered the way she’d often sat and written letters at the desk. Sometimes she had invented stories for Thornton and him, and they would sit by the fire while she read them aloud.

The unexpected grief caught him again, and Alaric forced his attention back to his wife. ‘Do you have everything you need?’

Charlotte walked to the large mahogany wardrobe and opened it. Several gowns hung inside, and she reached for a blue one. ‘Yes, if you’ll just send Moreen to me, I will change out of my wedding gown.’

For a moment, he wondered if he ought to offer his assistance in unbuttoning her gown. It was the sort of thing a husband would do. He paused, studying his wife and the way the white satin and lace skimmed the edges of her waist in soft folds. But she would only misread his intentions if he offered to undress her, so he turned away.

Before he left, he tried to read Charlotte’s expression to see if she liked the room or not. She’d said little since she’d entered her bedchamber. Instead, she appeared to be waiting for him to leave.

‘I will see you at supper, then.’ He didn’t give her a chance to argue but closed the door behind him. And he told himself that he would somehow make the best of this arrangement.

Even if he wasn’t married to the woman he’d expected to wed.

Being married to the duke wasn’t quite what she’d imagined, but Charlotte was determined to find her own happiness as his wife.

The duchess’s rooms were nice enough, but she’d noticed an air of neglect in the space. Even the bed coverings felt ancient and heavy with the weight of the past. There was a faint scent of mould, so she’d gathered up the bedding, along with the bed curtains, and had sent them away with Moreen. Her maid had promised to bring back blankets and sheets that were soft and clean, and Charlotte intended to discreetly replace the coverings as soon as possible.

This morning, she had already asked the maids to give the room a thorough cleaning. The blue curtains at the windows were moth-eaten, and she decided it was best to simply order new ones. Although the duke had asked her not to redecorate the house, this was different. He likely wasn’t aware of how decrepit her living conditions were and couldn’t possibly expect her not to change them.

Yellow, she decided. A bright sunshine yellow would warm the space and make it more cheerful. She would place the order today. The nicest part of her room was the beautiful view of the gardens—even if everything was covered beneath a light blanket of snow. Excitement flooded through her as she realised that the grounds were truly hers now. She could decorate the house with greenery, possibly holly or evergreens in preparation for Christmas.

A knock sounded at the door, and she called out for the person to enter. Her maid Moreen offered a tentative smile. ‘Good morning, Your Grace. Are you…well?’

It was clear that Moreen believed she’d had a wedding night with her husband. Charlotte blinked a moment and then said, ‘Yes, of course.’

‘Would you like a hot bath?’ her maid offered. ‘I could have the servants help draw some water. It might be soothing.’

Oh. Her face turned crimson, but she tried to behave as if it didn’t matter. It wouldn’t do for the servants to believe that she and the duke hadn’t consummated their marriage. ‘That—that’s not necessary. I’m fine.’ She braved a smile and added, ‘If you’ll just help me get dressed, I intend to cut some greenery for the house.’

Her maid gave her a faint smile but didn’t pry. Charlotte realised that she was going to have to be more careful, at least during the early days, to ensure that the servants believed she and the duke had a traditional marriage.

‘I’m going to need new bedding and new curtains for this room,’ she told her maid. ‘Yellow for the bedding and a darker gold for the windows. Could you find out if there is a linen draper in the village nearby, so we might support them with our business? If not, we can send to London.’

‘Of course, Your Grace.’ Moreen nodded. After a pause, she added, ‘I spoke with some of the staff last night. They are in need of more help.’