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‘I will speak with His Grace this morning about it,’ she said. She needed to find out if any of the servants were owed back pay and how many additional staff members were needed. Certainly, a gardener and more scullery maids would be required.

Moreen helped her into a green morning gown and pinned up Charlotte’s hair. ‘Will you take breakfast in your room, or will you be dining with His Grace?’

‘I’ll eat here,’ Charlotte answered. She wasn’t overly concerned with his request for her to share meals with him. Surely, he didn’t want to see her that frequently?

In the meantime, she wanted to begin planning out the gardens during the spring. A fountain, she decided. She wanted a beautiful stone fountain as a centrepiece. And a summerhouse might be lovely, if she could find the right location for it.

After she was dressed, Charlotte went to sit at the escritoire by the window. She pulled out paper, a pen, and ink before she began sketching. Her cat Basil was sleeping by the hearth, purring softly. It made her smile to see him so at home already.

An hour later, the adjoining door opened, and the duke strode inside. ‘Why did you not come to breakfast?’

Charlotte set down her pen. ‘Good morning, Your Grace.’ She motioned towards her tray and the cup of tea that had gone cold. ‘I wasn’t aware that you wanted me to join you. I thought we agreed on sharing meals twice a week.’

‘No, we did not agree on that.’ He leaned against the doorway, his expression tense with an unspoken challenge. ‘And I expect you to dine with me at supper tonight.’

Why did he insist on sharing meals? Charlotte simply couldn’t understand it. But she sensed that this was important to him for some unknown reason. It wasn’t worth arguing about at this moment. With a shrug, she added, ‘If you wish.’

The duke glanced at the bedroom and asked, ‘Were you comfortable here last night?’ He frowned when he saw the missing bedcurtains and bedding but didn’t ask any questions.

‘Well enough, thank you.’ She didn’t want to tell him about the curtains or the mouldy bedding. If this room had once been his mother’s, then likely he had memories of her that were tied to this place. But replacing them wouldn’t change the room very much, and she would take care of it quietly.

‘What are you drawing?’

She turned the paper to show him. ‘These are my ideas for the gardens. I want to add a large stone fountain and possibly a summerhouse later.’

‘We cannot spend money on—’ He broke off when he seemed to realise that they did, in fact, have the funds.

‘I have the settlement from my grandmother I can use for these,’ she said, setting her pen aside and rising from the desk. ‘That is, if you have no objection. And in the meantime, if you would like to hire back any servants you had to let go, please do. Moreen told me that they are shorthanded.’

‘I intend to.’ But his demeanour still appeared stiff, as if she’d struck a blow to his pride—which hadn’t been her plan at all. Still, she was glad he hadn’t opposed her desire to rebuild the gardens.

Charlotte wanted to say something to ease his dark mood, though it wasn’t at all her fault. Without really thinking, she suggested, ‘Perhaps we could meet this afternoon. We could walk through the grounds, and I could ask your opinions about what I’d like to do. Or I could offer suggestions about your crops, if your tenants intend to plant in the spring.’

‘The gardens are yours. The estate is mine,’ he said. ‘Do as you please.’ He glanced once again at her paper and then said, ‘I will see you tonight at supper.’

Three hours later

There were snowmen in the house.

Alaric stared incredulously at the tiny snowman, just larger than his two fists stacked atop one another. This was the third one he’d found. The first had stood just beside a bucket in the hall in a tiny pile of snow that had come in from the leaking roof.

The second had been on the stairs in the main hallway.

And the third was standing on the mantel in his study. All three had pebbles for eyes, and small twigs for arms. It almost appeared as if a child had done it, but there were no children at Severn.

Was Charlotte responsible for these? Or one of her servants? Whoever had done it, he didn’t find it amusing at all. It would only leave puddles of water for others to clean. Alaric opened the window of the study and tossed the snowman outside.

A knock sounded at the door, and his land steward stood at the entrance. ‘Your Grace, you sent for me?’

Alaric closed the window and motioned for the man to enter. ‘When will the repairs to the roof begin?’

‘We have hired a dozen men who will begin within a day or two,’ the steward answered.

‘Good. Tell me about the other repairs.’

The steward began describing the other renovations, but as he spoke, Alaric’s attention was caught by his wife passing by the door. Charlotte carried a basket of greenery on one arm, and as she peeked inside the study, she sent him a smile.

It was her—he was convinced of it. She had built the snowmen. Did she think he would appreciate her tricks? Especially when it caused more work for others?