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But then, that was the purpose of this walk, wasn’t it? To learn more about him.

It will be all right, she told herself. She had told His Grace that she wanted to get better acquainted with him. And she did. To make the most of this marriage, she wouldn’t mind becoming friends. That is, if it was even possible.

He’d seemed irritated by her snowmen and the greenery. It had only been meant in fun. Did the duke even know how to have fun? He seemed so gloomy all the time.

Or, at least until he’d cornered her while she was holding mistletoe. The very memory still made her breathless. He’d stared at her as if he’d wanted to push aside the basket and kiss her thoroughly.

In the past, she’d had a few chaste kisses from suitors on her hand, but somehow, she suspected the duke’s kiss would be anything but chaste. His hooded gaze had held her spellbound, and she’d nearly dropped the basket.

Did she want him to kiss her? Charlotte knew she would have to consummate the marriage in a few weeks—but what did that even mean? She’d always imagined conjugal relations as a weekly chore, designed to conceive children. She would submit to her husband and let him do as he wished.

And yet nothing about the duke made her think that consummation would be a chore. When he’d looked at her like that, her body had softened beneath his gaze like a bud trying to blossom. She’d felt flushed and bewildered, though he hadn’t touched her, other than a brief clasp of her waist.

Why had he changed his mind about the walk? He didn’t seem at all interested in the garden. He wasn’t angry with her, was he?

When a soft knock sounded at her door, she opened it and saw him waiting for her. ‘You’re early,’ she said softly.

‘Would you prefer it if I waited outside your door until four o’clock?’

Yes.

But instead, she answered, ‘No, it’s all right.’ When really, her nerves were tightening with apprehension about what he’d meant by getting better acquainted.

Charlotte stepped into the hallway, and he walked alongside her down the stairs. The duke was already wearing a coat and holding his black hat. At the bottom of the stairs, her maid stood waiting with her bonnet, pelisse, and muff. Moreen also gave her a pair of boots for walking in the snow.

With the help of her maid, Charlotte donned the warm clothing and boots. Then the duke accompanied her outside to the patio. It would be twilight soon, and snow coated the grass. The servants had swept the stairs free of the snowdrifts, but it was still icy in places. She took his arm as he led her down one of the pathways that was now covered in snow.

‘How are the plans coming along for the house renovations?’ she asked.

‘The workmen should arrive in a day or two to start on the roof.’ With a dark look at her, he added, ‘Soon, there should be no more snowmen inside the house.’

Charlotte hid her smile and walked alongside him as he led her away from the house. ‘Who took care of your gardens in the past?’

‘We had a gardener, Mr Vincent,’ he answered. ‘I had to dismiss him last year.’

Which explained why the gardens were in such disrepair. ‘May we hire him back?’

‘I leave that to you to decide.’

Charlotte glanced up at him, still in disbelief that he had so easily granted her that power. She was so accustomed to being told what to do by her parents that the idea of having such autonomy filled her with joy. ‘Then I will.’ Impulsively, she hugged her husband. ‘Thank you so much.’

The duke stiffened in her embrace, as if he hadn’t expected it. Charlotte hadn’t realised her gesture would be so unwanted. Awkwardness descended between them, and she tried to apologise. ‘Forgive me. I didn’t mean to…’ Her words trailed off, and she had no idea what to say.

The duke simply said, ‘It doesn’t matter.’ Then he led her along the path towards a long brick wall covered in ivy.

Her cheeks were burning, but Charlotte pushed back her embarrassment. So, it wasn’t a good idea to hug him. Very well, she could maintain physical distance.

She felt a little sad that she’d misread him so badly. He’d asked for this walk to get to know her better. Intellectually, she reminded herself.

Charlotte squared her shoulders. ‘I believe you said you wanted to get better acquainted. What do you suggest?’

‘We will not have this conversation in view of the house and servants,’ he said. ‘I prefer privacy.’

Oh. Oh.

Did he mean what she thought he meant? Her thoughts seemed to scramble until she didn’t quite know what he wanted. Was his rejection of the hug simply because others could have seen them embracing? One of their rules, she remembered.

Her parents had always been discreet, she recalled. They never hugged—or, Heaven forbid, kissed one another in public. That was the mistake she’d made. She should have considered their surroundings.