Chapter One #2
“Now, don’t go believing everything you hear about the man before you’ve met him.
” Edmund settled beside her on the bench, his concern evident in the gentle hand he placed over hers.
“Though I must admit, his reputation for severity does precede him. But then, they say the same about Father, and we know there’s more to him than that. ”
Charlotte’s laugh emerged as a half-sob.
“Did you know about this? Before today?”
“Father mentioned it yesterday evening, after you’d retired.
I argued for giving you more time, but he’s quite determined.
” Edmund pulled out his handkerchief and offered it to her, the fine linen still carrying traces of his favoured lemon water.
“The Duke’s reputation is excellent, Lottie, despite his reserve.
He’s transformed Alverton’s fortunes in just six years - no small feat, considering the state his father left them in. ”
“I don’t care about his fortune, Edmund. I care that Father has arranged my entire future without a word to me. The Duke clearly views this as nothing more than a business transaction. His Grace didn’t even court me properly - just negotiated with Father as if I were... were...”
“A prized filly at Tattersall’s?” Edmund suggested, earning another watery laugh. His expression grew serious as he studied her face. “I give you my word, Lottie - if he proves unkind, you need only tell me. Duke or no Duke, he’ll answer to me if he mistreats you.”
“What could you do? Father would never allow me to cry off, even then. The scandal would be unthinkable.”
Charlotte dabbed at her eyes, grateful that at least her brother understood her distress.
“Perhaps not,” Edmund admitted, then added more forcefully, “But you’re stronger than you think, dear sister.
Remember how you managed after Mama died?
When everyone expected you to collapse under the responsibility of running the household?
You surprised them all - you might surprise yourself again. ”
Charlotte squeezed his hand, remembering those dark days after their mother’s passing.
She had been sixteen, suddenly thrust into the role of household mistress, determined not to disappoint her mother’s memory.
“Tell me what you know of him, Edmund. Surely you’ve encountered him at your clubs?”
Edmund’s expression turned thoughtful.
“He’s rarely seen in society beyond what duty requires.
Spends most of his time at his estate, Alverton Grange.
They say he took control of a nearly ruined property at nineteen, and transformed it through sheer determination.
” He paused, choosing his next words carefully.
“He’s respected, Charlotte. Perhaps feared a little, but respected.
His tenants prosper, his estates run like clockwork, and his word is considered absolutely trustworthy. ”
“How old is he?”
Charlotte found herself asking, trying to build a clearer picture of her future husband.
“Five and twenty, I believe. Young for a Duke, but then, he inherited unexpectedly when his father died of a fever.” Edmund’s voice lowered.
“The gossips say that he was betrayed by his first betrothed - she apparently eloped with another man just weeks before their planned wedding date. Perhaps that explains his... businesslike approach to marriage now.”
Charlotte absorbed this information, her romantic heart already constructing possibilities despite her best efforts to stay ‘sensible’.
A man betrayed, who had shouldered enormous responsibilities at a young age.
.. perhaps his reserve masked deeper feelings?
She could imagine the pain of such a betrayal, the way that it might cause a young man to guard his heart carefully.
She shook herself mentally. This was precisely the kind of fanciful thinking that her father would disapprove of.
Still, she couldn’t quite suppress a flutter of curiosity about the man who would soon be her husband.
*****
The dinner hour brought fresh challenges.
Charlotte sat perfectly straight in her chair, acutely aware of her father’s measuring gaze across the polished mahogany.
The dining room’s elegant proportions, usually so comforting in their familiarity, seemed to press upon her tonight.
Candlelight flickered across the family portraits adorning the walls, generations of Wyndhams watching, as yet another marriage was arranged to further the family’s interests.
The footmen moved silently around them, their practiced efficiency marking them as servants of the best quality – as was every servant that her father employed.
Each course appeared and disappeared with a balletic precision that usually comforted Charlotte in its predictability, but tonight, every movement of knife and fork felt like the tick of a clock, counting down to tomorrow’s meeting.
“I’ve written to His Grace confirming my acceptance of his offer,” the Earl announced between courses, his voice carrying the same authority it held in Parliament. “And confirming the time tomorrow afternoon that he will call to make the arrangements official.”
Charlotte’s spoon trembled slightly against her soup bowl.
“Did it have to be so soon?”
“Naturally. Everything must be properly settled before the announcement can be made.” Her father’s tone softened marginally as he regarded her pale face.
“Lady Margaret’s presence should ease the formality somewhat.
I understand that she has expressed particular pleasure at the prospect of having you as a sister. ”
“Though I imagine His Grace will ensure there’s plenty of formality to go around,” Edmund murmured, earning a sharp look from their father.
He had chosen to dine at home tonight, rather than at his club, clearly concerned for Charlotte’s state of mind. The Earl set down his wine glass with deliberate care.
“I trust, Charlotte, that you will comport yourself with appropriate dignity tomorrow,” he said sternly. “The Duke of Alverton is not a man to appreciate frivolity or excessive emotion. Your conduct must reflect the position which you are to assume.”
Charlotte lifted her chin slightly, summoning every lesson in deportment that she had ever received.
“I shall endeavour to meet His Grace’s expectations, Father. A Duchess must be above reproach in all things.”
The words tasted bitter, but she forced them out with perfect composure. A footman appeared at her elbow with the fish course, and Charlotte gratefully focused on her plate, using the moment to gather her thoughts.
“Above reproach, yes,” her father agreed, “but not without warmth. The Duke’s position requires an accomplished hostess, someone who can manage his households with grace and efficiency. Your mother would have understood perfectly.”
The unexpected mention of Lady Westbridge caused Charlotte’s throat to tighten. She took a sip of wine to cover her emotion, but Edmund had already noted her distress.
“I believe that Mama would have insisted on at least one dance before agreeing to a marriage,” he said lightly, clearly trying to lift her spirits.
“Perhaps we could arrange a small musical evening, Father? Before the wedding? It would give Charlotte and His Grace an opportunity to become better acquainted.”
The Earl considered this suggestion with surprising tolerance.
“Perhaps, but the Duke’s schedule is quite full, with estate matters. We shall see what can be arranged after tomorrow’s meeting.”
The rest of the meal passed in a blur of perfectly prepared dishes that Charlotte could barely taste.
Her mind raced with questions.
What would the Duke be like? Would he find her wanting? Could she learn to be the sort of Duchess that his position in society required?
The weight of expectations - her father’s, society’s, and soon her husband’s - pressed upon her like a physical thing.
The thought that she would marry with no more acquaintance of the man than a formal business meeting, and perhaps one dance, left her feeling hollow, as if all of the possibilities which her life had contained, only yesterday morning, had slipped away from her in the instant that her father had so casually traded her for social benefit.
*****
Later, in her chamber, her lady’s maid helped her prepare for bed with unusual gentleness, clearly sensing her mistress’s distress. The maid’s practiced fingers made quick work of Charlotte’s elaborate coiffure, each pin set aside with care.
“Begging your pardon, my Lady,” the maid ventured softly, “but I heard from my cousin who works at Lady Ashworth’s that His Grace is considered very handsome, despite his serious ways.”
Charlotte managed a small smile at this attempt at comfort.
“Thank you, Morton. That’s kind of you to mention.”
She dismissed the maid early, preferring solitude with her thoughts.
Moving to her window seat, Charlotte pressed her forehead against the cool glass. Below, the garden lay silvered in moonlight, her mother’s roses pale ghosts of their daytime glory.
In six weeks, she would leave this home, these familiar comforts, for a new life with a stranger. The thought should have terrified her, and in one way it did, yet somehow, amid the turmoil of her emotions, a spark of hopeful curiosity flickered.
What sort of man could resurrect a failing estate at nineteen?
What had driven him to such dedication?
And what had his first betrothed’s betrayal done to his heart?
The moonlight offered no answers, but as Charlotte finally turned away from the window, a strange calm settled over her.
Tomorrow would bring what it would bring.
She would face the Duke of Alverton with all the grace that she could muster, and perhaps... perhaps there might be more to him than society’s whispers suggested.
Charlotte moved to her writing desk and pulled out her journal - another habit inherited from her mother. Her hand was steady now as she uncorked her inkpot and picked up her pen to record the day’s events.
Whatever happened tomorrow, she would face it with dignity. She was her mother’s daughter, after all, and while she might long for romance, she possessed strength, as she had proven before – it would have to be enough.
Outside, a nightingale began to sing, its sweet notes floating through the summer night. Charlotte paused in her writing, listening to the song’s rising and falling cadence. Regardless of her situation, there was always beauty to appreciate – she would just have to look for it.