Chapter Two
William Hawthorne, Duke of Alverton, stood at the window of his study in his London townhouse, watching dawn creep across the city’s rooftops.
The early morning quiet suited his temperament, allowing him to think without interruption.
His man of business would arrive shortly, bringing the final settlement papers for his upcoming marriage - a union he had arranged with the same careful consideration he gave to all estate matters.
The study reflected its master’s personality - everything in precise order, from the methodically arranged ledgers to the carefully organised correspondence awaiting his attention.
No trace remained of his father’s chaos, the scattered bills and desperate prayers for credit that had nearly ruined them.
William had spent six years rebuilding what generations of Hawthornes had repeatedly built and almost lost, and he would not see his work undone.
“Your Grace?” His butler’s measured tones broke into his thoughts. “Mr Harrison has arrived.”
“Show him in.”
William moved to his desk, selecting the relevant papers from their precise stack. His man of business entered with a deferential bow, his own portfolio tucked under one arm.
“Good morning, Your Grace. I have the settlement papers for your review, along with the latest figures from the northern estate.”
William nodded, accepting the documents.
“Sit, Harrison. I want to be certain that everything is in order before this afternoon’s meeting with Lord Westbridge.”
“Of course, Your Grace.” Harrison settled into the chair, his expression carefully neutral. “I’ve reviewed the terms carefully. Lady Charlotte’s dowry is quite generous, and the Earl’s connections in Parliament could prove valuable.”
“Indeed.” William scanned the papers, his grey eyes sharp. Every detail must be perfect - he would not risk his family’s security on careless oversights. “And the special provisions I requested?”
“All included, Your Grace. The Duchess’ pin money will be substantial, befitting her position, while remaining within the parameters you specified.”
William’s fingers traced the edge of the document. He had ensured that the settlement was more than fair - generous, even. His future bride would want for nothing material, though he suspected that Lady Charlotte Wyndham might have hoped for more than such practical considerations in a marriage.
He had seen her once, at a distance, during her Season - a petite blonde with remarkable poise and a smile that transformed her entire countenance.
She had been surrounded by admirers, but had shown admirable discretion, so he had heard, in refusing several offers from gentlemen who were eligible, but somewhat prone to excessive spending.
That combination of social grace and good sense had first drawn his attention.
“William?” His sister’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “Are you completely determined to treat this like a business transaction?”
Lady Margaret Hawthorne stood in the doorway, her dark hair and eyes - so like his own - reflecting their shared heritage. Mr Harrison rose immediately, bowing to the lady.
“That will be all, Harrison,” William said. “Have copies sent to Lord Westbridge now, and a copy for me to take there this afternoon.”
Once the man of business had departed, Margaret moved further into the room.
“You haven’t answered my question, brother.”
“Marriage is a serious undertaking, Margaret. It requires careful consideration.”
“Careful consideration, yes. But not cold calculation.” She settled into the recently vacated chair, her expression concerned. “Lady Charlotte is quite young. And by all accounts, rather romantic in her inclinations.”
“Then it’s fortunate that she has a practical father who understands the importance of a suitable match.”
William returned to the papers, though his sister’s words had struck uncomfortably close to thoughts which he preferred to avoid.
“Like Elizabeth’s father understood?”
William’s hands stilled.
“That was different.”
“Was it?” Margaret’s voice softened. “You were both young, both believing in romance. Her betrayal hurt you deeply, I know. But Lady Charlotte isn’t Elizabeth.”
“No, she isn’t.” William stood abruptly, pacing to the window. “She’s the daughter of an Earl, with an impeccable reputation and the qualities needed in a Duchess. Our positions in society are compatible, our temperaments adequately suited. What more is required?”
“Perhaps a chance at happiness? The possibility of love?”
“I had my chance at love.” The words emerged harshly. “It ended with my betrothed running off with a cavalry officer two weeks before our wedding. I have learned my lesson well, Margaret. Duty and honour are far more reliable companions than passion.”
Margaret rose, crossing to lay a gentle hand on his arm.
“William, you were nineteen when Elizabeth betrayed you. You’ve spent six years proving yourself more than capable of managing our estates and the title. Perhaps it’s time to consider that happiness needn’t compromise duty.”
William stared out at the morning bustle below, remembering another June morning when his world had shifted.
The letter announcing Elizabeth’s elopement had arrived with his morning correspondence, her careless words destroying his youthful belief in love and trust. He had thrown himself into saving the estate instead, finding comfort in ledgers that balanced and crops that yielded predictable returns.
“Lady Charlotte seems genuinely kind,” Margaret ventured. “When we met at Lady Ashworth’s musicale, she showed remarkable sensitivity in steering the conversation away from marriage when she noticed my discomfort with the topic.”
This caught William’s attention.
“You never mentioned meeting her.”
“You never asked.” Margaret’s smile held a touch of reproof. “She plays the pianoforte beautifully, though with more emotion than technical precision. And she has a lovely way of making everyone around her feel at ease.”
“Social grace is certainly an asset in a Duchess.”
William turned back to his desk, but Margaret wasn’t finished.
“Is that all you see when you look at her? An asset?”
The question, again, struck uncomfortably close to thoughts he’d been avoiding. In truth, his one distant glimpse of Lady Charlotte had left an impression he found difficult to dismiss.
There had been something compelling about the way she’d listened to an elderly Dowager’s lengthy story, her attention genuine rather than merely polite. He had noticed how her eyes sparkled when she laughed, and how gracefully she’d dealt with an over-eager suitor’s attention.
“What I see,” he said carefully, “is a young woman of good breeding and intelligence, who will make a suitable Duchess. That is sufficient.”
Margaret sighed.
“And if she hopes for more?”
“Then she will learn, as I did, that practical considerations make for a more stable foundation than romantic dreams.” He picked up the settlement papers again. “The meeting is at four. You will accompany me? I would like to provide an opportunity for you to assess her, and her family.”
“Of course.” Margaret moved towards the door, then paused. “Just... try to remember that while you’ve had six years to build walls around your heart, she’s had less than a day to adjust to the idea of marrying a stranger.”
*****
The afternoon found William’s carriage drawing up before the Earl of Westbridge’s London residence. The butler admitted them promptly, leading them to a formal drawing room where Lord Westbridge awaited them with his son, Viscount Parrington.
“Your Grace.” The Earl stepped forward to greet him. “Lady Margaret, you are most welcome. I have asked my daughter to join us shortly.”
William performed the necessary courtesies with practiced ease, noting the protective way that Viscount Parrington regarded him. Clearly, Lady Charlotte’s brother harboured some concerns about the match.
“I trust that the settlement papers meet with your approval, my Lord?” William enquired, once they were seated.
“Most generous, Your Grace.” Lord Westbridge’s tone was approving. “I’ve had my man of business review them thoroughly. Everything appears to be in perfect order.”
“Excellent.” William removed the final copies from his portfolio. “Then we need only…”
He broke off as the drawing room door opened.
Lady Charlotte entered, her golden hair catching the afternoon light.
Her pale blue gown emphasised both her youth and her innate elegance, but it was her expression that caught William’s attention.
Despite her obvious nervousness, she held herself with quiet dignity.
“Your Grace.” Her curtsey was perfect, her voice steady. “Lady Margaret, welcome.”
William rose, bowing over her hand.
“Lady Charlotte.”
Her fingers trembled slightly beneath his, but her composure never wavered. Something unexpected stirred in his chest - admiration, perhaps, for her courage in facing this situation with such grace.
“Please, be seated,” William said, watching as the afternoon light caught golden highlights in her hair as she moved to the settee beside her father. Her eyes, when they briefly met his, were a clear, intelligent blue that seemed to look straight through his carefully maintained facade.
Margaret took the seat beside Lady Charlotte, smoothly opening a conversation about mutual acquaintances.
William found his attention divided between Lord Westbridge’s discussion of the settlement terms and the soft musical quality of Lady Charlotte’s voice as she responded to his sister’s questions.
“I understand that you’re quite accomplished at the pianoforte,” Margaret was saying. “Perhaps you might play for us?”
A faint blush coloured Lady Charlotte’s cheeks.
“I enjoy music greatly, though I fear that I play with more enthusiasm than skill.”