Chapter Two #2
“Nonsense,” Viscount Parrington interjected from his position by the fireplace. “You play beautifully, Lottie. Your Grace, you’ll find my sister’s modesty does her a disservice in many areas.”
William caught the subtle warning in the Viscount’s tone.
“Then I look forward to hearing Lady Charlotte play at some future time.” He turned back to the Earl. “Shall we review the final points of the settlement?”
As the men discussed business, William found his gaze repeatedly drawn to his future bride.
She sat with perfect posture, her hands folded gracefully in her lap, but there was nothing artificial in her manner.
When Margaret mentioned their mother’s favourite roses, Lady Charlotte’s expression softened with understanding.
“We have a rose garden here as well,” she said quietly. “My mother planned it herself. I find it brings me closer to her memory, especially in June when her favourite blooms are at their peak.”
The gentle empathy in her voice stirred something unexpected in William’s chest. He had not considered that they shared this loss - a mother taken too soon, leaving behind adult responsibilities and quiet grief.
Lord Westbridge cleared his throat.
“Perhaps, Your Grace, you might escort Lady Charlotte to view those very roses? The afternoon light is particularly fine in the garden at this hour.”
William recognised the suggestion for what it was - a chaperoned opportunity to speak with his future bride. He rose, offering his arm to Lady Charlotte.
“If you would do me the honour, my Lady?”
Her small hand rested like a butterfly on his sleeve. A footman materialised to open the French doors leading to the garden, while Margaret and Viscount Parrington followed at a discreet distance.
The rose garden was indeed beautiful, planned with an artist’s eye for colour and form. Lady Charlotte paused beside a particularly fine pink bloom, its petals just beginning to unfurl.
“This was Mama’s favourite variety,” she said softly. “She called them her sunrise roses, because the colour deepens as they open, like dawn touching the clouds.”
William found himself studying her profile, noting the genuine fondness in her expression as she spoke of her mother.
“You must miss her greatly.”
“Every day.” She glanced up at him, something vulnerable flickering in her eyes before her composure reasserted itself. “But she taught me that duty need not preclude joy. That even the most practical tasks can hold beauty if we approach them with the right spirit.”
The words struck him with unexpected force, as they echoed Margaret’s words of earlier that day. How long had it been since he’d looked for beauty in anything? Since he’d seen his duties as more than a series of obligations to be met?
“An interesting philosophy,” he said carefully. “Though perhaps somewhat idealistic?”
“Perhaps.” She turned slightly, facing him more fully.
“But isn’t there room for both pragmatism and hope, Your Grace?
Surely one need not entirely exclude the other.
” William found himself momentarily at a loss for words, held by the quiet conviction in her voice.
Before he could formulate a response, a gentle breeze stirred the roses, carrying their sweet fragrance around them.
Lady Charlotte reached out instinctively to steady a heavy bloom, her slender fingers gentle on the delicate petals.
“These gardens require constant attention,” she said, smoothly filling the silence.
“Each variety has its own needs, its own season of glory. Rather like an estate, I imagine.”
The astute comparison caught his interest.
“You have experience with estate management, my Lady?”
“I do – at least a little. After Mama...” She paused, collecting herself. “Father allowed me to assist with the household accounts and some of the charitable works among the tenants. I found satisfaction in seeing how small improvements could make significant differences in people’s lives.”
William studied her with growing curiosity. This was not the frivolous young woman he had expected.
“And what improvements did you implement?”
“A new roof for the village school, for one.” Her eyes brightened with remembered achievement.
“We found that by repairing it properly, rather than merely patching it each spring, we actually saved money over time. The children could attend more regularly without fear of rain, and their education progressed more smoothly.”
“A practical solution with broader benefits,” William acknowledged, watching how animation transformed her features. “You surprise me, Lady Charlotte.”
She glanced up at him, a hint of challenge in her blue eyes.
“Because I can think practically, Your Grace? Or because you expected something else entirely?”
The question was bold, but her tone remained perfectly proper. William found himself fighting an unexpected urge to smile.
“Perhaps both.”
Behind them, Margaret and Viscount Parrington maintained their position as chaperones, tenuous though that idea was, given that Margaret was still young and unmarried, while engaging in their own quiet conversation.
A footman stood discreetly by the garden door, all of which maintained propriety while giving them the illusion of privacy.
“I believe,” Lady Charlotte said carefully, “that we may both find ourselves surprised, Your Grace, if we allow for the possibility.”
The subtle emphasis on ‘allow’ did not escape him. William looked down at her upturned face, noting the intelligence in her eyes, the quiet strength in her bearing. For the first time since arranging this marriage, he felt something shift in his carefully ordered world.
“You speak your mind quite directly, my Lady.”
“When given the opportunity, Your Grace.” She paused, then added softly, “I hope you will not find that too great a fault in a wife.”
“On the contrary.” The words emerged before he could consider them fully. “I prefer honesty to artificial charm.”
A genuine smile curved her lips, transforming her from merely pretty to truly beautiful.
“Then we have found one point of agreement already.”
The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the garden, gilding Lady Charlotte’s hair and softening the formal lines of her dress.
William was acutely aware of her presence beside him, of the delicate scent of lavender water mingling with the roses’ heady perfume.
It was a disconcerting moment, for it was many years since any woman’s presence had affected him in the slightest.
“Tell me, Your Grace,” she ventured, her voice carrying just far enough for their chaperones to hear, “what is Alverton Grange like? I confess to curiosity about my future home.”
The question stirred an unexpected pride in William’s chest.
“It’s a substantial estate in Derbyshire. The house, which is primarily Tudor with some later additions, sits on a rise overlooking the valley, with excellent water and good hunting in the surrounding woods.”
“And the gardens?”
“Extensive, though perhaps not as artfully arranged as these. The previous Duchess - my mother - preferred wilder plantings.” He paused, memories surfacing of his mother’s joy in her rambling flower beds. “There’s a conservatory that needs attention, but the kitchen gardens are productive.”
Lady Charlotte’s eyes lit with interest.
“A conservatory? What sort of attention does it require?”
“The glass needs repair in several sections, and the heating system is inefficient. The flowers still grow, but not as well.” William found himself warming to the topic, even though it touched on aspects of the choices he had needed to make which still did not sit entirely well with him, drawn in by her genuine curiosity.
“I’ve focused on more pressing matters these past years. ”
“Of course,” she said softly. “One must prioritise essentials.” Her gaze dropped to a rain-damaged rose bloom. “Though sometimes, what seems purely decorative can have deeper value. A conservatory might provide flowers for the house year-round, perhaps even fresh fruit out of season.”
William blinked, struck by her practical assessment.
“You’ve experience with such things?”
“Only theoretical knowledge from books and observation,” she admitted.
“But I’ve always found that beauty and utility need not be enemies.
” She glanced up at him through long lashes.
“Rather like your view of duty and joy being incompatible - perhaps they simply need proper cultivation to thrive together.”
The observation was again surprisingly astute, challenging his assumptions while maintaining perfect propriety.
William found himself studying her with growing interest, noting how the fading sunlight caught those golden glints from her hair, and how gracefully she carried herself, even in this potentially awkward situation.
“You’ve given this considerable thought,” he said carefully.
“I’ve had several hours to consider my future life, Your Grace.” A touch of gentle humour coloured her tone. “It seemed wise to begin forming plans, even before knowing all of the particulars.”
Behind them, Margaret’s quiet laugh at something Viscount Parrington had said served as a reminder of their observers. William became aware that they had been standing rather close to each other, nearly shielded from view by the rose arbour, though still within all bounds of propriety.
“The light is fading,” he noted, offering his arm once more. “Shall we rejoin the others?”
Lady Charlotte’s hand returned to his sleeve, her touch whisper-light, yet somehow more noticeable than before. As they turned towards the house, she paused, looking up at him with disarming directness.
“I hope, Your Grace, that you will not find my tendency to form plans too presumptuous. I do understand that everything must naturally await your approval.”
William studied her face in the fading light, noting the blend of strength and uncertainty in her expression.
“Being capable of independent thought is hardly a fault, Lady Charlotte. I would expect no less from the future Duchess of Alverton.”
Something flickered in her blue eyes - relief, perhaps, or a deeper emotion he wasn’t prepared to name.
“Thank you, Your Grace. That is... most reassuring.”
They rejoined their chaperones, and returned to the house, finding Lord Westbridge waiting in the drawing room doorway. The Earl’s expression held quiet satisfaction as he observed their return.
“I trust that the gardens met with your approval, Your Grace?”
“Indeed.” William glanced at Lady Charlotte, who had moved to stand near her brother. “Lady Charlotte’s knowledge of horticulture is quite impressive.”
“My sister has many hidden depths, Your Grace,” Viscount Parrington commented, his protective stance softening slightly. “One must simply take the time to discover them.”
The subtle challenge in the Viscount’s tone did not escape William’s notice. Before he could respond, Margaret stepped forward.
“The light is fading rapidly. We should return home before it grows too late.”
The leave-taking progressed with proper formality.
William found his attention caught, again, by the graceful way that Lady Charlotte performed her curtsey, the quiet dignity in her bearing that spoke of inner resources he had not anticipated.
Perhaps this would all be easier than he had thought it might be – even though, when he bowed over her hand, he noticed again a slight tremor in her fingers, whilst her voice remained steady.
“Good evening, Your Grace.”
“Good evening, Lady Charlotte.”
In the carriage returning home, Margaret remained unusually quiet until they were halfway to their destination.
“Well, brother?”
“Well, what?”
“Don’t pretend obtuseness, William. It doesn’t suit you.” His sister’s dark eyes held knowing amusement. “What did you think of her?”
William considered the afternoon’s revelations, remembering Lady Charlotte’s thoughtful observations about the conservatory, her gentle handling of the roses, the quiet strength beneath her proper demeanour.
He sought words which would satisfy Margaret, without encouraging her to think him to be considering anything more than practicality.
“She appears... adequately suited to the role of Duchess.”
“Adequately suited?” Margaret’s tone sharpened. “Is that truly all that you noticed?”
The carriage passed by a lamp which hung at the front of an imposing residence, briefly illuminating the interior, catching a glint from Margaret’s eyes.
William recalled how the sunlight had caught Lady Charlotte’s hair, and the intelligence in her blue eyes when she’d challenged his assumptions about duty and joy.
Something unfamiliar stirred, again, in his chest - an awareness he had not expected, and one which he did not particularly welcome.
“She is more practical than I had anticipated,” he conceded. “And possesses a refreshing directness, when permitted to express it.”
Margaret’s smile held a touch of triumph.
“And she’s prettier than you expected, I’d warrant.”
William chose not to dignify that with a response, though he could not entirely dismiss the memory of Lady Charlotte’s genuine smile, which had transformed her features from merely pleasing to genuinely lovely.
Such observations were irrelevant to their arrangement.
The carriage turned onto their street, and William found himself already considering the necessary preparations for the wedding.
There would be contracts to review, arrangements to make, duties to fulfil.
Yet underneath his practical planning, Lady Charlotte’s words echoed in his mind: “Isn’t there room for both pragmatism and hope? ”
The question, like thoughts of the woman who had asked it, refused to be easily dismissed.