Chapter Five #2
“A methodical approach might indeed prove more effective than direct confrontation, Your Grace.”
Charlotte rose and moved to the window, gazing out over the formal gardens William’s mother had once tended. Somewhere in the house, her husband was likely brooding over their quarrel, convinced of the rightness of his position. How might she bridge the gulf between them?
*****
The dinner hour approached with leaden steps.
Charlotte dressed with particular care, choosing a gown of deep blue silk – a colour that her mother had always said lent dignity to her bearing.
She would need every advantage in maintaining her composure across the expanse of damask and silver.
William awaited her in the dining room, his evening dress impeccable, his expression carefully neutral.
He bowed over her hand with proper courtesy, but Charlotte noted the tension in his bearing – could it be that he was worried about how she might react, now?
“I trust that your afternoon was productive?” he inquired as the first course was served.
“Quite,” Charlotte replied evenly. “I have been reviewing the household accounts with Mrs Walden. One must understand the foundation before suggesting improvements, must one not?”
Something flickered in William’s grey eyes - surprise, perhaps, or reluctant approval.
“A rational approach,” he allowed. “Though I trust you’ll consult me before implementing any significant changes.”
“Naturally, Your Grace.” Charlotte paused as a footman filled her wine glass. “After all, we both wish what is best for Alverton.”
“Indeed.” William studied her across the table, his stern features softened slightly by the candlelight. “Though we may differ in our understanding of how best to achieve that end.”
“Perhaps,” Charlotte ventured, “if we were to discuss such matters more fully? I should very much like to understand your plans for the estate’s future.”
William’s knife paused over his meat.
“You surprise me, madam. Most ladies would prefer to confine their interests to the latest fashions from London.”
“Then you must think very poorly of ladies in general, Your Grace,” Charlotte replied, keeping her tone light, though her pulse quickened at her own daring. “Or perhaps you have simply not given them sufficient opportunity to prove their worth in matters of consequence.”
The silence stretched between them, broken only by the soft sounds of silver against china and the discreet movements of the footmen. Finally, William spoke.
“You are not what I expected.”
“No?” Charlotte met his gaze steadily. “And what did you expect, sir?”
“A decorative mistress for Alverton. Someone to oversee the social niceties and maintain appropriate appearances.” His expression grew thoughtful. “I did not expect to find myself married to a lady who concerns herself with drainage problems and tenant cottages.”
“Then perhaps we might both benefit from setting aside our expectations,” Charlotte suggested. “And instead discover what sort of partnership we might actually forge.”
William’s eyes held hers for a long moment.
“Partnership is not a term commonly applied to marriage.”
“No indeed. But then, I begin to think that there may be very little that is common about our situation.”
A ghost of a smile touched William’s lips before he caught himself.
“You are quite determined to challenge my every assumption, are you not?”
“Only those which might prevent Alverton from reaching its full potential,” Charlotte replied. “Surely as Duke and Duchess, we share that goal, at least?”
The candlelight caught the copper glints in William’s dark hair as he inclined his head slightly.
“A fair point. Though I maintain that some matters must take precedence over others.”
“As do I,” Charlotte agreed. “We differ only in our assessment of those priorities.”
Their eyes met across the table.
Charlotte felt that strange connection again - as if they stood on the verge of truly understanding each other, if only they could find a way to bridge the gap between them. But then a footman approached to clear the course, and William looked away.
“Will you take tea in the library this evening?” William asked as the last dishes were cleared away.
Charlotte hesitated, weighing the prospect of further conversation against the risk of renewing their quarrel.
“Thank you, but I think not. I have several letters requiring my attention.”
If she was not mistaken, disappointment flickered briefly in his expression before his usual reserve reasserted itself.
“As you wish.”
Back in her sitting room, Charlotte found herself unable to concentrate on her correspondence.
The memory of William’s face when she’d declined his invitation kept intruding on her thoughts.
Had she been too hasty in refusing? Yet how were they to find common ground when he remained so adamantly opposed to even discussing her concerns?
Through her window, she could see the last rays of sunset painting the formal gardens in shades of gold and rose.
Somewhere beyond those carefully tended flowerbeds lay the Morris cottage, with its leaking roof and broken window.
The contrast struck her forcefully - the pristine beauty of the immediate grounds versus the quiet decay at the estate’s edges.
Perhaps that was the key. William clearly took pride in maintaining appearances, in presenting a face of prosperity to the world. Might he not be persuaded that the condition of tenant cottages reflected equally upon Alverton’s reputation?
Charlotte moved to her writing desk and drew out a fresh sheet of paper.
If William responded to carefully reasoned arguments, then she would arm herself with facts and figures.
Mrs Walden had mentioned the household records - surely there must be similar accounts detailing the estate’s maintenance costs over the years.
As she began making notes about her observations of the Morris cottage, Charlotte felt her earlier anger transforming into determination.
William might see her interest in estate matters as overstepping her bounds, but she was Duchess now.
Surely that role encompassed more than simply presiding over dinner parties and making polite conversation?
The scratch of her pen filled the growing darkness until Sarah came to light the lamps.
Through her window, Charlotte could see the familiar glow from the library where William likely sat with his own papers and plans.
They were so near in physical distance, yet separated by walls of pride and precedent and painfully learned caution.
But walls, she reminded herself, could be breached - not by force, perhaps, but by patience and persistence and careful attention to their weakest points.
William had spent six years rebuilding Alverton’s fortunes through methodical effort.
She could be no less diligent in building a true partnership with its master.
She would not accept a life of cold separation and barely prevented arguments – it might take time, and try her patience to its limits, but she would find a way to forge a relationship with William, which went beyond cold politeness. Far beyond, if possible…
Below her window, the evening breeze stirred the gardens her mother-in-law had once tended with such care.
Charlotte thought of the conservatory William had mentioned, its glass panes still waiting for repair.
Perhaps there lay another avenue of approach - but that would require careful planning and even more careful timing.
She returned to her notes with renewed purpose. Tomorrow would bring fresh opportunities to prove her worth as more than merely a decorative mistress for Alverton. Tonight, she would prepare herself for that challenge.