Chapter Twelve
The crisp autumn morning painted Alverton’s grounds in shades of gold and russet as Charlotte stood at her chamber window, watching the last leaves fall from the great oak trees that lined the drive.
Two weeks had passed since the confrontation in William’s study – two weeks of careful courtesy at meals, of conversations limited to estate matters, of an aching distance that seemed to grow with each passing day.
Yet something had shifted beneath that formal facade.
She caught him watching her sometimes, his grey eyes holding an intensity that made her breath catch.
At dinner, his hand would sometimes pause in passing the wine, their fingers brushing in a manner that could not be entirely accidental.
“Your blue walking dress today, Your Grace?” Sarah asked, drawing Charlotte from her reverie. “The weather seems fair enough for your usual morning exercise.”
Charlotte nodded, turning from the window with practiced composure.
“Yes, I think so. Though perhaps...” She hesitated, remembering how William had once commented on the way the blue brought out her eyes. “Perhaps the green instead?”
Sarah’s knowing look suggested that she understood perfectly the reason for the change, but she made no comment as she helped Charlotte dress.
The green walking dress, with its fitted spencer jacket and delicate embroidery at the hem, had been part of her wedding trousseau – a gift from her father that she had rarely worn.
“Shall I send word to Lady Margaret?” Sarah asked as she arranged Charlotte’s hair in simple elegance to suit her bonnet. “She often accompanies Your Grace on your morning walks.”
“No, I think not today.” Charlotte adjusted her kid gloves, striving for a casualness that she did not feel. “I believe that I shall walk alone this morning. The exercise will help clear my mind.”
In truth, her mind felt anything but clear as she made her way down the great staircase. The past fortnight had given her ample time to examine her feelings for William, to understand the precise moment when duty had transformed into something far more dangerous, more complicated.
The discovery that she loved him – truly loved him, not just the surface attraction which she had initially felt – had shaken her to her core.
How foolish she had been, thinking that she could maintain a safe distance while trying to help him.
Now every glimpse of his tall figure sent her heart racing, every accidental touch left her skin tingling with awareness.
“Good morning, Your Grace.”
Mrs Walden’s quiet greeting startled Charlotte from her thoughts. The Housekeeper stood in the entrance hall, her keen eyes taking in every detail of Charlotte’s appearance.
“Good morning, Mrs Walden. I trust that all is well with the household?”
“Quite well, Your Grace. Though...” The Housekeeper hesitated, something unusual in her typically composed manner. “His Grace was asking after your plans for the morning. He mentioned something about wishing to discuss the tenant cottage repairs?”
Charlotte’s heart quickened at this evidence that William had been inquiring about her movements.
“Did he say where he might be found?”
“I believe that His Grace mentioned walking towards the home farm.” Mrs Walden’s expression remained carefully neutral, though something like approval flickered in her eyes. “The weather being so fine, and the repairs there nearly complete...”
“Thank you, Mrs Walden.” Charlotte touched the ribbons of her bonnet, ensuring that they were properly tied. “I shall go in that direction, then. The exercise will do me good.”
The October morning held that peculiar clarity unique to autumn, when summer’s haze had lifted, but winter’s chill had not yet descended. Charlotte’s feet crunched on fallen leaves as she made her way along the familiar path towards the home farm, her thoughts as crisp and sharp as the morning air.
She had walked this way countless times in the past months, learning every curve of the path, every ancient oak that marked the boundaries of Alverton’s parkland.
Yet today felt different somehow – weighted with possibility and tinged with an awareness that made her heart flutter beneath her spencer.
The sound of hammering drew her attention to the newly repaired tenant cottage that bordered the path.
Tom Fletcher stood atop a ladder, securing fresh thatch to the roof that had caused such contention between her and William in those early days of their marriage.
He touched his cap respectfully as she passed.
“Good morning, Your Grace. A fine day for walking.”
“Indeed it is, Mr Fletcher.” Charlotte paused, noting how the repairs had transformed the humble dwelling. “The cottage looks very well. I trust that Mrs Fletcher and little Emma are fully recovered?”
“Right as rain, Your Grace, thanks to you and His Grace.” Tom’s weather-worn face creased in a smile. “The Duke himself stopped by not half an hour ago to check on the work. Never seen a nobleman take such care with tenant matters, begging Your Grace’s pardon for saying so.”
Charlotte’s heart warmed at this evidence of William’s attention to detail.
“His Grace takes his responsibilities very seriously.”
“That he does.” Tom adjusted his position on the ladder. “Changed man these past months, if you don’t mind me saying. More like his mother’s son now – she always had a care for the tenants, did the late Duchess.”
The casual observation caught Charlotte by surprise.
“You knew His Grace’s mother?”
“Aye, Your Grace. Worked the home farm even then, didn’t I?
Her Grace – the late Duchess, that is – she’d walk out most mornings, just as you do now.
Always had a kind word, always noticed if something needed mending.
” He paused, choosing his next words with careful consideration.
“His Grace was much like her before... well, before things got difficult with the late Duke. Nice to see that side of him coming back, if you take my meaning.”
Charlotte absorbed this unexpected glimpse into William’s past with careful attention.
“Thank you, Mr Fletcher. I’m glad to see the repairs progressing so well.”
She continued along the path, her mind spinning with new understanding.
How often had William walked this way in his youth, accompanying his mother on her morning rounds?
Did he remember those happier times when he inspected the repairs, or did the weight of his father’s legacy still press too heavily for such recollections?
The path curved around an ancient yew hedge, and Charlotte’s breath caught at the sight before her.
William stood at the crest of a small rise, his tall figure outlined against the autumn sky.
He had disposed of his coat in deference to the mild weather, and his shirt sleeves were rolled up as he examined, with his estate manager, what appeared to be architectural drawings.
Something about his posture – the quiet authority, the careful attention to detail, the way the morning sun caught the auburn highlights in his dark hair and limned the strong lines of his face in gold – made her heart ache with newfound understanding.
This was the man she had glimpsed occasionally through his stern facade: capable, conscientious, and possessed of a deep sense of responsibility that had nothing to do with his father’s failures.
As though sensing her presence, he looked up. Their eyes met across the distance, and Charlotte felt the impact like a physical blow. All her carefully prepared speeches, all her determined composure, seemed to desert her in the face of that direct grey gaze.
William dismissed his estate manager with a quiet word, his eyes never leaving Charlotte’s face. For a moment, neither of them moved – the autumn breeze stirring her skirts, lifting tendrils of hair that had escaped her bonnet, while his shirt sleeves billowed gently in the morning air.
“Your Grace,” he said finally, his deep voice carrying clearly across the distance between them. “I had hoped to encounter you this morning.”
Charlotte forced herself to move forward with careful dignity, though her heart thundered.
“I understood from Mrs Walden that you wished to discuss the tenant cottage repairs.”
“Among other matters.” William rolled up the architectural drawings with precise movements that betrayed some inner tension. “Would you...” He paused, seeming to gather his thoughts. “That is, might I request the pleasure of your company for a turn about the grounds? The morning is unusually fine.”
“I should like that very much.”
Charlotte fell into step beside him as he led them along a path that wound through the newly harvested fields. The sound of their footsteps on the packed earth seemed unnaturally loud in the morning quiet.
They walked in silence for several minutes, maintaining a properly decorous distance that nonetheless crackled with awareness. Charlotte could feel the warmth radiating from his tall frame, could catch the familiar scent of sandalwood that clung to his linen shirt.
“The Morris and Fletcher cottage looks much improved,” she ventured finally, when the silence grew too heavy to bear.
“Yes.” William’s hands clasped behind his back in a gesture she had come to recognise as evidence of deep thought. “Tom Fletcher mentioned that you often pass that way on your morning walks.”
“I like to see how the repairs progress.” Charlotte kept her voice carefully neutral, though her pulse quickened at this evidence that he had discussed her with the tenants. “The improvements make such a difference to the families’ comfort.”
William’s stride faltered slightly.