Chapter Thirteen
The morning brought an unexpected visitor to Alverton Grange.
Charlotte stood at her sitting room window, watching her brother Edmund’s familiar figure dismount in the courtyard below.
His fair hair caught the early sunlight, so like their mother’s that it made her heart ache with sudden homesickness.
“Sarah,” she called to her lady’s maid, who was arranging fresh flowers by the fireplace, “please have tea brought up. And inform His Grace that my brother has arrived.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Sarah paused at the door. “Though... His Grace rode out early to inspect the boundary markers. He mentioned that he might not return until afternoon.”
Charlotte’s fingers tightened on the window frame.
These morning inspections had grown more frequent since Sir Geoffrey’s threats, though William never spoke directly of his concerns.
Their newfound warmth, born of that tender conversation beneath the oak tree, seemed to falter whenever Caldwell’s name arose.
“Very well.” Charlotte smoothed her morning dress, a subtle green muslin that William had once praised. “Please have Lord Parrington shown up when he’s ready.”
She used Edmund’s formal title deliberately, reminding herself that even with family, certain proprieties must be maintained. Yet when her brother entered a few minutes later, his familiar grin broke through all ceremony.
“Lottie!” He swept her into an embrace that would have scandalised any proper society matron. “How well you look! Marriage clearly agrees with you, despite that stern Duke of yours.”
“Edmund.” Charlotte returned his embrace briefly before stepping back to study him properly. “What brings you to Alverton? Surely Papa hasn’t sent you to check on me again?”
Her brother’s expression shifted slightly – a tell she remembered from childhood games of cards.
“Can’t a man visit his favourite sister without raising suspicion?”
“I’m your only sister,” Charlotte pointed out dryly. “And you have that look about you – the one that always preceded some scheme or other that required my help to succeed.”
Edmund dropped into a chair with his usual casual grace, though something in his manner suggested that her observation had struck home.
“Perhaps I simply missed our conversations. It’s dreadfully dull at home without you there to share news and gossip.”
“Since when have you cared for gossip?” Charlotte seated herself opposite him, noting how his eyes darted about the room as though checking for listeners. “Edmund, what’s wrong? Has something happened at home?”
Edmund’s easy smile faltered under his sister’s steady gaze.
“Nothing’s wrong at home, precisely. But I’ve been hearing... that is to say, certain rumours have reached me that I felt should be investigated.”
The arrival of tea provided a momentary reprieve from his scrutiny. Charlotte poured with careful precision, the familiar ritual steadying her nerves as she noted the shadows beneath her brother’s usually bright eyes.
Edmund had ever been the family’s sunshine – quick to laugh, slow to worry. This uncharacteristic gravity sent chills down her spine.
“What sort of rumours?”
She passed him a cup prepared exactly as he preferred it – two sugars, no milk, just as their mother had taken hers.
Edmund accepted the cup but did not drink, instead studying the delicate pattern on the Wedgwood china as though it might provide answers.
“There’s talk in London about Sir Geoffrey Caldwell. About significant debts, about properties mortgaged nearly to ruin. And alongside these whispers, I keep hearing Alverton’s name mentioned.”
Charlotte’s hands trembled slightly as she set down the teapot.
“I see.”
“Do you?” Edmund leaned forward, all pretence of casual interest abandoned.
“Because I’ve also heard that Sir Geoffrey has been making veiled threats about some connection between his current difficulties and the late Duke of Alverton’s financial dealings.
Lottie...” His voice softened with genuine concern. “What’s really happening here?”
The morning sunlight streaming through the window seemed suddenly colder.
Charlotte rose, moving to stand before the fireplace where a small blaze took the autumn chill from the air. How much could she share without betraying William’s confidence? The trust growing between them felt as delicate as a soap bubble – one wrong move might shatter it forever.
“Sir Geoffrey has been... difficult,” she said carefully. “He makes certain claims about documents from the late Duke’s time, though William... that is, His Grace, believes them to be without merit.”
“Without merit?” Edmund set down his untouched tea with more force than strictly necessary. “Charlotte, half the ton whispers that Caldwell stands on the brink of complete ruin. Men in such situations rarely make idle threats.”
“What would you have me say?” Charlotte turned to face him, drawing on every lesson in dignity she had ever learned. “These are matters between His Grace and Sir Geoffrey. I cannot...”
“Cannot? Or will not?” Edmund rose to join her by the fireplace, his expression uncommonly serious. “Lottie, I’ve known you since the day you were born. I saw your face just now when I mentioned Caldwell’s name. Whatever affects your husband clearly affects you as well.”
The simple observation struck deeper than any argument could have done. Charlotte felt tears prick at her eyes, though she blinked them back with determined composure.
“Things between William and me...” She paused, choosing her words with infinite care. “We have begun to reach an understanding, Edmund. A true partnership, perhaps, if we’re brave enough to grasp it. I cannot risk that by sharing his private concerns, even with you.”
“Can’t you see that’s precisely why I’m here?” Edmund’s voice held a gentleness that reminded her painfully of their father. “You’re not just the Duchess of Alverton now – you’re my sister, and if something threatens your happiness...”
“My happiness?” Charlotte gave a watery laugh. “Oh, Edmund. When did you become so perceptive?”
“About the time I realised that you were falling in love with that stern Duke of yours.” He touched her shoulder gently. “Don’t look so shocked, dearest. It’s been obvious in your letters for weeks now – at least to those who know how to read between your carefully proper lines.”
Heat rose in Charlotte’s cheeks at her brother’s frank observation.
“Edmund, you cannot say such things. My marriage to His Grace is exactly what it was intended to be – a suitable alliance between our families.”
“Is it?” Edmund’s knowing smile held echoes of their childhood confidences. “Then why did you blush just now? Why does your voice soften whenever you speak his name? Come now, Lottie. You never could deceive me, even when we were children.”
Charlotte turned back to the fireplace, watching the flames dance as she gathered her composure.
The warmth of the fire could not match the heat that flooded her chest whenever she thought of William – of his quiet strength, his careful tenderness, the way his grey eyes softened when he looked at her across the dinner table.
“Whether I feel more than duty requires is immaterial,” she said finally. “William has enough concerns without adding the weight of... of inappropriate expectations to his burden.”
“Inappropriate?” Edmund’s tone held gentle mockery. “To love one’s husband? What a shocking notion indeed. I marvel that society survives such scandal.”
“You don’t understand.” Charlotte’s fingers twisted in her skirts before she forced them to still.
“William has worked so hard to restore Alverton’s stability, to protect everything his father nearly destroyed.
He needs a partner he can trust, not some lovesick girl who lets her heart rule her head. ”
“And are the two mutually exclusive?” Edmund moved to stand beside her, his usual levity replaced by unexpected wisdom. “Can you not be both the capable Duchess he needs and the woman who loves him?”
The question struck deeper than Charlotte cared to admit. She remembered William’s face that morning beneath the oak tree, the vulnerability in his expression as he spoke of partnerships and trust. How his hand had felt covering hers, that small liberty containing such infinite promise.
“Sir Geoffrey threatens everything William has built,” she said quietly. “I’ve seen how it weighs on him, though he tries to hide it. If I were to speak of... of feelings, of anything beyond our careful accord... Edmund, I cannot risk destroying the trust growing between us.”
“And if that trust requires complete honesty? Complete sharing of hearts as well as burdens?” Her brother’s voice held none of its usual teasing note.
“Lottie, I’ve watched you these past months through your letters.
You’ve grown into your role as Duchess with grace and dignity that would have made Mama proud.
But more than that – you’ve grown into yourself. ”
Charlotte felt tears prick at her eyes at the mention of their mother.
“What would she say, do you think? About all of this?”
“She would say,” Edmund replied with gentle certainty, “that love is never inappropriate when it leads us to be our best selves. And from what I’ve observed, your love for William has only strengthened your determination to be the Duchess Alverton needs.”
“But Sir Geoffrey...” Charlotte began.
“Is precisely why I’m here.” Edmund’s expression turned serious again. “Whatever threat he poses, you need not face it alone. Nor should William, though his pride might protest otherwise.”
Edmund’s words hung in the air between them, weighted with implications Charlotte scarcely dared examine. Yet surely, she must examine them, must face these difficulties. Was it possible that Edmund could help her in her wish to help William?