HER MOTHER TOLD THE DUKE SHE COULDN’T READ—THEN HE FOUND HER SECRET ROOM OF LAW BOOKS
Chapter 20
Nathaniel began consulting Charlotte on proposed safeguards for the Ravenshire estate — independent copies of key records, cross-checked valuations, clearer limits on committee discretion.
Mr. Alden included her in meetings without asking permission from society or from anyone else.
The first time she entered Nathaniel’s library and found a place card with Miss Whitmore written on it beside a stack of documents, she stopped in the doorway.
Nathaniel looked up from the other end of the table. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“That is your mother’s answer.”
Charlotte sat down quickly. “Then I withdraw it.”
He watched her for a moment. She touched the edge of the place card.
“I simply like knowing someone expected me.”
His expression changed. “So did I.”
She looked up, and neither of them spoke.
Henry entered carrying pastries and ruined the moment with great efficiency.
By August, Charlotte knew Nathaniel’s library habits better than she knew the habits of some of her own relatives. He read standing when he was impatient. He forgot tea when he was worried. He sharpened pencils with a small pocketknife even though the servants kept better ones ready. He disliked raisins. And he moved a silver paperweight from one hand to the other whenever a problem refused to resolve itself.
Nathaniel, in turn, learned that Charlotte murmured dates under her breath when arranging records, that she hated overly sweet tea, that she tucked loose pencils into her hair and then accused other people of stealing them, and that she always read footnotes before conclusions.
None of these things felt important.
Together, they became dangerous.
One rainy afternoon, work ended early because the county copies they needed had not arrived. Charlotte stood at the library window watching water run down the glass. Nathaniel closed the last file.
“We have an unexpected problem.”
“What?”
“Nothing to do.”
Charlotte glanced around two storeys of books. “That is a failure of imagination.”
He came and stood beside her at the window. Below, the street shone black beneath the rain.
After a while, Nathaniel said, “Sir Alistair asked me something after the hearing.”
Charlotte waited.
“He asked where I found you.”
She groaned. Nathaniel laughed.
“What did you say?”
“That I did not.”
She looked at him.
“He was disappointed.”
“I imagine so.”
“I told him you were already there. Everyone else had simply failed to look properly.”
Charlotte’s chest tightened. Nathaniel kept his gaze on the rain.
“He also asked whether I intended to employ you formally.”
“What did you say?”
“That it would be insulting to assume you wish to work for me merely because I asked.”
“Very wise.”
“I have occasional moments.”
She smiled. Then he turned toward her.
“Charlotte.”
The use of her name still changed the air. She looked up.
“I do want you here.” Her smile faded. His expression was serious now. “Not because you saved me from a bad trust clause. Not because you are useful to an investigation. I want your opinion before I make decisions. I look for you when you enter a room. I notice when you are quiet for the wrong reason.”
Charlotte forgot the rain.
He continued slowly, as though each sentence had been examined before being allowed out. “I have spent most of my life around people who know exactly what they want from the Duke of Ravenshire. You are one of the very few people who seems consistently irritated that the Duke gets in the way of the paperwork.”
A laugh escaped her, but her eyes burned.
“That is not very romantic.”
Nathaniel went still. The word had slipped out. Charlotte looked away.
He said softly, “No. It is not.”
The room became impossibly quiet. She could hear the rain ticking against the stone sill. Nathaniel did not step closer — and that restraint mattered more than if he had.
“I do not know what this is yet,” Charlotte said.
“Neither do I.”
“You are a duke. I have been informed.”
“My mother will faint.”
“I doubt it. She appears remarkably durable.”
Charlotte smiled despite herself. Nathaniel’s voice softened.
“We do not have to name anything before it is ready.”
Relief moved through her — not because she did not want him, but because she did. And for the first time in her life, wanting something did not need to be followed immediately by surrendering control of it.
They returned to the table when the county papers finally arrived. Neither of them mentioned the conversation again that day.
But nothing went back to how it had been.