Page 34 of The Scottish Duke Tames the Bluestocking
She knew how her brother could get once he started talking about business and a blush rose to her cheeks. As though he was aware of her, he turned his head ever so slightly - their eyes meeting.
Harriet’s lips curled into a smile, echoing the smile forming on Hugh’s face.
With Abigail next to her, and Hugh smiling at her from across the room, it was not difficult to believe that her marriage could end up being a rather happy one indeed.
CHAPTER18
The weeks leading up to the wedding passed in a whirlwind of activity, a ceaseless flurry of fittings and tastings, guest lists and seating charts, and a thousand other tiny details that threatened to overwhelm Harriet at every turn. She threw herself into the preparations with a determined fervor, channeling all her restless energy and conflicting emotions into the myriad tasks at hand.
William, of course, had successfully gotten out of the preparations with mumbles of ‘trades’, ‘contracts’, and ‘work to do.’ That left Harriet and Jennifer to take most of the preparations upon themselves, though, of course, not without the help of the servants of two households.
It was during one such afternoon, as Harriet stood in the middle of the drawing-room, surrounded by a sea of fabric swatches and flower samples, that Abigail Wilkinson sought her out, her delicate features etched with a mix of nervousness and resolve. Jennifer had left for the Frighton estate early that morning for wedding preparations there, leaving Harriet to make a number of choices by herself.
“Lady Harriet, might I have a word?” the younger girl asked, her voice soft but steady as she hovered in the doorway, her hands twisting anxiously in the folds of her skirt.
Harriet glanced up from the pile of invitations she had been sorting, her brow furrowing in surprise and concern at the solemn expression on Abigail's face. Setting aside the heavy cream stock, she crossed the room to where the girl stood, a gentle smile curving her lips.
“Of course, Abigail. Please, come in and sit down. What's on your mind?”
Abigail hesitated for a moment, her teeth worrying at her lower lip as she perched on the edge of a nearby chair, her posture tense and uncertain. Then, with a visible effort, she squared her shoulders and met Harriet's gaze directly, her eyes shining with a fierce, unwavering light.
“I wanted to thank you, Harriet. For accepting my brother's proposal, for agreeing to marry him despite the... the unusual circumstances that brought you together.”
Harriet blinked, taken aback by the earnest gratitude in Abigail's voice. She had assumed that the girl would harbor some reservations about the match, some lingering doubts about the woman who had so thoroughly disrupted her brother's life. To hear her express such heartfelt appreciation was both unexpected and strangely humbling.
“I... I'm not sure I understand," Harriet admitted, sinking down onto the chair opposite Abigail, her brow furrowed in confusion. "It was Hugh who saved me from ruin, who stepped in to protect my reputation when the scandal threatened to engulf me. If anything, it is I who should be thanking him, not the other way around.”
Abigail shook her head, a rueful smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Oh, Harriet. You don't know the half of it, do you? The sacrifices my brother has made, the battles he has fought on behalf of our family?”
She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper as she fixed Harriet with an intent, searching gaze.
“You see, we have always been outsiders in theton, Hugh and I. Our Scottish heritage, our foreign blood...it marks us as different, as lesser in the eyes of the English nobility. They tolerate us, yes, but they never truly accept us, never fully embrace us as one of their own.”
Harriet felt a pang of sympathy lance through her chest at the quiet resignation in Abigail's voice, the weary acceptance of a painful truth she had long since come to terms with. She had always known that thetoncould be cruel, that they were quick to judge and slow to forgive those who dared to stray from the narrow path of propriety. But to hear it spoken aloud, to see the toll it had taken on this bright, vivacious girl...it made her heart ache in ways she couldn't quite explain.
“Your brother mentioned it, but I had no idea it was that bad,” she murmured, reaching out to lay a comforting hand on Abigail's arm. “I'm so sorry, Abigail. No one should have to face such prejudice, such narrow-minded disdain.”
Abigail shrugged, a brittle smile flashing across her face. “It is what it is, Harriet. We've learned to live with it, to rise above the whispers and the snubs and the barely concealed sneers. But it hasn't been easy, especially for Hugh.”
She paused, her gaze turning distant as she stared out the window, her mind clearly lost in some painful memory.
“He's always been so protective of me, so determined to shield me from the worst of it. And with my debut coming up next season... he's been beside himself with worry, terrified that the scandal surrounding your...your incident at the ball would taint me by association, would ruin my chances of making a good match before I even had a chance to try.”
Harriet felt as though she had been doused in icy water, the full implications of Abigail's words crashing over her in a dizzying wave of realization. All this time, she had assumed that Hugh's determination to marry her had been driven solely by a sense of honor, a desire to do right by her and protect her reputation from the ravages of scandal.
But now, seeing the situation through Abigail's eyes, she understood the true depth of his motivations, the fierce, unyielding love that had compelled him to take such a drastic step. He hadn't just been trying to save her from ruin...he had been fighting to preserve his sister's future, to ensure that she would not suffer the same ostracism and rejection that he had endured for so long.
The knowledge shook Harriet to her core, a hot, prickling sense of shame washing over her as she recalled her own selfish behavior, the childish antics and stubborn defiance she had clung to in the face of Hugh's unwavering resolve. How petty and small-minded she had been, how blind to the true stakes of the game they had been playing.
Her first instinct was to be offended, to bristle at the idea that Hugh's actions had been driven more by a desire to protect his sister than any genuine regard for her own well-being. But even as the thought crossed her mind, she found herself dismissing it, a rueful smile tugging at her lips as she acknowledged the fundamental truth of Abigail's words.
For all his gruffness and reserve, Hugh was a man of honor, a man who would move heaven and earth to protect those he loved. And though she had chafed against his unyielding will, had resented the way he seemed to brush aside her own desires and opinions...she could not deny the fundamental decency that had driven his actions, the selfless devotion that had compelled him to put his own reputation on the line for the sake of his family.
And at that moment, Harriet felt a rush of admiration for the man she was about to marry, a fierce, unshakeable respect for the quiet strength and unwavering loyalty that burned at the core of his being. He might not be the dashing, romantic figure she had once dreamed of, the passionate, eloquent lover who would sweep her off her feet and carry her away to a life of adventure and excitement.
But he was something better, something more real and lasting and true. He was a man of substance, a man who would stand by her side through thick and thin, who would fight for her and protect her and cherish her with every fiber of his being.
And though she had once scorned the idea of a marriage of convenience, had railed against the thought of binding herself to a man she scarcely knew...she found herself strangely at peace with the prospect now, a quiet sense of rightness settling over her as she contemplated the future that lay ahead.
