Page 23 of The Duke and his Hellion
Charles opened his mouth to deny it, but found he could not. Instead, he let out a rueful chuckle. “She deserves someone who can protect her,” he sighed. “But that doesn't change the fact that I've ruined her chances for a good match. No respectable family will want to align themselves with her now, not after this scandal.”
Joseph leaned forward, his expression suddenly serious. “Then there's only one thing to do, isn't there?”
Charles looked at him quizzically. “What do you mean?”
“Come now, Grouton,” Joseph said with a soft laugh. “Certainly you do not need me to spell it out for you.”
Charles frowned, then shrugged. “I suppose I have thought of the idea,” he admitted now. “It would save her reputation and possibly even elevate her standing in society.”
Joseph flashed him a grin. “Besides, it is about time you forgot about Grace and settled down.”
Charles shook his head, but he could not deny that the idea was not at all a bad one. There were certainly worse options than marrying Abigail Wilkinson, he knew. “It's not that simple,” he protested weakly. “Her brother would never agree to it. He thinks I am nothing but a rake and a scoundrel.”
Joseph grinned, clapping Charles on the shoulder. “Then you'll just have to prove him wrong, won't you? Go to him tomorrow, and make your case. Show him that you're serious about Abigail, and that you want to salvage her reputation.”
Charles sat back in his chair, his mind whirling with possibilities. Could it really be that simple? Could marrying Abigail be the solution to this mess he'd created?
As if reading his thoughts, Joseph leaned in, his voice soft but insistent. “Think about it, Charles. This could be your chance at real happiness. Do not let it slip away because you're afraid of a little challenge.”
Charles looked at his friend, a slow smile spreading across his face. “You know, Joseph,” he said, a hint of his old humor returning to his voice, “for a man who's never been married, I find it surprising that you are so eager to give me advice about it.”
Joseph laughed, raising his glass in a mock toast. “What can I say? I am a man of many talents.”
Charles joined in the laughter, feeling some of the tension of the evening finally beginning to dissipate. As their mirth subsided, he nodded, his decision made. “Well,” he said with a sigh. “I suppose I have no choice. After Grace, my reputation will not survive another hit — and I do not think hers is likely to survive this either.”
Joseph grinned, clinking his glass against Charles's. “That's the… spirit, old boy. And who knows? Maybe this time next year, we'll be celebrating the birth of a little Lord or Lady Grouton.”
Charles choked on his brandy, sending Joseph into another fit of laughter. As he coughed and spluttered, Charles could not help but join in, the absurdity of the situation finally hitting him full force.
When they finally calmed down, Charles fixed his friend with a grateful look. “Thank you, Joseph,” he said sincerely. “Your friendship means the world to me.”
Joseph waved off his thanks with a dismissive hand. “That's what friends are for, Charles. Now, get some rest. You've got a big day ahead of you tomorrow.”
As Joseph took his leave, Charles remained in his study, staring into the dying embers of the fire.
“Well, Lady Abigail,” he murmured to himself as he finally rose to retire for the night. “I hope you're ready for one last lesson. The art of turning a scandal into a happily ever after.”
With that thought warming his heart, Charles made his way to bed, dreaming of a future that, for the first time in years, seemed bright with promise and possibility.
CHAPTER13
After the shocking way the ball had ended, the rest of Abigail's night passed in something of a blur. She sat at the breakfast table, a deep discomfort settled within her chest. Hugh sat at the head of the table — his fingers drumming an impatient rhythm against the polished wood — his face a thunderous mask of barely contained fury.
Across from him, Abigail pushed her eggs around her plate, her appetite having deserted her entirely. She could feel the weight of her brother's disapproving glare, and it took every ounce of her willpower not to shrink beneath it. Harriet occupied the seat between them, her eyes darting nervously between husband and sister-in-law as she attempted to navigate the treacherous waters of family discord.
Hugh's teacup clattered against its saucer as he set it down with more force than necessary, causing both women to jump. “I cannot believe ye would be so reckless, Abigail,” he growled, his Scottish brogue thickening with his anger. “Have ye no sense of propriety, of decorum? To be caught in such a compromising position, and with the Duke of Grouton of all people!”
Abigail's cheeks flamed, a mixture of embarrassment and indignation coloring her face. She set down her fork with a soft clink, squaring her shoulders as she met her brother's gaze. “Nothing happened, Hugh,” she protested, her voice sharp with frustration. “We were merely talking. The duke was comforting me after I had been insulted by one of those pompous fools.”
Hugh's fist came down hard on the table, causing the China to rattle ominously and sending a splash of tea over the pristine white tablecloth. “Comforting ye?” he scoffed, his voice rising. “Is that what they're calling it these days? I may have been born in the Highlands, lass, but I was not born yesterday. I know what I saw — what the entire ton saw!”
“Hugh, darling. Please,” Harriet interjected, her voice strained as she laid a placating hand on her husband's arm. She winced slightly, shifting in her seat, but neither Hugh nor Abigail seemed to notice. “Perhaps we should all take a moment to calm down and discuss this rationally.”
But Hugh was beyond reason, his face flushing a deeper shade of red as he pushed back from the table, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. He began to pace, his steps quick and agitated.
“It is one thing to be engaged in scandal, Abigail,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “It is quite another to be embroiled in one with a rake like the Duke of Grouton. Do ye have any idea what this will do to yer reputation? As if our blood does not make it hard enough for us in this ton already! Our family's standing is on weak limbs already, lass!”
Abigail felt her own temper rising, a hot, indignant flush creeping up her neck. She stood as well, her napkin falling unheeded to the floor. “Our family's standing?” she repeated, her voice trembling with emotion. “Is that truly all you care about, Hugh? What of my happiness, of my future? Or do those things matter less than maintaining some facade of respectability for the ton?”
