Page 33 of The Duke and his Hellion
Abigail felt as though she'd been doused with cold water. “What?”
“You heard me,” Charles said, his voice gentle but firm. “We'll be friends, partners even. But that's where it ends. No romantic entanglements, no matters of the heart. It's safer that way, for both of us.”
Jennifer listened with raised eyebrows. “No falling in love?” she repeated, looking between them. “Well, that's certainly an... interesting approach. Though I must say, Your Grace, with a face like yours, you're not making it easy on poor Abigail.”
Abigail stared at him, a whirlwind of emotions churning within her. Part of her wanted to argue, to demand an explanation for this strange and sudden decree. But another part — the part that remembered Beatrice's warnings and the whispers about Charles's past — understood all too well.
After what felt like an eternity, she nodded slowly. “Very well,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “If that's what you want, I... I agree.”
Charles nodded, a flicker of something — relief? Regret? — passing across his face. “Good,” he said. “Then we're in agreement.”
They resumed their walk, the silence between them now charged with a new tension. Abigail's mind was reeling, trying to reconcile the Charles she thought she knew with this man who seemed determined to keep her at arm's length.
As they passed a group of young ladies, one of them called out, her voice syrupy sweet. “Lady Abigail! How lovely to see you. And with your fiancé, no less. You must be so excited for the wedding.”
Abigail forced a smile, acutely aware of Charles's presence beside her. “Indeed, Lady Margaret. We're both looking forward to it.”
Lady Margaret's smile turned predatory. “I am sure you are. Tell me, have you given any thought to your trousseau? I would be happy to recommend my modiste. She's quite adept at... disguising certain figure flaws.”
Abigail felt her cheeks flush with anger, but before she could retort, Charles stepped in smoothly. “How kind of you to offer, Lady Margaret. But I assure you, Lady Abigail needs no such assistance. She's perfect just as she is.”
Jennifer nodded approvingly. “Well said, Your Grace. And may I add, Lady Margaret, that green is not a flattering color on you. Jealousy rarely is.”
Lady Margaret's smile faltered, and she quickly excused herself. As she flounced away, Abigail turned to Charles, surprised by his intervention.
“Thank you,” she said softly. “You didn't have to do that.”
Charles shrugged, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Perhaps not. But I meant what I said. You do not need to change for anyone, Abigail. Least of all for the bored ladies of the ton.”
Abigail felt a warmth bloom in her chest at his words, but quickly tamped it down. Friends and partners, she reminded herself. Nothing more.
As they continued their walk, Abigail found herself studying Charles out of the corner of her eye. He cut a striking figure in his impeccably tailored coat, his dark hair slightly tousled by the breeze. She could not help but wonder about the man beneath the polished exterior. What had happened to make him so wary of love? And could she really go through with this marriage, knowing that he was determined to keep his heart locked away?
“You're staring,” Charles said suddenly, his voice tinged with amusement. “Is there something on my face?”
Abigail quickly looked away, flustered. “No, I... I was just thinking.”
“About?”
She hesitated, then decided to be honest. “About you, actually. About us. This... arrangement we're entering into.”
Charles's expression sobered. “Having second thoughts?”
“No,” Abigail said quickly. Then, more softly, “Maybe. I just... I am not sure I understand. Why are you so determined to keep love out of our marriage?”
Charles was silent for a long moment, his gaze fixed on the path ahead. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and strained. “Love is a luxury we can't afford, Abigail. It's too dangerous, too unpredictable. Better to build our marriage on a foundation of mutual respect and friendship. It's safer that way.”
Abigail felt a pang in her chest at his words. “But surely not all love ends in pain,” she argued. “Look at my brother and Harriet. They're blissfully happy.”
“And they're the exception, not the rule,” Charles countered. “In our world, love is a liability. It can be used against you, manipulated, twisted into something ugly. I won't put either of us in that position.”
Jennifer, who had been uncharacteristically quiet during this exchange, finally spoke up. “You know, Your Grace, I've found that the things we're most afraid of are often the things most worth pursuing. But then again, what do I know? I am just an old woman who's been happily married for longer than you've been alive.”
Abigail wanted to argue further, to tell him that he was wrong, that love could be beautiful and transformative. But she held her tongue, remembering their agreement. Instead, she simply nodded, trying to ignore the ache in her heart.
As they neared the end of their walk, Charles turned to her, his expression softening slightly. “I know this is not what you imagined for your marriage, Abigail. But I promise you, I will do everything in my power to make you happy. To give you the life you deserve.”
Abigail managed a small smile, touched by his sincerity despite her lingering doubts. “I know you will, Charles. And I promise to do the same for you.”
