Page 34 of The Duke and his Hellion
They stood there for a moment, the air between them charged with unspoken words and emotions. Then, with a small shake of his head, Charles offered her his arm. “Shall we head back? I am sure your family will be wondering where you've gotten to.”
As they made their way back to the carriage, Abigail could not shake the feeling that she was stepping into a world far more complex and treacherous than she had ever imagined.
The ride back to the Wilkinson residence was quiet, each of them lost in their own thoughts. As Charles helped her down from the carriage, he hesitated, then spoke softly. “Thank you for agreeing to my terms, Abigail. I know it is not ideal, but I truly believe it is for the best.”
Abigail looked up at him, searching his face for some clue to the man beneath the carefully controlled exterior. “I hope you're right, Charles,“ she said finally. “For both our sakes.”
As Charles's carriage pulled away, Jennifer linked her arm through Abigail's. “Well, my dear,” she said with a sly smile, “I would say that was a successful outing. And between you and me, I give it six months before that handsome duke of yours is head over heels in love with you — 'no love' rule be damned.”
Abigail could not help but laugh and she suppressed the sudden fluttering in her stomach at the thought of Charles falling madly in love with her.
As they entered the house, Jennifer gave Abigail's arm a gentle squeeze. “Remember, darling,” she said softly, “in this world of ours, a sense of humor is your best defense. That, and a well-timed fainting spell at dull dinner parties.”
With a wink and a laugh, Jennifer swept off to find her daughter, leaving Abigail shaking her head in amused disbelief. Whatever the future held, she thought, at least it wouldn't be boring with Jennifer Lourne around.
CHAPTER18
The next week passed in a whirlwind of activity, with Abigail feeling as though she'd been swept up in a storm of silk, lace, and endless decisions. The day after her walk with Charles, she found herself at Madame Duvall 's modiste shop, accompanied by a lady's maid, Sarah, and, to her surprise, Jennifer Lourne.
“Oh, my lady,” Sarah gasped as they entered the opulent shop, her eyes wide with wonder. “I've never seen so many beautiful gowns in one place!”
Jennifer chuckled, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Just wait until you see what they have planned for our Abigail. I daresay His Grace won't know what has hit him.”
Abigail felt her cheeks warm at Jennifer's words. “Mrs. Lourne, you really didn't have to come,” she said, trying to change the subject.
“Nonsense, dear. I wouldn't miss this for the world. Besides, someone needs to make sure you do not get lost in a sea of ruffles and bows.”
What followed was a dizzying parade of gowns, each more elaborate than the last. Abigail found herself being poked, prodded, and pinned into what felt like hundreds of dresses, her head spinning with talk of necklines, bustles, and trains.
“Perhaps something a bit... simpler?” Abigail suggested timidly, eyeing a particularly voluminous creation with trepidation.
Madame Duvall clucked her tongue disapprovingly. “But ma chérie, you are to be a duchess! You must look the part!”
“Now, now, madame,” Jennifer interjected, her eyes twinkling. “Our Abigail doesn't need all that finery to look like a duchess. She's got natural grace, this one. Why, I bet she could wear a potato sack and still have half the ton swooning at her feet.”
After what felt like hours, they finally settled on a design — an elegant gown of ivory silk with delicate lace accents. It was more elaborate than anything Abigail had ever worn, but still retained a certain understated elegance that she felt suited her.
“It's perfect, my lady,” Sarah breathed as Abigail twirled in front of the mirror. “His Grace will be speechless when he sees you!”
“Oh, I do not know about speechless,” Jennifer mused, a mischievous glint in her eye. “But I would wager good money we'll see some genuine emotion from that stoic duke of yours, Abigail.”
Abigail felt a flutter in her chest at the thought but quickly pushed it aside. “Thank you both,” she said, smoothing down the fabric of the gown. “Now, let's gather everything to show Harriet. I am sure she's eager for a distraction from her confinement.”
Later that afternoon, Abigail burst into Harriet's bedroom, her arms laden with fabric swatches and sketches. “Harriet! You won't believe the day I've had!”
Harriet, propped up in bed with baby Graham nursing contentedly, looked up with a smile. “Abby! Come, show me everything. I've been dying for some excitement.”
Abigail spread her treasures across the bed, chattering excitedly about each piece. “And look at this lace for the veil - is not it exquisite? Oh, and Madame Duvall suggested this shade of blue for my going-away dress. What do you think?”
Harriet laughed, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “I think you've taken to this whole duchess business quite well, Abby. You're positively glowing!”
Jennifer, who had followed Abigail into the room, nodded in agreement. “Our Abigail is a natural, Harriet. You should have seen her at the modiste. Every gown she tried on looked like it was made for her.”
Abigail paused, suddenly self-conscious. “Oh dear, am I being ridiculous? It's just... well, I have never had anything like this before. It's all rather overwhelming.”
Harriet reached out to squeeze her hand. “Not ridiculous at all, darling. It's perfectly natural to be excited about your wedding. And I must say, you've made some lovely choices. You'll be the most beautiful bride London has ever seen.”
“And I am sure a certain duke will agree,” Jennifer added with a wink.
