Page 35 of The Duke and his Hellion
Abigail beamed, but her smile faltered slightly as she remembered Charles's rule about not falling in love. “I just hope…” she began, then trailed off.
“Hope what?” Harriet prompted gently.
Abigail sighed. “I hope I can live up to everyone's expectations. Being a duchess... it is a bit daunting, isn't it?”
Harriet's expression softened. “Oh, Abby. You'll be wonderful. Just be yourself — that's all anyone can ask of you.”
“And if anyone gives you any trouble,” Jennifer added, “just remember that you'll outrank most of them. A well-timed raised eyebrow can work wonders in silencing wagging tongues.”
Before Abigail could respond, there was a knock at the door. Hugh poked his head in, his expression filled with exasperation despite the stiff smile. “I hate to interrupt, but Grouton has arrived for tea. Abigail, perhaps ye would like to receive him?”
Abigail jumped up, suddenly flustered. “Oh! Yes, of course. I'll be right down.”
As she hurried to the drawing room, she took a moment to smooth her hair and straighten her gown. Taking a deep breath, she entered the room to find Charles waiting and she shook her head at the sudden impulse to wipe the stray dark hair off his forehead.
“Your Grace,” she greeted him with a curtsy. “How lovely to see you.”
Charles bowed in return, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Lady Abigail. I trust you've had a productive day?”
Abigail laughed, her earlier excitement returning. “Oh, you have no idea! I've been to the modiste, and there's so much to show you. Come, sit down, and I'll tell you all about it.”
As they settled onto the sofa, Abigail launched into an animated description of her day, her hands flying as she described gowns and fabrics and all manner of wedding preparations. Charles found himself watching her with amusement, charmed by her enthusiasm.
“...and then Madame Duvall suggested this absolutely ridiculous confection of ruffles and bows, and I thought I might drown in tulle!” Abigail was saying, her eyes sparkling with mirth.
Charles could not help but chuckle. “I take it that particular gown didn't make the final cut?”
Abigail shook her head emphatically. “Certainly not! I may be becoming a duchess, but I refuse to look like an over-decorated cake on my wedding day.”
“I am glad to hear it,” Charles said, his voice warm with approval. “I much prefer you as you are, without all the frippery.”
Abigail felt a flush of pleasure at his words, but quickly reminded herself of their agreement. Friends and partners, nothing more. “Yes, well,” she said, clearing her throat. “There's still so much to do. The flowers, the menu for the wedding breakfast, the guest list…”
Charles leaned forward, his expression turning serious. “About the guest list, Abigail. I hope you'll understand, but I've taken the liberty of handling that myself. Given the... unusual circumstances of our engagement, I thought it best to keep the ceremony small and intimate.”
Abigail felt a pang of disappointment, but nodded in understanding. “Of course. That makes perfect sense. Will it just be family then?”
Charles shook his head. “Not quite. There will be a few key members of society in attendance — people whose support will be crucial in the coming months. I hope you do not mind.”
Abigail forced a smile. “Not at all. You know best, after all.”
Charles studied her face for a moment, then sighed. “Abigail, I know this is not the grand wedding of which you might have dreamed. But I promise you, once we're married and the initial gossip has died down, we'll host a ball to formally introduce you to society. You can invite anyone you like then.”
Abigail's face lit up at this. “Really? Oh, Charles, that would be wonderful! I could invite some of the other ladies I've met and entertain in my own home… I mean our home…”
As she continued to chatter excitedly about potential guests, Charles found himself marveling at her resilience. Despite everything — the scandal, the rushed wedding, their unconventional arrangement — she still managed to find joy in the smallest things.
“You're quite remarkable, you know,” he said suddenly, interrupting her mid-sentence.
Abigail blinked in surprise. “I am ?”
Charles nodded, a soft smile on his face. “Indeed. Most women in your position would be in tears, lamenting the loss of their dream wedding. But here you are, finding happiness in every little detail. It's... refreshing.”
Abigail felt her cheeks warm at his praise. When he spoke like this, it was easy to write off Beatrice's careful warnings.
For a moment, they sat in companionable silence, neither quite willing to break the connection. Then, with a small cough, Charles released her hand and stood.
“I should be going,” he said, smoothing down his coat. “There's still much to arrange before the wedding.”
