Page 36 of The Duke and his Hellion
Abigail rose as well, suddenly reluctant to see him leave. “Of course. Will I see you again before...?”
Charles nodded. “I'll call again in a few days to finalize the last details. Until then, Lady Abigail.”
As she watched him leave, Abigail could not help but smile. In just a week's time, she would be married to this complex, enigmatic man. She only hoped she was ready for the challenges that lay ahead.
As Charles's carriage pulled away, Jennifer appeared at Abigail's side. “Well, my dear,” she said with a knowing smile, “I would say that was a successful visit. Your duke seemed quite taken with you.”
Abigail shook her head. “It's not like that, Mrs. Lourne. We have an arrangement, remember?”
Jennifer patted her cheek affectionately. “Oh, Abigail. You can fool yourself, and you might even fool him for a while. But you can't fool me. I've seen the way you look at him when you think no one's watching.”
Before Abigail could protest further, Jennifer swept away, leaving her standing alone with her conflicted thoughts.
Later that evening, as Abigail prepared for bed, there was a soft knock at her door. “Come in,” she called, expecting Sarah with her nightly cup of chamomile tea.
To her surprise, it was Hugh who entered, looking uncharacteristically hesitant. “Abby,” he said softly. “Do ye have a moment?”
Abigail nodded, patting the spot beside her on the bed. Hugh sat down heavily, his brow furrowed with concern.
“Abby, I... I want to make sure ye're truly alright with all of this,” he said, his voice gruff with emotion. “This marriage, it is happening so fast. If ye've any doubts at all…”
Abigail felt a rush of affection for her brother. Despite his gruff exterior, he had always looked out for her. “Oh, Hugh,” she said, leaning her head on his shoulder. “I appreciate your concern, truly. But I am fine. Charles is... he's a good man. I think we could be happy together.”
Hugh was silent for a long moment, then sighed heavily. “I hope ye’re right, lass. I truly do. Just remember, no matter what happens, ye will always have a home here with us.”
Abigail felt tears prick at her eyes. “Thank you, Hugh. That means more to me than you know.”
As Hugh left, closing the door softly behind him, Abigail lay back on her bed, her mind whirling with thoughts of the future. In just a week, she would be the Duchess of Grouton, married to a man who had declared that love had no place in their union.
But as she drifted off to sleep, Abigail could not help but hope that perhaps, just perhaps, Charles might change his mind. After all, she thought with a small smile, stranger things had happened.
And if not... Well, she would make the best of it. It was what she had always done, and she saw no reason to change now.
CHAPTER19
The few days before the wedding passed far too quickly for Abigail's nerves — and these nerves were not helped much when she received a note from her husband-to-be, inviting her to a dinner at his townhouse the evening before the ceremony.
She looked at Jennifer for what felt like the hundredth time since receiving the invitation. “Lady Lourne, are you certain you cannot join us?”
Jennifer shook her head gently where she sat, young Graham fast asleep in her arms. “Your brother will be with you,” she whispered, careful not to wake the infant. “Do not fret, darling girl. All will be well.”
Abigail merely flashed her a smile before following her brother to the carriage. They were quiet until they arrived at the townhouse, where Charles stood ready to meet them as the carriage came to a halt. A small smile played at the corners of his mouth as he held his hand out to help her.
“Frighton,” he greeted Hugh with a nod of his head before turning his attention to Abigail. “Lady Abigail, welcome. You look lovely this evening.”
“Thank you, Your Grace,” Abigail replied, suddenly feeling self-conscious under the scrutinizing gaze of the Dowager Duchess Vivian.
As they took their seats — Charles at the head of the table, Abigail to his right, Vivian to his left, and Hugh beside Abigail — an uncomfortable silence settled over the room.
The first course was served, and Vivian delicately dabbed at her lips with her napkin before turning her piercing gaze on Abigail. “So, my dear,” she began, her voice syrupy sweet, “I trust you're prepared for tomorrow's ceremony? It must be quite overwhelming for someone of your... background.”
Abigail felt her cheeks flush, but she managed a polite smile. “I believe I am as prepared as I can be, Your Grace. Charles has been most helpful in explaining what to expect.”
Vivian's lips thinned slightly at the casual use of her son's given name. “Indeed? How generous of him. I do hope you appreciate the honor being bestowed upon you, my dear. It's not every day that a girl of your station marries into one of England's oldest and most respected families.”
Hugh's grip on his fork tightened, but before he could speak, Charles smoothly interjected. “Mother, perhaps we could discuss something more pleasant? Abigail, why don't you tell us about the charities you're considering patronizing?”
Grateful for the change of subject, Abigail spoke quickly. “There's a particularly interesting one that focuses on education for underprivileged children. I believe, with the right support, we could make a real difference in their lives.”
