Page 46 of The Duke and his Hellion
A grin settled on Charles's lips as he looked at her. “And why not?” he asked, feigning offense — though he did not manage to keep the humor out of his tone.
Abigail shrugged. “I do not know,” she muttered. “You just seem so… proper. I would imagine you having quail eggs or caviar for a treat.”
Charles let out a laugh at this. “Heavens, no!” he exclaimed. “I assure you, I am quite capable of enjoying simple pleasures. What about you? Which dishes delight your palate?”
Abigail bit her lip, suddenly self-conscious. “You'll think it is silly,” she muttered and he shook his head, though his eyes twinkled with amusement. “I promise, I will not,” he said solemnly and Abigail laughed.
“Well, fine,” she said at last. “I do quite miss — and enjoy — black pudding.”
Charles looked at her, surprised. “Black pudding? Really?”
“I know I was technically born here in England,” she admitted with a sigh, “and it is silly to be so attached to something Scottish, but…”
“I understand,” Charles said softly. “It makes you feel connected to your roots.”
“Yes,” she said, her heart filling with gratitude. “Exactly.”
Dinner came to an end far too quickly for Abigail who had, to her own mild surprise, started enjoying her husband's company. As she made her way to her bedchamber, however, her mind whirled with the events of the day. She frowned as she climbed into the bed, sinking into the plush mattress.
Being a duchess, she knew, consisted of far more than tours of the estate and tea in the garden. She had to choose a charity to support — and she had no idea where to start. She had to throw lavish parties with no idea whom she should invite and she had to help manage the household. She didn't even want to think about bearing an heir.
All she could do, she thought lazily as she drifted off to sleep, was hope that she'd do a good job and make her husband proud.
The sun was high up in the sky when Abigail awoke the next morning. She dressed quickly, foregoing Maria's assistance, and made her way downstairs. The house was already bustling with activity, servants working with certainty on their chores.
The kitchen, she decided. Mrs. Morgan would probably be there. As she'd expected, Mrs. Morgan was in the kitchen, and the housekeeper looked up in surprise when Abigail entered.
“Your Grace,” she exclaimed. “Is everything alright? Do you need something?”
Abigail smiled, trying to appear more confident than she felt. “Good morning, Mrs. Morgan. I… I was hoping you had some knowledge of charitable organizations I could support. His Grace mentioned it and I thought you…”
She trailed off and Mrs. Morgan's brow furrowed slightly, her hands never ceasing their work as she kneaded dough.
“Of course, Your Grace. There are many places where your support would be appreciated… though perhaps later might be better? If we could arrange a meeting after our luncheon?”
“Oh,” Abigail said, her cheeks hot. “Of course. I didn't mean to interrupt your work. I just thought… Well, never mind. Is there anything I can help with?”
Mrs. Morgan's eyes widened in alarm at this. “Help? Oh, no, Your Grace. That would not be proper at all. Please, do not trouble yourself. I am certain His Grace would not approve.”
“Right,” Abigail said, her shoulders slumping. “Of course. We will just talk later then.”
She turned to leave, then paused, looking back. “Do… do you perhaps know where His Grace is?”
“In his study, Your Grace. I believe he mentioned having some paperwork to do.”
Abigail nodded and left the kitchen, feeling utterly deflated as she wandered through the house. Everything was so grand — so perfectly in order. She ran her hand along a polished side table, half expecting that someone would jump out and scold her for smudging it.
At last, she made her way to the library where she carefully pushed open the heavy door. “He did say I could read anything in here,” she muttered as her fingers trailed along the dusty jackets of the books.
She grabbed one without truly looking at the title before making her way to the willow. Still, despite the peace she'd felt the previous day when she'd looked at the tree, she could not stop feeling rather haunted.
She was a duchess now… but what on earth did that mean? What was she meant to do with her days? Surely there was more to life than throwing the odd party here and there, or attending dinners?
The book lay forgotten on her lap as she stared out in front of her unseeingly. Any lady of the ton, she knew, would know exactly which charity to support. She doubted that another woman would have asked the housekeeper's advice about this.
So lost in her thoughts, Abigail hardly noticed time passing. Only when the sun moved so much so that she knew dinner was approaching, did she hurry back to the house. Everything seemed as quiet as she'd left it and blood rushed to her cheeks when she realized she had completely missed her meeting with Mrs. Morgan.
To her surprise, her husband was still in his study and Abigail approached Mrs. Morgan hesitantly.
