Page 47 of The Duke and his Hellion
“I apologize for missing our meeting,” she said immediately when she found the woman dusting in the drawing room. “I completely lost track of time.”
Not for a second did it occur to her that it was not necessary for a duchess to make such apologies to a housekeeper. Mrs. Morgan looked at Abigail kindly. “Do not fret, Your Grace,” she said simply. “You had questions about charities?”
Abigail nodded. “I do,” she said softly. “I just… I never thought I would be in this position,” she admitted and her face flushed when Mrs. Morgan's expression told her in no uncertain terms how improper that was.
“I mean… I know that it is noble to support a charity and I would love to help, but I do not know where to start.”
Mrs. Morgan looked at her thoughtfully, tapped her finger against her chin and furrowed her brow. “There are a number of charities you could support. I know there are a few hospitals or infirmaries you could support — the Foundling Hospital takes care of abandoned children. There are orphanages, there is education, workhouses, almshouses, women's charities and of course relief for the poor…”
“But…” Abigail looked at the woman, wide-eyed. “They all need me. How do I choose?”
Mrs. Morgan looked at her gently and smiled. “Oh, Your Grace,” she said, her voice soft. “You choose with your heart.”
She glanced at the clock in the corner and then smiled. “Now, dinner is almost served. His Grace requested the smaller dining room again.”
With that, the conversation was all but over and Abigail walked to the dining room, her mind filled with the different charities and people who needed patronage.
Charles was already at the table and he stood when she entered, flashing her a smile.
“I apologize for being so preoccupied today,” he said at once. “I had a lot of work to do. I do hope you did not find the day awfully boring.”
“It was fine,” Abigail lied as she took her seat and her cheeks tinted pink when she looked at her husband whose gaze quite obviously showed that he did not believe a word.
Before he could say anything, however, the servants put food on the table and Abigail gasped when Charles lifted the last cover.
“Is that… is that black pudding?”
“Indeed it is,” he announced quite proudly. “I had one of the servants go out to procure it today.”
“Oh, thank you!” she burst out, elated. “Thank you so much, Charles!”
Impulsively she rose from her seat and before she knew exactly what was going on, she'd thrown her arms around him in a grateful hug. “Thank you so much,” she said again, surprised when she drew back from him and his own cheeks were tinted a pinkish color.
“I didn't know you liked it that much,” he said with a soft laugh. “But I am glad I could make you happy — though I have never seen someone so excited over something that looks so… well… awful.”
Abigail threw her head back in laughter at this. “Oh, stop,” she teased at once. “Have you ever tasted it?”
“Black pudding?” Charles grimaced and shook his head. “I have not — and I have little desire to try it.”
“Do not be a baby,” Abigail insisted, her eyes twinkling with delight. “Please do try it.”
Charles grimaced, though he took her offered fork hesitantly. “You won't die, I promise,” Abigail teased and he lifted a brow as he brought the fork to his lips.
Abigail watched eagerly as he chewed, waiting eagerly for his feedback. “Well,” he said at last, “it is certainly… interesting.”
“Interesting?” Abigail teased and Charles let out a laugh. “It's unexpected,” he admitted, “but I do admit that I thought it'd be worse. It is rather delicate indeed.”
Abigail took a bite of her own, closing her eyes and allowing the earthy, iron-rich taste to envelop her palate.
“My father called it Margag dhubh,” she announced and sighed deeply. “And tonight… you brought my home to me. I can't thank you enough.”
CHAPTER24
Of course, as Abigail knew full well, being married did not only mean that she could eat black pudding and spend time with her husband. As Charles had explained to her shortly after their wedding, there were duties to attend to.
On this particular morning, Abigail sat quietly at her vanity, staring blankly at her reflection as Maria's fingers worked deftly through her hair. Her mind was reeling as she mentally raced through all she needed to do. She needed to select a charity to patronize, plan an upcoming dinner party — her very first as duchess, and review household accounts with Mrs. Morgan…
“Is everything alright, Your Grace?” Maria's gentle voice broke through her reverie and Abigail blinked before forcing herself to smile. “Yes, Maria,” she said softly. “All is well. I am merely… thinking.”
