Page 48 of The Duke and his Hellion
Maria simply nodded at this, and as soon as she was done, Abigail walked downstairs hesitantly. Charles — as had become a habit — was at the breakfast table already. The London Chronicle was open in front of him.
“Morning,” Abigail said softly as she took her seat, and Charles smiled at her. “Morning.” He set the newspaper aside quickly and Abigail shook her head.
“You do not have to stop reading.”
Charles simply smiled and shook his head. “All frivolous gossip,” he said plainly. “I far prefer your company.”
Abigail flashed him a shy grin at this before starting to pick listlessly at her breakfast. She ought to have known, however, that her husband was, if nothing else, rather perceptive.
“Is something troubling you?” he asked worriedly, his gaze never leaving her. “You seem… distracted.”
“Oh,” Abigail dropped her fork and blushed, looking at him regretfully. “I apologize. I was just… thinking.”
To her surprise, this did not seem to ease her husband's concern as he gazed at her with a furrowed brow. “Thinking?”
Abigail shook her head proudly. Though he had shown her nothing but kindness, she did not want to be a burden and complain about her concerns.
“It is nothing, really,” she insisted now. “I am just… adjusting, I suppose.”
“Abigail.” Charles leaned forward slightly and he placed his hand over hers. “I know that our marriage came from a rather… unconventional… arrangement, but we are still partners. If something is bothering you, I would like to know.”
For some reason, perhaps his earnest tone, these kind words seemed to break a dam and her composure cracked entirely. “Oh, Charles,” she burst out now, her voice trembling with emotion, “I am completely overwhelmed and at a loss… Our lessons helped so much, but there is so much more I do not know and… I feel as though I am drowning in responsibilities I cannot understand and expectations I will not be able to meet. The last thing I want is to be a disappointment as a wife, but…”
His hand tightened over hers and he looked at her earnestly. “Abigail,” he said now, his voice soft yet resolute. “Why did you not say something sooner?”
Tears formed in her eyes at this gentle question and she shook her head. “I suppose I did not want to burden you with my worries,” she admitted and Charles shook his head.
“You are my wife. You could never burden me. And I would never expect you to figure this out all on your own. I understand that it is not something you can learn overnight. And I apologize — I ought not to have stopped our lessons once we married. I allowed myself to be bogged down with work.”
Abigail looked at him with wide eyes and he sat quietly for a moment, his thumb absently tracing patterns on the back of her hand.
When he spoke again, his voice was hesitant. “Unfortunately, there are certain… aspects… of my work that do require my immediate attention at the moment. But there is someone who knows intimately what it means to be Duchess of Grouton, someone who could possibly… help.”
Abigail looked at him hesitantly, confusion etched across her face. “Who?”
“Well,” Charles said slowly, pointedly avoiding her gaze. “I was thinking of asking… my mother. Shortly after my father passed, she moved to one of the country estates… but I could ask her to visit… and she could guide you through the intricacies of your new role.”
Despite the kind offer, Abigail felt her heart sink at the suggestion. She could vividly remember Lady Vivian's cutting voice and disdainful glances. The dowager duchess was not the ideal picture of comfort she imagined when she thought about learning more about her new life and responsibilities.
Still, Charles had made the suggestion out of the goodness of his heart and he was right. Vivian Rowling knew what it meant to be the Duchess of Grouton.
When she spoke after a long, uncomfortable silence, her voice was hesitant. “Do… do you think she would? She… did not seem to… approve of me much.”
Charles squeezed her hand reassuringly and he smiled at her with a confidence she herself did not feel at all. “My mother can be difficult, I know,” he admitted. But despite her prickly exterior, I believe she wants what is best for our family and if anyone can help you… it is her. I know she will agree if I ask her.”
Abigail took a deep breath. The idea of her mother-in-law visiting was far more intimidating than it was reassuring. “Thank you,” she said at last. “If you believe that she could help, I will be grateful for her guidance.”
Charles nodded, a warm smile spreading across his face. “I will write to her today. And… I do appreciate your honesty, Abigail. We are in this together, are we not?”
He looked so warm and comfortable, that Abigail had to smile in return — though her own smile was quite weak. She could only hope that she had not made a terrible mistake.
Of course, the next few days passed far too quickly — and it soon became a blur of anticipation and dread. Most of her time was spent in the library, where she read several books about etiquette and social customs.
That was how Abigail found herself, curled up in a leather chair withGrace and Propriety: A Guide to Etiquettein her lap.
It falls upon the host or hostess to facilitate introductions at any gathering,she read, then frowned. Charles had already taught her all about introduction and her face flushed when she remembered Vivian's comments about her table manners. She paged on quickly until a heading caught her eye: The Refinement of Table Manners.
“Yes,” Abigail whispered softly as she settled deeper in the chair. “This is it.”
