Page 49 of The Duke and his Hellion
Her eyes flew across the page, taking in every last bit of information eagerly.A demonstration of impeccable table manners is a testament to one's upbringing and social grace. The dining table serves as a stage where the subtleties of proprietary and refinement are displayed.
Abigail frowned. Never before had she thought of the dining table as a stage — but then, she supposed, in this ton everything seemed to be one.
“Your Grace…” Abigail slammed the book shut when Maria appeared in the library and she looked at the girl almost nervously. “Yes?”
“The dowager duchess is here,” Maria said softly and Abigail closed her eyes, taking a deep breath before rising to her feet.
“Thank you… Thank you, Maria,” she muttered before making her way to the foyer. Charles was already there and she moved to stand next to him before she turned her gaze to where Vivian was standing — every inch the dowager duchess. Her steel-gray hair was impeccably coiffed and her sharp eyes lingered on Abigail for a moment. A strange smile played around Vivian's lips before she turned her gaze to her son.
“Charles, darling,” she said, her voice warm as she embraced her son, “How good to see you.”
“Good day, Mother,” Charles replied, though Abigail was rather certain that his voice held at least a little stiffness. “Thank you for coming. We are grateful.”
At this, Vivian turned to Abigail — her smile cooling quite a bit. “Abigail,” she addressed her daughter-in-law, her tone carefully neutral. “I trust you are settling in quite well.”
“Yes, thank you, Your Grace,” Abigail replied as she dipped into a curtsy. “We are pleased to have you here.”
Vivian lifted a single brow and her gaze slowly swept over Abigail. “Indeed,” she said coolly, then glanced at her son before returning her gaze to Abigail. “Well, I am certain there is much to learn. Charles, darling, you are more than welcome to continue your work. I will take care of your wife.”
With nothing more than a single look, servants hurried to take Vivian's belongings to her chamber and Abigail looked at the older woman nervously.
One thing was certain, she thought silently. These lessons were bound to be far less enjoyable than Charles's had been.
“Come, dear,” Vivian addressed Abigail over her shoulder as she made her way to the drawing room. “And for heaven's sake, do not slouch. It is unbecoming of a duchess. Straighten your spine. And stop fidgeting with your hands.”
As Abigail straightened her spine and held her hands still in front of her, she had to fight to keep a grimace off her face.
Yes, she thought to herself. Certainly, far less enjoyable.
The longer the lessons continued, the more Abigail found that her initial assessment of them was correct. In Vivian's eyes, she was evidently not able to do anything right.
“Really, dear,” the older woman complained as they bent over a piece of parchment. “Is that the best you can do? The menu for a dinner party requires thought and strategy. This… reads like a country pub's offerings. I do not know what your brother served at dinner parties, but this is like teaching a commoner. Use your head.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Abigail said softly — words she was getting used to uttering. Of course, a small part of her wanted to challenge the woman — wanted to tell her that her way could not possibly be the only acceptable one and that she could give her some grace. She knew instinctively, however, that it would only serve to make matters worse, so she remained quiet.
She was halfway through a new menu, when Charles suddenly appeared in the doorway and she looked at him — grateful for what she hoped to be a reprieve from her mother-in-law's onslaught of criticism. Charles, however, looked at her regretfully as he walked forward to press a gentle kiss to her hand.
“I just received word of an urgent business matter I need to attend to,” he explained softly, with a worried glance in his mother's direction. “I will be away for a couple of days.”
To Abigail's surprise, Vivian did not look nearly as disappointed as she felt at this. Instead, the older woman smiled almost proudly at her son. “Go take care of business,” she encouraged. “Abigail and I will be quite alright.”
She looked at Abigail with a falsely sweet smile, and the latter looked at her husband bravely. “Hurry back,” she muttered when he wrapped his arms around her in a greeting hug. Vivian remained quiet, though she hardly waited for her son to be gone before clapping her hands together.
“Now for invitations,” she announced after glancing at the new menu. Though Abigail tried her best to focus on the older woman's voice, her mind drifted — towards the tasks still awaiting her attention, and her husband's journey to attend to this important business…
“Abigail!” Vivian's voice broke through her voice sharply and Abigail's cheeks heated up as she looked at her.
“Yes, Your Grace?”
“You are not listening to a word I am saying,” Vivian accused. “You were miles away.”
“I apologize, Your Grace,” Abigail said softly. “Could… could you please repeat what you said?”
Vivian grimaced and shook her head. “This is precisely the problem,” she said, her lips pressing into a thin line. “You are not taking this seriously enough. Do you have any idea of the responsibility you have taken on? The legacy you are meant to uphold?”
“I am trying,” Abigail said, her voice small. “Truly, I am …”
“Trying is not good enough,” Vivian snapped. “You are the Duchess of Grouton now, and unlike your brother's joke of a title, it means something. You represent one of the oldest, most respected families in England and rather than learn what it means, you are dreaming like a common schoolgirl!”
