Page 50 of The Duke and his Hellion
Abigail blinked, tears pricking at her eyes. “I am doing my best,” she insisted, her voice trembling. “It is… a lot to learn at once.”
Vivian let out a harsh laugh. “Oh, my dear,” she said, her voice dripping with condescension, “You are in for a rude awakening if you find this to be a lot. The ton will eat you alive if you do not shape up.”
She turned from Abigail, her voice tense with bitterness. “I warned Charles, you know,” she muttered softly, speaking more to herself. “I told him he was making a mistake, marrying someone with no idea of what it means to be a duchess… someone with your blood. But he insisted on falling for the trap you set, and here we are.”
Abigail paled, feeling as though she'd been slapped. “I am sorry you feel that way, Your Grace,” she managed to get out and Vivian turned back to face her, her expression cold.
“Let me make something quite clear, Abigail,” she said softly. “You are not good enough for my son or this title. But you are what we have to work with, so we will simply make do. You will learn. You will improve… and you will not embarrass this family. Do you understand me?”
Abigail nodded mutely, unable to find her voice.
“Good,” Vivian said, smoothing her skirt before resuming her seat. “Now, let us continue. There is a lot to learn.”
CHAPTER25
Relief coursed through Charles as his carriage rolled to a stop in front of Grouton Manor. He'd never truly minded work trips before, but strangely that had changed now that he was married.
“Welcome back, Your Grace,” the butler, Thompson, greeted him at the door with a warm smile.
“Thank you, Thompson,” Charles said, returning the smile. “Where are the duchess and the dowager duchess?”
Thompson's smile disappeared at this and he let out a subtle sigh. “I believe that they are in the parlor, Your Grace,” he said hesitantly. “They have been there most of the day.”
Charles nodded with a frown before slowly making his way to the parlor. To his disappointment, Abigail did not jump up when she saw him. Instead, she looked at him with a small smile.
“Welcome back, Charles,” she said simply. Vivian looked at her almost approvingly before turning her own gaze to her son. “Welcome home, darling,” she said, her voice far warmer than Abigail's. “We shall see you at dinner. Abigail still has a lot to learn.”
Charles frowned at this. Though he could not put his finger on what it was exactly, there was something that did not sit well at all with him. “Right,” he muttered with a dark frown. “I will be in my study, then.”
It was silly, he thought, to be disappointed. After all, he'd asked his mother to come and help Abigail. There was no reason for them to stop their lessons simply because he had returned from a trip. He loosened his cravat as he walked to his study. Though the ledgers on his desk beckoned, his mind wandered as much as he tried to focus on them.
The manor felt… different.
When the gong sounded for dinner hours later, Charles realized with quite a shock that he had accomplished absolutely nothing. Instead, he had read the same page multiple times without absorbing a single word.
In the dining room, Abigail sat ramrod straight — her eyes downcast. It was his mother who dominated the conversation, her voice sharp.
“Abigail, dear. Do try to remember what I taught you about proper posture,” she said. “Your shoulders back, and your spine straight.”
Charles watched with a frown as Abigail's shoulders stiffened even further, if that were possible. “Yes, Your Grace,” she murmured softly and Vivian sighed.
“Mother,” Charles interjected before she could say anything. “How are the lessons progressing?”
Vivian pursed her lips and shook her head. “As well as can be expected I suppose,” she said, sounding exasperated. “There is still much work to be done.”
Abigail remained silent, pushing food around on her plate — none of which made it to her mouth. Charles frowned. There were dark circles under her eyes and a foreign tightness around her mouth.
This strangeness of the girl he had married, managed to stifle any hope of conversation and he focused on his food silently. It was Abigail who pushed her plate aside first.
“If you will excuse me,” she said, her voice eerily calm. “I am rather fatigued.”
She waited for both Charles and Vivian to nod before dashing from the dining room like a wounded deer.
A deep frown decorated Charles's brow when he made his way back to his study after dinner. He sighed when he looked at the open ledgers, though there was still no part of him that could focus on them. He tapped the pen against the desk a few times.
Perhaps, he thought, he ought to talk to Abigail. No, he decided swiftly. There was something about this new Abigail that made him rather uncomfortable. Still — he needed to understand what it was that was off, and a sudden impulse struck him.
He stood and hastened his footsteps to the parlor — where it did not surprise him at all to find his mother sitting with a cup of tea.
