Page 52 of The Duke and his Hellion
“What do you think you are doing?” he demanded, his voice trembling with rage. “I… Abigail and I asked you here to help her, and guide her — not berate her into submission.”
Vivian's eyes widened in feigned innocence. “I am merely trying to mold her into a proper duchess, Charles. Surely you can see how much work there is to be done.”
“My wife is not a task,” he snapped, his voice booming through the small room. “I will not allow you to crush her spirit in the name of turning her into whatyoubelieve a duchess ought to be.”
Vivian scoffed at this. “A little discipline never hurt anyone,” she insisted. “Besides, if she cannot handle this, how do you expect her to survive in society?”
A muscle jumped in Charles's jaw at this. “In society,” he said, his voice measured, “She will be respected as the Duchess of Grouton, and if she missteps I will be there next to her — to guide her.”
“Oh, Charles,” Vivian said with a laugh. “But that is why you asked me to help guide…”
“Your help is no longer needed.” His voice was cold and Vivian's brows shot up towards her hairline.
“I am sorry?”
Charles shook his head, his mouth a thin line. “You can direct your apologies to my wife,” he insisted and Vivian scowled as she turned to Abigail.
“You!” She shook her head, her eyes fixed on Abigail. “You poisoned my son against me! Oh, I knew it… I knew you were trouble, but…”
“Stop!” Charles insisted, his voice deep with rage. “This has nothing to do with her poisoning me against you! It has to do with me caring about my wife's wellbeing. It has to do with your behavior.”
He shook his head when Vivian opened her mouth to object. “You will leave this house today and not return until you can treat my wife with the respect she deserves. Is that understood?”
“Charles,” Vivian started, but he shook his head.
“I asked you a question.”
For a drawn-out moment, mother and son stood locked in a battle of wills — neither backing down. It was Vivian whose shoulders finally sagged in defeat.
“Very well,” she said at last. “I will go.”
Charles merely nodded, watching as his mother turned and stalked away. Only when her footsteps faded did he allow himself to relax and turn his attention to his wife.
Abigail stood in the corner of the parlor, looking small, her face flushed.
“Abigail,” he muttered before crossing the room in quick strides. Without giving it much thought, he pulled her into his arms, holding her against his chest.
For a moment, Abigail remained stiff in his embrace. Then, with a shuddering breath, she melted against him and her arms wrapped around him as she buried her face in his chest.
“I am sorry,” she whispered, her voice wrought with tears. “I have disappointed you, haven't I? I am trying, Charles, I really am, but I can't seem to do anything right…”
“Hush,” Charles soothed, running a hand over her hair gently. “You have nothing to apologize for, Abigail. Nothing at all. I am the one who should apologize. I never should have put you through this…”
“You were trying to help,” she mumbled, but he shook his head and rested his chin on her head.
“No,” he said softly. “I failed you when I should have helped you. I will not make that mistake again.”
Abigail pulled back and looked up at him, his heart aching when he took note of her red-rimmed eyes.
“Listen to me,” he said softly. “I do not want you to lose who you are to become a duchess.”
“But there is so much I do not know, and so much I need to learn,” Abigail insisted, her smile watery.
“You will,” Charles assured her. “But without losing yourself. And in your own way — like I taught you originally. No more of this tyranny.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, but Charles shook his head. “I do not deserve your thanks… at least not yet,” he said softly. “But I promise, I will make this error up to you. And I know just how.”
She looked at him curiously, but he shook his head with a soft laugh.
