Page 56 of The Duke and his Hellion
By the time they returned home, Abigail's head was spinning. With a muttered excuse, she retreated to the library — Charles following her, his exterior showing no indication that he was at all aware of his wife's dissatisfaction.
She managed to avoid him for a day and-a-half, her muddled mind reeling with the pang of jealousy that coursed through her whenever she thought of how easy it seemed for other women to be blatantly flirtatious with him.
To Charles's credit, Abigail had to admit that he was at least trying to spend quality time with her. It was barely two days after their walk in the market that he joined her where she sat beneath the willow tree.
“I was wondering whether you wanted to join me for a promenade in Hyde Park,” he suggested and Abigail looked up at him, trying to hide the excitement that stirred within her.
“That sounds lovely,” she managed with a soft smile. “Thank you.”
A comfortable silence had settled between them as they strolled arm-in-arm along the winding paths. Once again, Abigail could not help but notice the attention her husband attracted.
They had barely made it halfway around the park when a striking woman in a lavender gown approached them, her golden curls bouncing with each step she took.
“Why, Your Grace,” she exclaimed, her voice syrupy sweet. “What a delightful surprise to see you here.”
Charles nodded at her politely. “Good afternoon, Lady Ashworth.”
The woman barely spared a glance for Abigail — her full attention was directed at Charles. “I was just thinking about you the other day,” she said, stepping a bit closer and placing a gloved hand on his arm. “Do you remember the wonderful waltz we shared at the Millbrooks' ball last season? You were such a magnificent partner.”
Abigail felt her cheeks flush when Lady Ashworth leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I do hope we will have the chance to dance again soon. Perhaps at the ton's next soirée.”
Charles removed her hand from his arm gently, his brows lifted as he looked at her. “If you will excuse us, Lady Ashworth,” he said, his tone measured. “The duchess and I were just finishing our walk.”
Abigail could feel Lady Ashworth's eyes on her as they moved away and her stomach churned. She no longer had any doubt about the matter —every woman in the ton was practically throwing themselves at her husband.
As they made their way back to Grouton Manor, Abigail could not shake the image of Lady Ashworth's hand on Charles's arm, or the pointed look she had received. The encounter had left her feeling quite unsettled, and in truth, she had no idea how on earth to handle it.
“Is everything alright?” Charles asked as they entered the manor. “You have been awfully quiet today.”
Abigail forced a smile. “I am fine,” she said quickly. “I am just a bit tired. I think I will rest for a while before dinner.”
Charles nodded, though his brow was furrowed with concern. “Of course. I have some business to attend to in town tomorrow,” he explained, and Abigail nodded, though doubts twinged in her heart.
“Right,” she muttered, avoiding his pointed gaze, trying her best to ignore the image of the women in London vying desperately for his attention.
The doubts followed Abigail through the night and into the next morning, as she sat alone in the drawing room. The tea in front of her had grown cold and the book on her lap was forgotten.
“Your Grace,” Thompson announced, breaking her from her reverie. “Lady Beatrice is here.”
Abigail looked at the redhead with mild surprise, rising from her seat as Beatrice swept across the room to embrace her. She quickly rearranged her features to rid herself of the frown that appeared between her brows. It was a little more than surprising to have anyone show up at the manor unannounced — especially someone she knew so little as Beatrice. Still, Abigail admonished herself silently, it was kind of her to visit.
“So,” Beatrice asked, her eyes gleaming, “How are you settling into married life?”
Abigail gestured for Beatrice to sit, taking her own seat again. “It's… an adjustment,” she said carefully, with a glance in Thompson's direction. “Thompson, could you ask Mrs. Morgan for more tea please?”
The man nodded and left, allowing Abigail to turn her attention back to Beatrice. She sighed. “Charles has been very patient,” she said gratefully and Beatrice lifted a brow.
“Is he now? Do tell me everything.”
Abigail laughed softly. “Everything?”
Beatrice nodded quickly, a throaty laugh escaping her lips. “I must admit,” she said with a shrug, “I am rather anxious about marriage — and I would love to know what it is like. Are… are there any problems? Difficulties? Challenges?”
Abigail hesitated and Beatrice laughed again, her eyes cast down to her lap. “I only ask to ease my mind, of course,” she said now. “I like to know what I am getting into before I do.”
“Of course,” Abigail said slowly. Her hesitation was evident when she finally spoke. “Well… it is not exactly a problem, per se…”
“Oh?” Beatrice's eyebrows shot up. “Do go on. We are friends. You can tell me anything.”
