Page 58 of The Duke and his Hellion
“Thank you, Hawkins,” Charles said with a nod. “Any issues I should be aware of?”
“Nothing out of the ordinary, sir,” Hawkins said with a smile. “In fact, profits are up twelve percent from our last quarter and we have expanded our routes to include new ports in the Americas. It seems your recent marriage has been good for business.”
A smile tugged at Charles's lips. “Excellent news,” he said, keeping his tone light. “Please draft a letter of commendation to Captain Blackwood. His leadership of the fleet has been exemplary.”
“Right away, Your Grace,” Hawkins replied before leaving Charles to the rest of his papers. A smile appeared on his face.
After his disastrous first engagement, his business had taken a hit. The gossip columns had been filled with speculation bordering on insults, and for a while, he feared that he would entirely tarnish his father's legacy. He was more than a little surprised that his marriage to Abigail seemed to turn things around so much.
Naturally, his thoughts drifted to his wife and he sighed — though a smile settled on his lips.
Despite his mother's doubts, Abigail's presence in his life had proven to be quite the asset — and it was far more than his business that benefited from her.
“Your Grace,” Hawkins interrupted his thoughts again and Charles looked up, shaking his head.
“What is it, Hawkins? Is that report from the coal mines in Yorkshire back?”
“No, Your Grace,” Hawkins said hesitantly, glancing down at the book in his arms. “But it would seem that you and the duchess have an event to attend tonight.”
Charles could not suppress the groan that left his lips. “The Pembertons' garden party,” he muttered and Hawkins nodded.
“Indeed, Your Grace. Your presence will most certainly be noticed — and if I may be bold enough to admit as much, the columns are quite eager to see more of the duchess.”
“They are?” Charles asked, unable to keep the surprise out of his voice and Hawkins nodded eagerly.
“I am not much of a reader of those columns, Your Grace,” he explained quickly, “But my wife is — and of course she mentions it to me when your name is mentioned, or that of the duchess.”
“I see,” Charles said simply, then he rose to his feet. “Very well, then. I'll take my leave.”
He gestured to the pile of finished documents on one side of his desk.
“I will be in early tomorrow to attend to the rest of the documents. Please see that those ones are filed appropriately.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Hawkins said and Charles flashed him a smile before gathering his things.
As he climbed into the carriage, his thoughts inadvertently drifted towards Abigail again and he could not help but smile. Over the last few days, she'd started seeming more like herself again — and to say that he was relieved about his mother's influence not being permanent was an understatement.
Abigail was seated in the drawing room when he arrived at the manor, a pensive look on her face, and Charles grinned at her.
“You look deep in thought.”
She flashed him a silent smile — one a tad less enthusiastic than he was used to. “I suppose I lost track of time,” she said softly, and Charles looked at her, concerned.
“You… do you still want to go to the Pembrokes' Garden Party?”
Abigail's eyes widened slightly at this and she pressed her hand to her lips.
“I forgot all about that,” she exclaimed, her eyes wide. “I will go and get ready right now!”
She darted off without another word and Charles frowned as he walked to his own bedchamber. Something was off — although he could not quite put his finger on what it was that bothered him.
Abigail joined him in the foyer shortly afterwards and he felt his lips curling into a smile when he saw her. She looked every bit the duchess in her pale blue silk gown, her hair tied up in curls that framed her face.
“You look lovely, Abigail,” he said softly and a faint blush colored her cheeks.
“Thank you,” she replied softly, her voice oddly subdued. Charles frowned lightly at the lack of her usual vivacity. “Shall we?”
He offered his arm, which she took with a small smile — one that did not quite reach her eyes. As they settled into the carriage, Charles studied his wife's profile.
