Page 64 of The Duke and his Hellion
“Enough!” Charles said, his voice sharp, and Abigail flinched. He turned to look at her, his face dark with frustration. “I have said that I do not want to discuss this and I need you to respect that. Understood?”
Abigail nodded mutely. It felt as though she'd been dunked into an icy lake and her heart was heavy in her chest. Gone was the easy rapport they'd built up over the course of the conversation. Now it felt as though there was a mountain that had risen between them.
“I understand,” she said softly, though in truth, she did not understand at all. Why was this topic so forbidden? Especially after his candor about his past? What had happened that he was so desperate to hide?
Her heart twinged achingly in her chest. Was it possible that he still loved the woman he had left?
They finished their dessert in silence, though it was a far cry from the comfort they'd shared before. Now, tension hung heavy in the air and Abigail found herself wishing she could take back her ill-timed question.
As the last plates were cleared away, Charles stood abruptly. “If you will excuse me,” he said stiffly. “I have some work to attend to in my study.”
Before Abigail could respond, he was gone, leaving her alone at the table. She sighed heavily as she pushed back her chair and rose to her feet.
As she slowly trudged back to her bedchamber, Abigail could not help but feel a sense of melancholy settle over her. The evening had started so promisingly with Charles's reassurance about his past flirtations. For a moment, she'd felt closer to him than ever before.
But now, with his refusal to discuss this broken engagement, she felt further away from him than ever before. She could not understand what it was that had happened in Charles's past that he was so determined to keep hidden. And, with his blatant refusal to discuss it, she wondered if she'd ever truly know the man she married.
Abigail paused by the window in her bedchamber and she gazed out at the moonlit gardens below. The roses that had seemed to mock her with its beauty earlier, now looked sad and lonely in the pale moonlight. She pressed her forehead against the cool glass and closed her eyes.
She thought back to her conversation with Harriet. Her sister-in-law had advised her to judge Charles by his actions rather than rumors or gossip.
She stifled a sob and shook her head. “What would you say about his reaction tonight, Harriet?” she asked softly, her lower lip trembling.
Only mocking silence greeted the question and Abigail turned to her closet, moving stiffly as she changed into her night shirt. There was nothing she wanted to do more than give in to the tears that had been threatening to fall.
CHAPTER31
The days following the disastrous conversation, as Abigail had come to think of it, passed in a blur of frenzied activity. There was no way of denying that Charles's blatant refusal to discuss his broken engagement nagged at the back of her mind, filling her with doubt. Desperate to avoid all thoughts of the kind, she forced herself instead to focus on the few duchess duties with which she had started busying herself.
She'd managed to avoid speaking to her husband at all costs until Charles looked up from what seemed to be an invitation one morning, his gaze fixed on her.
“We have been invited to the Fairfax ball,” he said, stating it as though it were a simple thing. Abigail felt her stomach twist with nerves and her eyes widened slightly.
“The Fairfax ball?” she echoed, her voice small. “That sounds…” she broke off. There was no way of admitting that it sounded quite intimidating without sounding like a child, she figured silently.
“The gossip columns will be full of it and nothing else for weeks to come,” Charles continued, his lip curled in distaste, and Abigail bit down on her lower lip.
“Oh,” she mumbled and Charles looked up, evidently noticing her apprehension. His expression softened somewhat and he reached across the table to gently pat her hand.
“It is quite an affair, yes,” he said, his voice comforting. “But you needn't worry, Abigail. You will do splendidly.”
Abigail could not help but shake her head, though she attempted unsuccessfully to smile as well. “I am not so sure,” she confessed, her voice soft. “What if I make a fool of myself? What if… what if I say the wrong thing or I use the wrong fork or…”
“Abigail, stop,” Charles interrupted gently. His gaze settled on her. “You will not make a fool of yourself. And even if you did use the wrong fork — which I know you will not — I will be beside you. And if it makes you feel more comfortable, I will simply use the wrong fork too.”
He said it with a wry grin and Abigail laughed softly, a rush of warmth spreading through her chest.
“You would?”
“Indeed,” Charles said with a nod, his eyes twinkling. “After all, you are my wife, and we are in this together. Besides, it would provide me with such pleasure to scandalize a bored matron with something so small.”
It was his characterization of erring as small that set her heart at ease and Abigail laughed softly.
“Well, when you put it that way it does not sound all that bad,” she admitted softly and Charles nodded.
“That is the spirit,” he encouraged. “Just be yourself and attempt to enjoy it. That is more than enough.”
Abigail nodded, her face flushing. She was not so certain that it would be enough, certainly not for the ton or his mother, but when he looked at her as though it did not matter to him whether or not she fitted the mold, she could not deny that everything felt a little easier.
