Page 68 of The Duke and his Hellion
As Charles helped Abigail down from the carriage, he found himself reluctant to let go of her hand. They walked arm in arm into the house, the silence between them comfortable now rather than strained.
At the foot of the grand staircase, Charles paused, turning to face Abigail. “I hope,” he said softly, “that my story hasn't changed your opinion of me too drastically.”
Abigail shook her head, a small smile playing about her lips. “On the contrary,” she replied. “I think I understand you better now than I ever have before.”
Charles felt a warmth spread through his chest at her words. “I am glad,” he said. Then, unable to resist lightening the mood, he added with a playful twinkle in his eye, “Though I hope I still retain some air of mystery. Wouldn't want to become too predictable, now would I?”
Abigail's laugh, bright and joyous, filled the quiet house. “Oh, I do not think there's any danger of that, Your Grace,” she teased. “You remain as enigmatic as ever.”
Charles chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Good,” he said. Then, more softly, “Goodnight, Abigail. Sweet dreams.”
“Goodnight, Charles,” she replied.
As he watched her ascend the stairs, Charles found himself filled with a strange mix of emotions. Relief at having finally shared his past, gratitude for Abigail's understanding, and something else... something warm and hopeful that he was not quite ready to name.
He made his way to his own chambers, his mind whirling with the events of the evening. As he prepared for bed, he found himself replaying the conversation in the carriage; the way Abigail had listened without judgment, and the warmth of her hand in his.
With a strange hope warming his heart, Charles slipped into dreams filled with waltzes and whispered confidences, of brown eyes that saw him — truly saw him — and of a future bright with possibility.
CHAPTER33
When Abigail woke, her heart skipped a beat the second she thought back to the previous night. For the first time, Charles had been somewhat vulnerable and open with her. A serene smile settled around her lips as she made her way to the dining room for breakfast. There was no denying that she looked forward to seeing him, but the bright smile that she wore disappeared when she entered the dining room to see a place setting for one only.
“Morning Your Grace,” Thompson’s by-now familiar voice greeted her. “His Grace told me to apologize for his absence, but he had urgent business to attend to.”
“I see,” Abigail said softly, trying her best not to look as disappointed as she felt. “Thank you, Thompson.”
The breakfast turned to ash in her mouth and she scraped at her plate with a pout. It was silly really, she knew that much.
With a sigh, she stood and made her way to the drawing room. Perhaps, she figured, a good book would take her mind off the fact that she so longed to see her husband.
She had barely started reading when a soft knock at the door interrupted her novel. “Your Grace,” Thompson announced, “Lady Beatrice has arrived to call on you.”
Abigail looked up from her book, surprised by the unexpected visitor. “Lady Beatrice? Oh, please show her in, Thompson.”
It was odd enough, Abigail mused silently, to receive an unexpected visit from the other woman once. Twice made it somewhat of a habit, and there was no denying that it was a strange one. Still, she set aside her novel and smoothed her skirts, rising to greet her friend as Beatrice swept into the room in a flurry of silk and lace.
“Abigail, darling!” Beatrice exclaimed, embracing her warmly. “I do hope I am not intruding, but I simply had to see you. I have the most wonderful news!”
Abigail smiled. Though she was a bit forlorn with her husband’s absence and quite surprised to see Beatrice, the other woman’s enthusiasm was quite contagious. “Not at all, I am delighted you’ve come. Please, sit down and tell me everything.”
As they settled onto the sofa, Beatrice's eyes sparkled with barely contained excitement. “Well, you see,” she began, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “I've met someone. A gentleman. And, oh Abigail, he's simply marvelous!”
She let out a laugh and shook her head. “Who would have thought that I would meet someone so suddenly? So soon into the season too.”
“Really?” Abigail leaned forward, intrigued. “Do tell me more. Who is this mysterious gentleman who's captured your heart?”
Beatrice's cheeks flushed a becoming shade of pink as she continued.
“His name is Frederic. And I must admit, we met quite by accident — and it is rather unorthodox, I must admit. It was not even in the course of the season. We met… well, at the market of all places — both reaching for the same quite lovely piece of silk. Of course he let me have it. He is quite charming.”
“Oh, Beatrice, that's wonderful!” Abigail exclaimed, genuinely happy for her friend. “What's he like? Is he handsome?”
“Devastatingly so,” Beatrice sighed dreamily. “He is tall, broad-shouldered… and I think every woman in the market looked at me with jealousy when he chose to give me his attention. He is quite impressive…” she trailed off and sighed dreamily.
Abigail felt a warmth bloom in her chest at Beatrice's words. There was something so pure, so joyful about her friend's infatuation. “I am so happy for you, Beatrice. Truly. You deserve someone who makes you feel that way.”
Beatrice beamed, squeezing Abigail's hand. “Thank you, darling. I can hardly believe it myself still. It is quite unexpected. But enough about me,” she said, her tone shifting. “How are you? How's married life treating you? I hope Frederic and I will marry soon, and I am quite nervous about the idea.”
