Page 73 of The Duke and his Hellion
Abigail hesitated, but Jennifer cut in before she could speak. “Oh, that Beatrice,” she scoffed. “I do not have time for that little gossipmonger. Always sticking her nose where it doesn't belong.”
“Mother!” Harriet scolded, though there was a hint of amusement in her tone.
“What?” Jennifer said, unrepentant. “It is true. That girl is about as trustworthy as a fox in a henhouse.”
Despite herself, Abigail felt a laugh bubble up in her throat. “She is rather... intense,” she admitted.
“Intense?” Jennifer snorted. “I suppose that is one way to put it. I prefer ‘meddlesome harpy’ myself.”
“Mother!” Harriet exclaimed again, but she was laughing now. “Really, you are too terrible sometimes.”
Jennifer shrugged, a mischievous glint in her eye. “I am old, my dear. I've earned the right to speak my mind.”
Abigail found herself relaxing, the tension that had coiled in her chest beginning to ease. “She told me... she said Charles could not be trusted. That despite our marriage, he had not… given up… on his conquests and other women, that he was merely pretending to be a good husband.”
Harriet’s expression softened. “Oh, Abby,” she said gently. “You do not believe that, do you?”
Abigail shook her head. “No… I do not think… not really. But it is hard not to wonder, sometimes. There is so much I do not know about him, about his past.”
“Poppycock,” Jennifer declared, shifting Graham in her arms. “That girl would not know the truth if it danced naked in front of her wearing nothing but a feather boa.”
“Mother!” Harriet gasped, though she had given up on trying not to smile at her mother.
Abigail could not help but laugh. “You certainly have a way with words, Lady Lourne.”
“It is a blessing and a curse, I hear,” the older woman laughed. “But of course I do. I believe it is one of my many charms.” She paused, her expression turning serious. “Now listen to me, Abigail. I know I am just an old woman, but I have learnt a thing or two over the course of my life. And you have a choice now. You can listen to the words of someone who is not part of your marriage, or you can ask yourself… what it is you see when he is with you.”
Abigail nodded slowly, considering Jennifer’s words. “He has been nothing but kind,” she admitted. “Patient, understanding…”
“There you have it,” Jennifer said with a decisive nod. “Trust your own judgment, my dear. Not the nattering of some society miss with more hair than sense.”
“Mother!” Harriet exclaimed again but she was laughing outright now.
Abigail felt a wave of affection wash over her. “Thank you,” she said softly. “Both of you. I do not know what I would do without you.”
“Nonsense,” Jennifer said briskly, but her eyes were warm. “Now, enough of this maudlin talk. Who wants to hold this adorable bundle of joy?”
As Abigail cradled Graham in her arms, inhaling his sweet baby scent, she felt the last of her worries melt away. This was what mattered, she realized. Family, love, trust. Everything else was just noise.
When she finally took her leave, Abigail felt lighter than she had in days. The carriage ride home passed in a blur of pleasant thoughts and hopeful musings about the future.
As she entered Grouton Manor, Thompson approached with a silver salver. “A letter arrived for you while you were out, Your Grace,” he said, offering her the tray.
Abigail took the envelope with a furrowed brow. She could not imagine who would want to send her anything. She tore it open and her eyes quickly scanned over the parchment.
Dearest Abigail,
I cannot express how deeply I regret my behavior during our last meeting. My words were harsh and uncalled for, and I beg your forgiveness. The truth is, I am consumed with worry about my own situation, and I fear I projected those anxieties onto you and your marriage.
I know I have no right to ask this of you, but I would be eternally grateful if you would meet me tomorrow in Hyde Park. I would very much like you to meet Frederic and give me your opinion of him. Your judgment means the world to me, and I trust you to see him clearly, without the rose-tinted glasses I fear I am wearing.
Please, Abigail. I know I do not deserve your kindness, but I implore you to give me this chance to make amends.
Your devoted friend,
Beatrice.
Abigail lowered the letter, her mind whirling. Part of her wanted to dismiss Beatrice’s plea outright. The girl had been cruel — and angry when she didn’t listen. Still… she had also been kind to her, one of the only other ladies in society to extend that courtesy, and perhaps it was true that she was merely worried.
