Page 74 of The Duke and his Hellion
“Is everything alright, Your Grace?” Thompson’s voice startled her from her reverie.
Abigail managed a small smile. “Yes, thank you, Thompson. Just... a lot to think about.”
As she made her way to her chambers, Abigail found herself torn. Should she give Beatrice another chance? Or was Jennifer right to be so dismissive of her?
She paused by the window, gazing out at the manicured gardens below. The roses Charles had planted were in full bloom, their vibrant colors a stark contrast to the turmoil in her heart.
A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. “Come in,” she called, turning to see Maria enter with a tea tray.
“I thought you might like some refreshment, Your Grace,” the maid said, setting the tray on a nearby table.
Abigail smiled gratefully. “Thank you, Maria. That's very thoughtful.”
As she sipped her tea, Abigail’s mind drifted back to the letter. Perhaps, she thought, meeting Beatrice and her beau wouldn't be such a terrible idea. It would give her a chance to gauge Beatrice’s sincerity, to see if there was any truth to her apology.
And, if nothing else, it would be an opportunity to see this Frederic for herself. On one hand, of course, she was curious. But if Beatrice was truly nervous about the man, it would be her duty as a friend to see what she thought of him.
Decision made, Abigail set down her teacup and moved to her writing desk. She penned a quick note to Beatrice, agreeing to meet her in Hyde Park the following afternoon.
She rang for Thompson at once, handing him the sealed letter as he stopped at her chamber door.
“Please Thompson,” she asked softly, “Would you have this delivered to Lady Beatrice in the morning?”
“Of course, Your Grace,” Thompson agreed with a bow of his head. As the butler took his leave, Abigail found herself wondering whether she ought to tell Charles about the meeting with Beatrice.
Of course she had not — and would not — tell him about their argument, and the cruel things Beatrice had said. Still — a part of her wanted to confide in him, to seek his counsel. But another part, the part that still clung to her independence, hesitated.
This was something she needed to handle on her own, she decided. A test, perhaps, of her ability to navigate the treacherous waters of ton friendships without relying on Charles to guide her.
As she climbed into bed and drifted off, her last thoughts were not of Beatrice or their impending meeting, but of Charles. Of his warm smile, his gentle hands, and the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he laughed.
Most of all she thought of the way her heart raced whenever he smiled at her.
CHAPTER36
The next morning at the breakfast table, Charles watched Abigail over the rim of his teacup, concern lines etched on his brow. She sat across from him at the breakfast table, pushing her eggs around her plate with a distracted air. Her gaze was distant, unfocused, and there was a small furrow between her brows that spoke of troubled thoughts.
He knew she had visited her family yesterday — a trip that usually left her in high spirits, her eyes sparkling as she regaled him with tales of little Graham's latest antics or Jennifer's outrageous comments. But today, she was subdued, almost pensive.
As he observed her, Abigail’s nose scrunched up slightly, a telltale sign of her inner turmoil. The sight sent an unexpected jolt through Charles’s heart. It was, he realized with a start, the most adorable thing he had ever seen.
The thought struck him like a bolt from the blue, leaving him breathless and stunned.
I love her.
The realization washed over him, as powerful and inevitable as the tide. He loved her. He, Charles Rowling, Duke of Grouton, notorious rake and confirmed bachelor, was in love with his wife.
He was still reeling from this epiphany when Abigail looked up, her warm brown eyes meeting his.
“Charles,” she said, her voice soft but serious, “I wanted to let you know that I am going to Hyde Park later today. With... with a friend.”
Charles raised an eyebrow, noting the hesitation in her voice. “A friend?” he prompted gently.
Abigail nodded, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her face. “Yes. I… there are things we need to discuss…”
Alarm bells rang in Charles's mind. There was something in her expression that did not sit too well with him.
“You do not seem to be certain about this,” he said carefully and she looked down, her nose scrunched.
