Page 75 of The Duke and his Hellion
“It is just a walk in the park,” Abigail said at last, though her tone lacked conviction. “I am sure it will be fine… I just… well, as my husband, I supposed you ought to know.”
Charles felt his protective instincts surge. In all honesty, he did not like the thought of her walking around with someone else — especially not without him.
“I could join you,” he offered with certainty and she looked up quickly.
“No, no,” Abigail insisted, shaking her head. “There is no need for that, thank you Charles. I… well, we’ve had a bit of a disagreement and it is important to… make amends. That is all.”
Charles opened his mouth to protest further, but at that moment, Thompson entered the dining room, a silver salver in his hands. “A letter for you, Your Grace,” the butler said, offering the tray to Charles.
Frowning slightly, Charles broke the seal and unfolded the missive. His eyebrows shot up in surprise as his eyes scanned over the words.
My dear son,
I hope this letter finds you well. I write to you with a heavy heart, filled with regret for my past behavior. I would very much like the opportunity to apologize in person, both to you and to your wife.
If you are amenable, I would be grateful if you would meet me in Hyde Park this afternoon, near the Serpentine. I know I have no right to ask this of you, but I implore you to give me this chance to make amends.
Your loving mother,
Vivian.
Charles looked up from the letter, his mind whirling. “It seems,” he said slowly, “that I too have a meeting in the park today. My mother... she wants to apologize.”
Abigail’s eyes widened in surprise. “Your mother? I must admit that I never thought…” she trailed off, blushing, and Charles nodded.
“Neither did I,” Charles admitted. He studied Abigail’s face for a moment, then made a decision. “I shall go — and meet with my mother. That way, I shall be there, in the park. Not to interfere with your meeting, but... nearby. Just in case.”
Abigail looked like she wanted to argue, but then her expression softened. “You are quite the protective husband, are you not?” she said, a hint of a smile playing about her lips.
Charles felt his cheeks warm. “I suppose I am ,” he admitted. “I trust that it is alright with you.”
“It is more than alright, Abigail said softly, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand. “I think it is wonderful. Thank you, Charles.”
The touch of her hand sent sparks racing along Charles’s skin. He cleared his throat, suddenly finding it difficult to meet her gaze. “Well,” he said, his voice slightly gruff, “there's still some time before we need to leave for the park. Would you... would you like to take a turn about the garden with me?”
Abigail’s face lit up, and Charles felt his heart skip a beat. “I would love to,” she said, rising from her seat.
As they strolled arm in arm through the manicured grounds, Charles found himself overly aware of Abigail's presence. The warmth of her body next to his, the soft scent of lavender that clung to her hair, the way her hand fitted so perfectly into the crook of his elbow — it was all suddenly, achingly precious to him.
When on earth had he fallen so deeply in love with his wife?
They rounded a bend in the path, and the summerhouse came into view. Abigail gasped softly. “Charles,” she breathed, “it... it is beautiful.”
Charles felt a surge of pride. He had been working on restoring the old structure in secret, wanting to surprise Abigail. “Do you like it?” he asked, unable to keep the eagerness from his voice.
“I love it,” Abigail said, her eyes shining. “But when... how...?”
Charles chuckled. “I arranged for it to be fixed up,” he admitted. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”
Abigail turned to him, her face alight with joy. “It is wonderful, Charles. Truly.”
He led her inside, watching with delight as she explored the newly refurbished interior. As she ran her hand along the polished wooden railing of the small balcony, Charles found himself imagining a future he had never dared to consider before.
In his mind’s eye, he saw a little boy with his dark hair and Abigail's warm eyes, chasing a golden-haired girl through the summerhouse. He could almost hear their laughter, could almost feel the warmth of Abigail's hand in his as they watched their children play.
The vision was so vivid, so achingly beautiful, that for a moment Charles could not breathe.
“Charles?” Abigail's voice broke through his thoughts. “Are you alright?”
