Page 77 of The Duke and his Hellion
Abigail could not help but smile at the mental image of a young Charles with tousled hair, scraped knees and flour on his face. “He is so serious now,” she said softly.
“He had no choice, Your Grace,” Tom said melancholically. “After his father’s death and all. But he is a good man — a generous one. Why, he even offered to pay for my grandson’s schooling. Said every child deserves a chance at an education.”
Abigail felt a warmth bloom in her chest at this revelation. “I… I did not even know that,” she admitted softly. Tom merely nodded.
“Aye, he’s changed many lives, has His Grace,” he said now. “Mine included. When my Mary fell ill last winter, he made sure we had the best doctors, the best care. Would not hear of us paying him back, either.”
As Tom shared more stories of Charles's kindness, Abigail found herself falling even deeper in love with her husband. By the time they arrived at Hyde Park, her heart was full to bursting with affection and pride.
“Here we are, Your Grace,” Tom said, helping her down from the carriage. “Shall I wait for you?”
Abigail nodded, her eyes already scanning the park for Beatrice. “Yes, please. I should not be too long.”
She spotted Beatrice near a cluster of elm trees, accompanied by a tall, distinguished-looking gentleman. As Abigail approached, Beatrice's face lit up with a smile that did not quite reach her eyes. She was nervous, Abigail supposed.
“Abigail, darling!” she exclaimed, embracing her warmly. “Thank you so much for coming. Allow me to introduce Frederic Proctor, Baron Drowshire.”
The gentleman bowed, his movements precise and elegant. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Your Grace,” he said, his voice smooth as silk.
“The pleasure is mine, Lord Drowshire,” Abigail replied, curtsying in return.
She could not deny that she was surprised at Beatrice’s association with a baron — not that she thought him less, but she’d expected Beatrice to settle for no less than a duke. Still, she supposed, the heart wanted what it wanted.
As they began to stroll along the path, Abigail could not help but notice how subdued Beatrice seemed. The usually vivacious girl was uncharacteristically quiet, her gaze distant and thoughtful.
“Are you feeling well, Beatrice?” Abigail asked, concern coloring her voice.
Beatrice startled, as if drawn from deep thought. “Oh! Yes, of course. I am just... it is rather warm today, isn't it? I seem to have forgotten my parasol.”
“We could walk in the shade if you would prefer that,” Lord Drowshire suggested, gesturing towards a stand of trees.
“I would appreciate that,” Beatrice said coolly.
As they moved off the path and into the dappled shadows, Abigail found herself falling into step beside the baron. With Beatrice still lost in her own world, Abigail felt compelled to make polite conversation.
“Do you come to Hyde Park often, Lord Drowshire?” she asked, grasping for a topic.
“Not as often as I would like,” he replied, his tone pleasant but unremarkable. “My estates keep me quite busy, you see. But when I am in London, I do enjoy a good promenade.”
“I see,” Abigail nodded, searching for something else to say. “And... how do you find London this time of year?”
“Oh, it is pleasant enough,” Lord Drowshire answered, his voice betraying no real enthusiasm. “The weather has been agreeable, which makes for good walking conditions.”
Abigail nodded again, feeling the conversation growing stale. “Indeed,” she murmured, glancing around for Beatrice.
“Have you attended many events this season, Your Grace?” the baron inquired politely.
“A few,” Abigail replied, her mind drifting to the Fairfax ball and her dance with Charles. “Though I must admit, I am still adjusting to the social whirl of it all.”
Lord Drowshire made a noncommittal sound. “Yes, I imagine it can be quite overwhelming for those not accustomed to it. But I am sure you are managing admirably.”
“You are kind to say so,” Abigail said, forcing a smile. She cast another glance around, frowning slightly when she realized she could no longer see Beatrice.
“The Serpentine is quite lovely this time of year,” Lord Drowshire remarked, gesturing towards the water. “Don't you agree, Your Grace?”
Abigail frowned. It was quite odd that the man did not seem to notice the absence of the woman he was courting at all. She turned in a circle, confusion furrowing her brow. “Where is Beatrice?” she asked, interrupting the baron mid-sentence.
The baron did not respond. Instead, Abigail felt strong arms wrap around her waist, pulling her roughly against a broad chest. She gasped in shock, her heart racing as Lord Drowshire pulled her into his unwanted embrace.
