Page 1 of The Duke and his Hellion
CHAPTER1
“Are ye sure that she's ready, lass?” Hugh's voice drifted through the closed door and Abigail leaned forward ever so slightly to hear better. Not that she was eavesdropping of course. She was simply… listening. After all, the conversation was about her.
“She is ready, Hugh,” came Harriet's voice, a low murmur through the door. “She is going to be alright.”
“Ye can say that, bonnie,” retorted Hugh, worry evident in his voice. “You don't have Scottish blood — ye haven't faced that from thetonand she… she's not like I am. Her heart can hurt.”
“The danger of getting hurt is always there, my love. I have experienced being rejected by thetontoo, you know that. But she's a strong girl.”
The murmurs quieted down and Abigail returned to sit on her bed. Never before had she been so excited. She'd been looking forward to her own season since her brother's marriage and now that it had finally arrived, she could hardly believe it. Finally she too would be a lady of theton.
She made her way out of the room quickly and paused on the grand staircase. Hugh and Harriet looked up at her from the bottom of the staircase, their faces shining with delight.
“You look beautiful, Abby,” Harriet spoke first and she grinned before looking at her brother almost nervously, waiting for his reaction.
“Ye look a right bonnie lass,” Hugh spoke softly, his eyes suspiciously shining.
“Are you sure you are willing to go alone?” Harriet sounded concerned and Abigail nodded firmly.
“I am more than certain,” she said now and she lifted her chin. “Besides, you are too far along to join me — and Hugh is frantic with concern over you, he could never come. I know it is unorthodox, but we have no choice.”
She flashed them a quick smile as she passed them on her way to the carriage.
“To the Winston Estate, please,” she spoke carefully, her voice ringing clearly despite the nerves building in the pit of her stomach. Abigail released a deep breath when the carriage came to a halt, then walked inside.
She took her time to look at the ballroom and take in the opulence of it all. It seemed alive with the glittering whirl of silk skirts and the elegant strains of a string quartet.
Then, without even thinking, merely in the moment of utter appreciation, an infectious giggle bubbled from her throat and she threw her head back as the laugh escaped her lips.
For a moment, she was lost in the sheer delight of the moment, caught up in the infectious energy that seemed to crackle through the air like a living thing. But then, as her giggle began to subside, she became aware of the furtive glances and disapproving stares being cast in her direction; the way the other debutantes huddled together in whispering clusters, their fans fluttering like agitated butterflies.
A hot flush crept up Abigail's neck, staining her cheeks a vivid pink as she realized the spectacle she must have made, the way her uninhibited display of emotion had set her apart from the cool, poised young ladies who surrounded her.
Perhaps, she thought now, she should have taken Harriet up on her offer and brought her sister-in-law with her. After all, unlike her and Hugh, Harriet had grown up in theton, and while she was certainly not fond of the rules of society, she at leastknewthem.
She glanced around uncomfortably taking in the disdainful expressions and barely concealed sneers of the other girls. A sinking sense of unease settled in the pit of her stomach — a growing awareness that perhaps she was out of her depth here after all. Perhaps Hugh was right when he warned her against this world.
Still — her brother certainly did not raise a coward. Squaring her shoulders, Abigail forced a brittle smile to her lips, determined not to let the other debutantes see how their snubbing affected her. She made her way over to a small group of girls, their heads bent together in conspiratorial whispers as they eyed her approach with thinly veiled disdain.
“Good evening, ladies,” Abigail said brightly, her voice only slightly strained as she nodded in greeting. “I do not believe we've been introduced. I am Lady Abigail Wilkinson, sister to the Duke of Frighton.”
For a moment, the girls simply stared at her, their expressions ranging from bored indifference to outright hostility. Then, with a delicate sniff, one of them stepped forward, her lips curved in a patronizing smile that made Abigail's hackles rise.
“Charmed, I am sure,” the girl said, her voice dripping with false sweetness. “I am Lady Amelia Belmont, daughter of the Earl of Westbury. And these are my dear friends, Miss Constance Turner and Miss Olivia Ashford.”
The other girls nodded in turn, their smiles thin and insincere as they eyed Abigail's gown with obvious contempt. It was a simple creation of pale green silk, the neckline demurely high and the skirts unadorned save for a single row of delicate lace trim. Compared to the elaborate confections of tulle and taffeta that surrounded her, Abigail felt suddenly inadequate, as though she were a sparrow trying to hold her own among a flock of peacocks.
“Your gown is… lovely,” Miss Turner said, her tone making it clear that she thought nothing of the sort. “So refreshingly... understated.”
Abigail felt her cheeks heat even further, a defensive retort rising to her lips before she could stop it. “I find that simplicity often allows one's natural beauty to shine through,” she said sweetly, her eyes narrowing slightly as she met Miss Turner's gaze head-on. “Rather than hiding behind a mountain of ruffles and bows. I find that quite unnecessary indeed.”
Miss Turner's mouth fell open in a silent gasp of outrage, her face flushing an unbecoming shade of red as she sputtered for a response. But before she could unleash the full force of her indignation, Lady Amelia stepped forward once more, her smile sharp and cutting as a knife's edge.
“Beauty is certainly in the eye of the beholder,” she said, her voice honeyed with false sympathy. “But I am afraid society has rather specific expectations for how a young lady should conduct herself, my dear. Perhaps, given your background, you are simply... unaware of such delicate nuances.”
Abigail pursed her lips at this subtle jab. It was not the first time that someone in the ton made mention of her Scottish blood and the inferiority that came with it. She closed her eyes and released a slow breath, her temper flaring and her hands clenching into fists at her sides.
Do not lash out, Abigail,she mentally admonished herself.They are certainly not worth it.
