Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

E very morning that Abigail awoke, her heart fluttered even more with anticipation — and today was no different. Abigail was up before the birds, dawdling through the house with a dreamy grin that spread across her face.

When Charles arrived, there was a glint of mischief in his eye, his lips curved in a roguish grin that made Abigail's heart skip a beat. He glanced at Harriet and nodded in her direction with a charming grin before turning his attentions to Abigail. "My lady," he said, bowing low over her hand.

Abigail's heart skipped a treacherous beat as she looked up at him and he comfortably took her hand before looping it through his arm, sending shockwaves through her skin.

"Shall we have a cup of tea first?" she offered impulsively and he nodded at once. "Perhaps we should."

Harriet merely nodded and Abigail beamed as they made their way to the drawing room where Charles sat down easily, his eyes boring into hers as she poured the tea.

Though he seemed quite at ease, Abigail could not hide her curiosity about what she'd learn and how they'd spend their time together today.

"So what are we doing today?" she asked quickly and Charles laughed softly.

"I have a special lesson planned for you today, little lady. One that I think you'll find most illuminating."

Abigail raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued by his cryptic words. "And what lesson might that be, Your Grace?"

Charles's grin widened, his eyes sparkling with anticipation. "Why, the art of the dance, of course. With the upcoming ball, it's essential that you master the intricacies of the ballroom, the subtle language of movement and rhythm that can make or break a young lady's reputation."

Abigail frowned at this, then pouted. "But I can dance," she exclaimed, her eyes widening slightly. "We shared a dance at the previous ball, did we not? Are you saying that there is a wrong way of dancing?"

Charles's soft laughter reverberated through the chamber and he shook his head. "Do not fret," he explained, amusement tinging his voice. "You are indeed quite the apt dancer. But the lessons are not about the physical movements of dance — instead we are aiming to help you build confidence and mastery in the messages of society. A dance includes that."

He paused, a sudden thought occurring to him. "But we will need music, of course. A dance without accompaniment is like a bird without wings — lovely to look at, but unable to take flight."

"I think I can help you there," Harriet spoke, her voice clear and a bright grin settling around her lips. "I cannot claim to be an accomplished musician whatsoever, but I can at least play the pianoforte. Or, well…"

Harriet looked down at her protruding stomach and let out a laugh. "At least I usually can. I am not sure how well it will go now, but I can try."

Abigail laughed softly as she gestured to Harriet's figure that was starting to appear rather uncomfortable at this stage of her pregnancy.

"Are you sure you are up for it?" she asked, though not without a worried glance in Charles's direction.

Harriet set the book she'd been perusing to the side and stood with a soft laugh, nodding.

"I am quite certain," she said as she moved to the Fortepiano. "I will be able to manage a tune or two, if only to spare you the indignity of dancing to the sound of your own humming!"

Abigail could not help but giggle as Harriet waddled over to the pianoforte, clearly determined despite the obvious discomfort in her expression. With a dramatic flourish, Harriet settled herself on the bench, her belly pressing against the keys and eliciting a discordant jumble of notes.

"Oh dear," Harriet laughed, shifting her position and trying to find a comfortable angle. "I fear this may be a bit more challenging than I anticipated."

Charles and Abigail exchanged amused glances as Harriet began to play, her fingers moving clumsily over the keys. The melody was recognizable, but interspersed with the occasional sour note or missed chord, the result of Harriet's awkward posture and restricted movement.

"Shall we, my lady?" Charles asked, extending his hand to Abigail with a mischievous grin.

Abigail took his hand, biting back a laugh as they began to move in time with Harriet's haphazard playing. They glided across the floor, their steps smooth and practiced, despite the unpredictable tempo and occasional musical missteps.

As they danced, Charles leaned in close, his voice low and conspiratorial. "Now, the key to a successful dance is not just in the steps, but the conversation. A lady must be engaging, witty, and charming, all while maintaining an air of mystery and allure."

Abigail nodded, her brow furrowed in concentration as she tried to follow his lead, both in movement and in words. "And how does one achieve such a delicate balance?" she asked, her voice laced with curious eagerness.

Charles spun her out and then back into his arms, a glint of approval in his eye. "By listening more than you speak, by asking questions that show genuine interest in your partner, and by always leaving them wanting more. A clever turn of phrase, a coy smile, a fleeting touch — these are the weapons in a lady's arsenal, the tools she uses to captivate and entice."

"I suppose it is easier to listen when men have interesting things to say," Abigail teased and Charles laughed as he looked down at her.

"Perhaps," he acquiesced. "I do hope you find what I say interesting now and then."

Abigail flashed him a quick smile. "Sometimes," she teased, watching with a racing heart as his grin grew.

There was something about the easy way with which he'd started laughing around her that she found rather endearing. She could not help but imagine what it would be like to be courted by someone like Charles, to be the object of his affection and desire.

The thought sent a flush of heat to her cheeks, and she stumbled slightly, thrown off balance by the intensity of her own emotions. Charles noticed her discomposure, and his brow creased in a worried frown.

"Is something the matter, my lady?" he asked, his voice low and teasing. "You seem a bit flustered."

Before Abigail could respond, Harriet hit a particularly discordant note, the sound jarring them both from their reverie. They looked over to see Harriet hunched over the keys, her shoulders shaking with laughter.

"I am sorry," she gasped, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes. "I do not think I can go on. This little one seems determined to make my playing even worse than usual!"

Abigail and Charles joined in her laughter, the tension of the moment broken by Harriet's infectious humor. They made their way over to the pianoforte, Charles offering Harriet a gallant hand as she struggled to rise from the bench.

"Thank you for your valiant efforts, my lady," he said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "I think perhaps we should take a break and enjoy some refreshment. All this dancing and laughter has left me quite parched."

Harriet nodded, rubbing her belly with a rueful grin. "I could certainly use a cup of tea and a comfortable chair. This little one has been practicing their own dance moves, I fear."

The three of them made their way to the parlor, where a tray of tea and biscuits awaited them. As they settled into their seats, Abigail found her gaze drawn to Charles; she admired the easy grace of his movements and the warm, rich timbre of his laugh.

He caught her eye, a knowing smile playing about his lips. "So, my lady," he said, leaning forward conspiratorially. "What have you learned from our lesson today?"

Abigail flushed, her mind racing as she tried to put her thoughts into words. "I've learned that dancing is about more than just steps and timing. It's about connection, about understanding your partner and responding to their cues. And it is about confidence, about trusting in yourself and your own abilities, even in the face of unexpected challenges." She glanced at Harriet with a grin.

Charles nodded, a look of approval in his eyes. "Well said, my lady. You are a quick study indeed. I have no doubt that you will be the talk of the ton in no time at all."

Abigail ducked her head, a pleased smile tugging at her lips. "I have you to thank for that, Your Grace. Your guidance and encouragement have been invaluable."

Harriet looked between the two of them, a knowing glint in her eye. "I must say, you two make quite the pair on the dance floor." She shot Abigail a teasing glance. "Despite those unforeseen challenges of which you speak."

Abigail laughed softly at this and she glanced at Charles, half-hoping and half-fearing seeing a reaction in his eyes. But his expression remained inscrutable, a polite smile masking any deeper emotions that might be lurking beneath the surface.

"Lady Abigail is a talented dancer," he said smoothly, his gaze flicking to Harriet. "And a delightful partner. I have no doubt that she will have her pick of suitors at the upcoming ball."

Abigail's heart sank slightly at his words, a painful reminder that their lessons were just that — lessons, a means to an end, rather than a true connection or courtship. But she forced a bright smile onto her face, determined not to let her disappointment show.

"I will do my best to make you proud, Your Grace," she said, her voice steady and clear. "And to put all of your teachings into practice."

"Oh?" he teased her now, his brow lifted. "I am glad to see that you find me a good tutor."

Abigail shrugged, though her eyes had a mischievous glint to them. "You are perfectly adequate," she teased and a soft giggle bubbled over her lips. Charles lifted a brow.

"Perhaps if my student were not so distracting, I would be a better tutor," he challenged and she lifted a brow.

"Oh? You find me distracting?"

For a second, a glance that sent a shot of hope through her heart played across his face but it vanished as soon as it appeared and he nodded, that ever-present grin around his lips already.

"Impossibly so," he said with a laugh and Abigail shook her head.

"Luckily I know you well enough by now, Your Grace, to know that had you not enjoyed this you'd have stopped helping me," she said, suddenly serious and Charles nodded, looking down at her with an indecipherable look in his eye.

"You are very right about that, my lady," he said, his voice almost low enough to be a whisper. "These lessons have been the highlight of my season."

Abigail's heart skipped a beat at this and her face flushed. Was it possible at all that he too felt as though the sun shone just a little brighter when they were together?

No, she decided quickly. She was certainly mistaken. There was no way that a man like him would ever be truly interested in a girl like her and she closed her eyes in an attempt to shield herself from the disappointment building within her at this thought.

"Something wrong, my lady?"

His voice was concerned and Abigail looked up, forcing herself to smile. "Not at all," she said quickly, and she forced herself to smile. "I was merely thinking of finding a real suitor."

Charles's smile disappeared at this and a dark frown settled between his brows, but it was only momentary. Then he smiled and tilted his head to look at her.

"Oh? Are you ready to be courted officially?"

"Well…" Abigail hesitated. She knew that she could not speak her mind, could not tell him what she truly hoped, and she nodded. "I believe I am."

Charles raised his teacup in a mock toast, a glint of mischief in his eye. "To Lady Abigail," he proclaimed, "the belle of the ball and the toast of the ton. May she dazzle and delight all who cross her path."

Harriet and Abigail raised their cups in response, laughter and good cheer filling the room as they sipped their tea and nibbled on biscuits. But beneath the surface, Abigail's mind was awhirl with thoughts and emotions, hopes and fears and secret longings that she dared not give voice to.

Finally, as the sun began to sink towards the horizon and the shadows lengthened across the lawn, Charles rose to take his leave. He bowed low over Abigail's hand, his lips brushing against her knuckles in a feather-light kiss that sent shivers racing down her spine.

"Until our next lesson, my lady," he murmured, his voice low and gravelly. "I look forward to seeing how much you've grown and learned in the interim."

With a final, enigmatic smile, he turned and strode from the room, leaving Abigail feeling breathless and flushed, her skin tingling with the memory of his touch. Beside her, Harriet let out a soft chuckle.

"He is quite the man, is he not, your Duke of Grouton?"

Abigail's eyes widened at the choice of words and she shook her head quickly, a blush coloring her cheeks. "He is… he is certainly not my duke," she exclaimed, then a soft laugh bubbled from her lips. "Besides, Hugh made me promise not to fall for him — apparently he does not feel like inviting a rake like that into his family."

Despite these words, Abigail could not help but wonder if the duke's reputation was really deserved. Though she'd heard in no uncertain terms that he'd had quite a way with the ladies, every tale she'd listened to painted him as a man who was careful to do harm to a woman's reputation.

Was he really that much of a rake then?

"Come," Harriet invited now — moving with some difficulty to the parlor. "I must admit," she said as they walked, "that I cannot wait for Hugh to return. I miss him terribly when he works away."

"What is it like?" Abigail asked impulsively and a blush rose to her cheeks as the words left her lips. "I mean…" she continued, pushing through carefully. "What does it feel like to be in love?"

Harriet smiled and a faraway look appeared in her eyes as she absently rubbed her growing belly. "It is difficult to explain — and it is certainly not something I was looking for," she admitted. "When I first married your brother, I was certain that we may grow to tolerate each other, perhaps like each other… and then one day, I looked at him and it felt as though my heart had grown wings to fly towards him and him only."

She laughed softly, shaking her head. "I suppose somewhere along the way, I started to see beneath that stern exterior. I saw his kindness, his loyalty, his fierce love for his family. And before I knew it, I was head over heels, utterly and completely in love with him. And it was as though he had turned the entire world that had been gray and dreary into one of color."

Abigail listened intently, trying to imagine what it must feel like to be so consumed by another person, to have your heart and soul so entwined with theirs. "And now you wouldn't have anyone else?" she asked, her voice soft and wondering.

Harriet's smile widened, her eyes shining with a depth of emotion that took Abigail's breath away. "Not for all the world, Abby. Your brother is my everything, my heart and my home. I could not imagine my life without him by my side."

Abigail nodded, a strange sense of longing tugging at her heart. She wanted that, she realized with a sudden clarity. She wanted a love like Harriet and Hugh's, a love that was deep and true and unshakeable.

But even as the thought crossed her mind, another image flashed before her eyes — a pair of piercing blue eyes, a roguish smile, a low, teasing voice that seemed to promise all sorts of wicked delights. The Duke of Grouton, with his enigmatic charm and his rakish reputation, the man who made her heart race and her skin tingle with a single glance.

Abigail frowned, shaking her head as if to clear it of such treacherous thoughts. "I think I'll retire for the evening," she said abruptly, rising to her feet and smoothing her skirts. "It's been a long day, and I find myself quite fatigued."

Harriet looked up at her, a flicker of concern in her eyes. "Of course, Abby. Get some rest, and we'll talk more in the morning."