Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

"A bigail!"

The cold voice ripped through the crowd and Abigail dropped her hands from where they'd been on Charles's chest. He did not have to know the Duke of Frighton well to recognize the man, who moved quickly to grab Abigail by the hand. Charles watched helplessly as Hugh practically dragged Abigail away, not sparing him so much as a glance. The cool night air that had moments ago been a balm to his senses now felt oppressive, heavy with the weight of scandal and judgment.

As he stood there, rooted to the spot, the whispers of the ton began to swirl around him like a noxious fog.

"Can you believe it? Did you see them? In the garden, of all places! Shameless!"

"I always knew Grouton was a rake, but to compromise that poor Scottish girl…"

"Poor? Ha! She knew exactly what she was doing. Trying to trap a duke, no doubt."

Charles clenched his jaw, his hands balling into fists at his sides. He wanted nothing more than to turn and confront these gossipmongers, to defend Abigail's honor and put them in their place. But he knew that would only add fuel to the fire of scandal.

Instead, he forced himself to take a deep breath, plastering a mask of cool indifference on his face as he turned to make his way back into the ballroom. As he passed, a particularly venomous comment reached his ears.

"Well, what can you expect from a girl with such... unfortunate heritage? The Scottish have always been a wild bunch. They do not belong here."

Charles felt his blood boil at the blatant prejudice, but he kept walking, his stride purposeful as he pushed through the crowds. He needed to leave, to escape the suffocating atmosphere of judgment and malice. As he neared the exit, however, another conversation caught his attention.

The voices belonged to two matrons, their heads bent close together in conspiratorial whispers, their fans fluttering like agitated butterflies.

"It's such a shame," one of them sighed, her voice dripping with false sympathy. "That Wilkinson girl will never find a suitable husband, now. Not after this scandal."

Her companion nodded sagely. "Indeed. I would disinherit my son in a heartbeat if he so much as looked at a girl like that. Scottish blood and now a ruined reputation? It's more than any respectable family should be expected to overlook."

Charles felt a surge of protectiveness wash over him. It was clear that despite his own involvement in the scandal, Abigail was receiving the brunt of the blame. The injustice of it all made his chest ache.

With a heavy heart, he made his way out of the ballroom and into the waiting carriage. As it rattled through the darkened streets of London, Charles leaned his head back against the plush seat, closing his eyes with a weary sigh.

"Well, Grouton," he muttered to himself, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his mouth despite the gravity of the situation. "You've certainly made a fine mess of things this time, haven't you?"

But as much as he attempted to make light of things, he could not shake the image of Abigail's face from his mind. The hurt in her eyes, the tremble of her lip as she'd been pulled away... it haunted him.

By the time he arrived home, Charles was in a foul mood. He stalked through the halls of his townhouse, ignoring the concerned looks of his staff as he made his way to his study. Once there, he poured himself a generous measure of brandy, downing it in one swift gulp before pouring another.

He was midway through his third glass when a knock sounded at the door. Before he could bark out a command to be left alone, it swung open to reveal Joseph Winston, the Earl of Morton and one of Charles's oldest friends.

"I would ask if the rumors were true," Joseph said, helping himself to a glass of brandy as he settled into one of the leather armchairs. "But judging by the look on your face, I would say they are."

Charles grunted noncommittally, turning to stare out of the window at the darkened street below.

Joseph sighed, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "Come now, Charles. Do not be like that. Talk to me. What happened?"

For a long moment, Charles remained silent, wrestling with his thoughts. Finally, he turned back to face his friend, his expression troubled.

"It was not what it looked like, Joseph. Abigail was upset. I was merely trying to comfort her."

Joseph raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Comfort her? In the garden? At night? Surely you can see how that might be misconstrued, old boy."

Charles ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in every line of his body. "Of course I can see that. But it doesn't change the fact that nothing untoward happened. And now…" he trailed off, his voice thick with regret.

"And now the ton is having a field day with the scandal," Joseph finished for him, his tone softening. "It's not your reputation I am worried about, Charles. You've weathered worse storms than this. But the girl…"

"Abigail," Charles corrected him automatically, then winced at the knowing look Joseph shot him.

"Abigail," Joseph repeated, a small smile playing about his lips. "She's the one who will suffer the most from this, isn't she?"

Charles nodded, slumping into the chair across from his friend. "She doesn't deserve it, Joseph. She's... she's different from the other debutantes. Kind, genuine, with a spirit that's…" he trailed off, searching for the right words.

"Captivating?" Joseph supplied, his smile widening. "My, my, Charles. I do believe you care for the girl."

Charles opened his mouth to deny it, but found he could not. Instead, he let out a rueful chuckle. "She deserves someone who can protect her," he sighed. "But that doesn't change the fact that I've ruined her chances for a good match. No respectable family will want to align themselves with her now, not after this scandal."

Joseph leaned forward, his expression suddenly serious. "Then there's only one thing to do, isn't there?"

Charles looked at him quizzically. "What do you mean?"

"Come now, Grouton," Joseph said with a soft laugh. "Certainly you do not need me to spell it out for you."

Charles frowned, then shrugged. "I suppose I have thought of the idea," he admitted now. "It would save her reputation and possibly even elevate her standing in society."

Joseph flashed him a grin. "Besides, it is about time you forgot about Grace and settled down."

Charles shook his head, but he could not deny that the idea was not at all a bad one. There were certainly worse options than marrying Abigail Wilkinson, he knew. "It's not that simple," he protested weakly. "Her brother would never agree to it. He thinks I am nothing but a rake and a scoundrel."

Joseph grinned, clapping Charles on the shoulder. "Then you'll just have to prove him wrong, won't you? Go to him tomorrow, and make your case. Show him that you're serious about Abigail, and that you want to salvage her reputation."

Charles sat back in his chair, his mind whirling with possibilities. Could it really be that simple? Could marrying Abigail be the solution to this mess he'd created?

As if reading his thoughts, Joseph leaned in, his voice soft but insistent. "Think about it, Charles. This could be your chance at real happiness. Do not let it slip away because you're afraid of a little challenge."

Charles looked at his friend, a slow smile spreading across his face. "You know, Joseph," he said, a hint of his old humor returning to his voice, "for a man who's never been married, I find it surprising that you are so eager to give me advice about it."

Joseph laughed, raising his glass in a mock toast. "What can I say? I am a man of many talents."

Charles joined in the laughter, feeling some of the tension of the evening finally beginning to dissipate. As their mirth subsided, he nodded, his decision made. "Well," he said with a sigh. "I suppose I have no choice. After Grace, my reputation will not survive another hit — and I do not think hers is likely to survive this either."

Joseph grinned, clinking his glass against Charles's. "That's the… spirit, old boy. And who knows? Maybe this time next year, we'll be celebrating the birth of a little Lord or Lady Grouton."

Charles choked on his brandy, sending Joseph into another fit of laughter. As he coughed and spluttered, Charles could not help but join in, the absurdity of the situation finally hitting him full force.

When they finally calmed down, Charles fixed his friend with a grateful look. "Thank you, Joseph," he said sincerely. "Your friendship means the world to me."

Joseph waved off his thanks with a dismissive hand. "That's what friends are for, Charles. Now, get some rest. You've got a big day ahead of you tomorrow."

As Joseph took his leave, Charles remained in his study, staring into the dying embers of the fire.

"Well, Lady Abigail," he murmured to himself as he finally rose to retire for the night. "I hope you're ready for one last lesson. The art of turning a scandal into a happily ever after."

With that thought warming his heart, Charles made his way to bed, dreaming of a future that, for the first time in years, seemed bright with promise and possibility.