Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

A fter the shocking way the ball had ended, the rest of Abigail's night passed in something of a blur. She sat at the breakfast table, a deep discomfort settled within her chest. Hugh sat at the head of the table — his fingers drumming an impatient rhythm against the polished wood — his face a thunderous mask of barely contained fury.

Across from him, Abigail pushed her eggs around her plate, her appetite having deserted her entirely. She could feel the weight of her brother's disapproving glare, and it took every ounce of her willpower not to shrink beneath it. Harriet occupied the seat between them, her eyes darting nervously between husband and sister-in-law as she attempted to navigate the treacherous waters of family discord.

Hugh's teacup clattered against its saucer as he set it down with more force than necessary, causing both women to jump. "I cannot believe ye would be so reckless, Abigail," he growled, his Scottish brogue thickening with his anger. "Have ye no sense of propriety, of decorum? To be caught in such a compromising position, and with the Duke of Grouton of all people!"

Abigail's cheeks flamed, a mixture of embarrassment and indignation coloring her face. She set down her fork with a soft clink, squaring her shoulders as she met her brother's gaze. "Nothing happened, Hugh," she protested, her voice sharp with frustration. "We were merely talking. The duke was comforting me after I had been insulted by one of those pompous fools."

Hugh's fist came down hard on the table, causing the China to rattle ominously and sending a splash of tea over the pristine white tablecloth. "Comforting ye?" he scoffed, his voice rising. "Is that what they're calling it these days? I may have been born in the Highlands, lass, but I was not born yesterday. I know what I saw — what the entire ton saw!"

"Hugh, darling. Please," Harriet interjected, her voice strained as she laid a placating hand on her husband's arm. She winced slightly, shifting in her seat, but neither Hugh nor Abigail seemed to notice. "Perhaps we should all take a moment to calm down and discuss this rationally."

But Hugh was beyond reason, his face flushing a deeper shade of red as he pushed back from the table, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. He began to pace, his steps quick and agitated.

"It is one thing to be engaged in scandal, Abigail," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "It is quite another to be embroiled in one with a rake like the Duke of Grouton. Do ye have any idea what this will do to yer reputation? As if our blood does not make it hard enough for us in this ton already! Our family's standing is on weak limbs already, lass!"

Abigail felt her own temper rising, a hot, indignant flush creeping up her neck. She stood as well, her napkin falling unheeded to the floor. "Our family's standing?" she repeated, her voice trembling with emotion. "Is that truly all you care about, Hugh? What of my happiness, of my future? Or do those things matter less than maintaining some facade of respectability for the ton?"

Hugh whirled to face her, his eyes flashing. "Of course yer happiness matters to me, Abigail. But ye cannot possibly believe that a man like Grouton has any intention of making ye happy. He is a rake — a scoundrel who will use you and discard ye without a second thought!"

"He is my friend," Abigail burst out angrily. "He is my friend and the only person in this ton who was kind and generous enough to offer to tutor me in the ways of the society!"

Hugh's laugh was harsh and bitter, echoing off the high ceilings. "Kind? Generous? Open yer eyes, Abigail! Men like Grouton are only kind and generous when it suits their purposes. He's playing ye for a fool, and ye're letting him!"

Harriet struggled to her feet, one hand pressed against her swollen belly. "Please, both of you," she implored, her voice strained. "This arguing will solve nothing. We need to approach this calmly, rationally?—"

But her words were drowned out as Hugh and Abigail continued their heated exchange, their voices rising with each passing moment.

"You're being unreasonable, Hugh!" Abigail shouted, her frustration boiling over. "You can't control every aspect of my life!"

Hugh's face darkened, his jaw clenching as he fought to control his temper. "I am trying to protect ye, Abigail! Why cannae ye see that?"

"Protect me?" Abigail scoffed, throwing her hands up in exasperation. "By suffocating me? By denying me the chance to make my own choices, my own mistakes? By judging me and refusing to listen to me?"

"Mistakes?" Hugh repeated, his voice rising to a near-roar. "Is that what ye think this is? A simple mistake? This could ruin ye, Abigail! Ruin us all!"

Harriet gasped softly, doubling over slightly as a contraction seized her. But the sound was lost in the cacophony of Hugh and Abigail's argument.

"You're overreacting!" Abigail cried, tears of frustration pricking at the corners of her eyes. "Nothing happened! And even if it had, it is my life, Hugh! My choice!"

"Abigail," Hugh said sternly, a dark frown settling between his brows. "Ye need to understand the seriousness of this matter. I believe ye when ye say nothing happened, not that I would put it beyond Grouton to try… but this… this scandal affects us all. In a ton where we are already looked down upon! You messed up and ye need to admit it!"

Abigail glared at her brother, tears forming in her eyes. "Alright, Hugh," she let out, a sob escaping from her lips. "I messed up, I made a mistake. Are you happy now?"

Hugh opened his mouth to retort, his face contorted with anger, but before he could speak, the door to the dining room swung open with a bang. A flustered-looking footman stumbled in, his eyes wide as he took in the scene before him.

"Begging your pardon, Your Grace," he said, bowing low and speaking quickly. "But the Duke of Grouton is here to see you. He says it is a matter of utmost urgency."

A heavy silence fell over the room, broken only by the sound of Hugh's ragged breathing as he struggled to compose himself. After a moment, he spoke, his voice low and dangerous. "Show him in," he growled, his eyes never leaving Abigail's face. "I have a few choice words for His Grace."

Moments later, Charles stepped into the room, his face a study in calm composure as he met Hugh's glare head-on. He was impeccably dressed, not a hair out of place, presenting a stark contrast to the disheveled state of the Wilkinson family.

"Your Grace," he said, inclining his head in a respectful nod. "I apologize for the early intrusion, but I felt it imperative that I speak with you immediately."

Hugh's laugh was harsh and humorless. "Oh?" His voice dripped with sarcasm. "And what could be so urgent that ye felt the need to invade my home at this unacceptable hour? Come to gloat about yer conquest, perhaps?"

Charles's expression remained impassive, his gaze steady as he faced down the angry duke. "On the contrary, Your Grace. I have come to ask for Lady Abigail's hand in marriage."

The words hung in the air, heavy and charged with possibility. Abigail gasped, her hand flying to her mouth as she stared at Charles in disbelief. Harriet's eyes widened, darting between Charles and Hugh as she braced herself for her husband's reaction.

Hugh's face went from red to purple, his hands clenching into fists at his sides as he advanced on Charles. "Ye dare?" he hissed, his voice trembling with barely contained rage. "Ye dare to come into my home, after compromising my sister's virtue, and have the audacity to ask for her hand?"

Charles stood his ground, his posture relaxed but alert as he met Hugh's furious gaze. "I assure you, Your Grace, my intentions are entirely honorable. I know the ton and I understand how people in our society think. It is to protect our reputations — my own and that of Lady Abigail — that I now ask for her hand in marriage."

Hugh's laugh was bitter and mocking. "Honorable? Ye? I think not, Grouton. I know yer reputation, and yer history with women. I'll not have ye add my sister to yer list of conquests!"

"Hugh, please," Harriet said, her voice strained as she moved to stand beside her husband. She placed a hand on his arm, her touch gentle but insistent. "Perhaps we should hear him out?—"

But Hugh was beyond reason. His face contorted with fury as he shook off Harriet's hand and stepped closer to Charles until they were mere inches apart. "I challenge ye to a duel, Grouton," he spat, his voice low and deadly. "Let us settle this like men, once and for all."

A hush fell over the room, the tension palpable as everyone waited for Charles's response. To everyone's surprise, he nodded, his expression grave as he met Hugh's gaze. "Very well, Your Grace. I accept your challenge."

"No!" Abigail cried, rushing forward to place herself between the two men. Her eyes were wide with panic, her voice trembling as she pleaded with them. "This is madness! I won't allow it!"

Harriet moved to join her, her face pale with worry. "Hugh, please," she begged, reaching for her husband's arm once more. "Think of what you're doing. Think of our child, of?—"

But her words were cut off as a sudden, sharp pain lanced through her abdomen, causing her to double over with a strangled gasp. Hugh was at her side in an instant, all thoughts of the duel forgotten as he gathered her into his arms.

"Harriet?" he said, his voice tight with concern. "What is it, love? What's wrong?"

Harriet looked up at him, her face contorted with pain and fear. Sweat beaded on her brow as she clutched at her swollen belly. "The baby," she whispered, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. "I think... I think it is time."

Hugh's face paled, his eyes wide with panic as he looked from his wife to Charles and back again. Harriet reached up, cupping his face in her trembling hands as she met his gaze.

"Listen to me, Hugh Wilkinson," she said, her voice fierce despite the pain etched across her features. "I will not become a widow and a mother on the same day. Do you hear me? You will not fight this duel."

For a long moment, Hugh stood frozen, torn between his anger and his concern for his wife. The room was silent save for Harriet's labored breathing and Abigail's soft, worried murmurs. Then, with a heavy sigh, Hugh nodded, pressing a kiss to Harriet's forehead before turning to face Charles once more.

"Wait here," he growled, his voice gruff with suppressed emotion. "I need to send for the physician."

He strode from the room, barking orders at a startled footman before returning to Harriet's side. As he helped her to a nearby chaise, he fixed Charles with a hard, unyielding stare.

"Alright, Grouton," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "No duel. But ye will marry her. Ye will make an honest woman of my sister, or I swear to ye now, I will end ye myself."

Charles nodded, his expression solemn as he met Hugh's gaze. "That is precisely what I came here to do, Your Grace. You have my word, I will marry Lady Abigail and treat her with all the honor and respect she deserves."

Hugh held his gaze for a long moment, searching for any sign of deception or insincerity. Finding none, he gave a curt nod, his attention already turning back to Harriet as another contraction wracked her body.

"Ye should go," he said gruffly, not bothering to look at Charles as he spoke. "We have more pressing matters to attend to at the moment."

Charles inclined his head in understanding, turning to make his way towards the door. But before he could leave, Abigail caught up to him, her eyes wide with a mixture of confusion and hope.

"Your Grace," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "You didn't have to do that. To offer marriage, to risk your life in a duel... why would you go to such lengths?"

Charles turned to face her, and for the first time that day, a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "I did have to, Lady Abigail," he said, his voice low and intimate. "We may not have reached the scandal part of our lessons yet, but you'll have to trust me on this. It was the only way."

Abigail's brow furrowed in confusion, but before she could press him further, Charles reached out and took her hand, pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles. "We will speak more later," he promised. "For now, your family needs you. Go to them, and know that I will return soon to make good on my promise."

With that, he turned and strode from the room, leaving Abigail standing in the doorway, her heart racing and her mind awhirl with questions and possibilities. She watched him go, a number of emotions swirling within her — hope, confusion, excitement, and just a touch of fear.

For a moment, she stood frozen, torn between following Charles and returning to her family. But the sound of Harriet's pained gasp snapped her back to reality. With a deep breath, Abigail turned back to the room, hurrying to Harriet's side as another contraction seized her. As she held her sister-in-law's hand and murmured words of encouragement, Abigail could not help but wonder what the future held, and how her life had changed so dramatically in the span of a single morning.