Chapter 14

CHAPTER 14

C harles stepped out of his carriage, exhaustion settling deep in his bones after the tumultuous morning at the Wilkinson manor. As he approached his townhouse, he noticed another carriage parked out front, one he recognized all too well.

"Wonderful," he muttered under his breath, bracing himself for what was sure to be an unpleasant confrontation.

No sooner had he crossed the threshold than a shrill voice rang out from the drawing room. "Charles! Charles, is that you? Come here this instant!"

With a weary sigh, Charles made his way to the drawing room, where he found his mother, the Dowager Duchess of Grouton, pacing frantically. Vivian Rowling was a striking woman, even in her advancing years, with silver-streaked dark hair and piercing blue eyes that now fixed upon her son with a mixture of fury and despair.

"Mother," Charles said, keeping his voice level. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your unexpected visit?"

Vivian wrung her hands, her voice rising with each word. "As if you do not know! How could you, Charles? How could you get yourself embroiled in such a scandal? And with that... that feral duke's sister, of all people!"

Charles felt a flare of irritation at her words but tamped it down. "Mother, please. It's not as bad as you're making it out to be."

"Not as bad?" Vivian scoffed, her eyes wide with disbelief. "Charles, the entire ton is talking about how you were caught in a compromising position with that Scottish hellion! Do you have any idea what this will do to our family's reputation?"

Charles pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on. "People will gossip for a week or two, then move on to the next scandal. It's hardly the end of the world."

Vivian collapsed onto a chaise longue, fanning herself dramatically. "You do not understand, Charles. This is not just about the gossip. It's about your future, your reputation." She paused, fixing him with a piercing stare. "Please tell me you didn't do anything foolish, like offer to marry the girl."

There was a moment of tense silence as Charles considered his next words carefully. Finally, he spoke, his voice quiet but firm. "That's precisely what I did, Mother. Lady Abigail and I are to be married."

The silence that followed was deafening. Vivian stared at her son, her face a mask of horror and disbelief. Then, as if a dam had broken, she burst into tears.

"Oh, Charles," she wailed. "How could you? Have you learned nothing from what happened with Grace? You're making the same mistake all over again!"

At the mention of Grace's name, Charles felt an old, dull rage lance through his heart. He moved to sit beside his mother, taking her trembling hands in his own.

"Mother," he said gently, "this is nothing like what happened with Grace. The circumstances are entirely different."

"But Charles," Vivian pleaded, a deep frown settling between her brows. "You hardly know this girl. You do not know if she'll be a fit match. You know she's not one of us, what with her being the Scottish duke's sister, and I've heard she's quite the hellion."

"Mother, stop," he said firmly. "Perhaps I do not know Lady Abigail as well as you'd wish, but her blood is not relevant right now. Our reputations are."

"I do not want you to get hurt again," Vivian admitted, her lips pursed, and Charles sighed.

"Mother," he said, his voice soft but resolute, "I appreciate your concern. I do. But I am not the same man I was when Grace broke my heart. This is not about love or happiness. It's about doing the right thing."

Vivian shook her head, tears forming in her eyes. "But Charles, think of your position, your duty to the family. This girl, she's not one of us. She's Scottish, for heaven's sake! How can you possibly think she'll fit into our world?"

Charles felt a flash of irritation at his mother's words, but he pushed it aside. "Our world, Mother? The world of false smiles and backstabbing gossip? Perhaps it is time for a change. Perhaps a different perspective is exactly what our family needs."

Vivian recoiled as if she'd been slapped, her eyes wide with shock. "Charles! How can you say such things? Our family has a proud history, a legacy to uphold. You can't just throw that away on a whim!"

Charles stood, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "It's not a whim, Mother. It's a choice. My choice. I am tired of living my life according to the ton's expectations. I am doing what I believe is right."

Vivian rose as well, her voice taking on a pleading tone. "But darling, after what happened with Grace, I thought... I thought you'd think the next time. Not marry someone with such a wild mind of her own."

Charles frowned at this and he crossed his arms over his chest irritably.

"A mind of her own?"

Vivian merely shrugged and she avoided his gaze, choosing instead to draw patterns on her lap with her fingertips.

"Perhaps I didn't think you'd be so open to another match so soon."

"Oh, Mother," he sighed. "You knew I would have to marry eventually."

"Yes," she pouted, "but to an English girl. One pliable and soft, not a Scottish tearaway."

Charles blinked at this and a scowl settled around his lips.

"Do you think me so weak," he challenged, "that you could only see me with someone soft and pliable ?"

Vivian hesitated — it was obvious to Charles that his mother was fully aware of the fact that she'd gone too far.

"I just want to protect you, Charles. You were so broken after Grace, so lost. I could not bear to see you go through that again."

Charles merely sighed deeply and he looked at her tiredly. "I know, Mother. And I love you for it. But you can't protect me from everything. I have to live my life, make my own choices... and yes, sometimes my own mistakes."

He rose to his feet, meeting his mother's gaze with a determined look. "But this is not a mistake, Mother. It's the right thing to do. Lady Abigail doesn't deserve to have her reputation ruined because of me. I have to take responsibility for my actions."

Vivian searched her son's face, seeing the resolve in his eyes. Slowly, hesitantly, she nodded. "I... I understand, Charles. But please, promise me you'll be careful. Promise me you won't let yourself be hurt again."

Charles pressed a kiss to his mother's forehead, his heart heavy with the weight of her concern.

Despite her heavy protests, he knew she meant to protect him — even if he did not quite agree with her opinion.

"I won't get hurt," he said simply. "But I expect you to make me a promise, too."

Vivian looked up at him, her brow furrowed. "What is it?"

"Promise me you'll give Lady Abigail a chance," Charles said, his voice firm but kind. "Get to know her before you judge her. She doesn't deserve your scorn or your prejudice."

Vivian hesitated for a moment, then nodded reluctantly. "I will not hate the girl on sight, but I cannot pretend that I think this is a good idea. I won't be unnecessarily cruel."

Charles nodded, feeling as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. "Thank you, Mother. That's all I ask."

As Vivian gathered her things to leave, Charles walked her to the door. Before she stepped into her carriage, she turned to him one last time, her eyes searching his face.

"Are you sure about this, Charles? Truly sure?"

Charles didn't hesitate. "I am, Mother. It's the right thing to do."

Vivian nodded, a small, sad smile playing about her lips. "Then I pray that this time, your decision brings you peace, my son. And I still do not think it is the best idea, but… I suppose I have little say in the matter."

He made his way to his study, closing the door firmly behind him. The conversation with his mother had drained him, bringing up memories and emotions he'd rather keep buried. He poured himself a generous measure of brandy and sank into his chair, staring into the amber liquid as if it held the answers to all his problems.

Of course he understood why his mother was concerned — Grace truly had harmed the family name, and while his mother's concern may have been for him, his anger had been for his name.

Still, he told himself firmly, this was different. His decision to marry Abigail was not born out of some romantic notion or a desperate grab at happiness. It was a calculated move, a way to right a wrong and protect a young woman's reputation — a woman who didn't deserve the scandal that now surrounded her.

"The conversation is over," he muttered to himself, echoing the words he'd said to his mother earlier. He downed the brandy in one swift gulp, welcoming the burn as it slid down his throat.

As the afternoon wore on, Charles remained in his study, buried in work and steadfastly avoiding any further thought of his impending marriage or his mother's disapproval. He had made his decision, and he would stand by it, come what may.

The future might be uncertain, but Charles was determined to face it on his own terms. And if that meant going against his mother's wishes and society's expectations, then so be it. He was the Duke of Grouton, after all, and it was high time he started acting like it.