Chapter 19

CHAPTER 19

T he few days before the wedding passed far too quickly for Abigail's nerves — and these nerves were not helped much when she received a note from her husband-to-be, inviting her to a dinner at his townhouse the evening before the ceremony.

She looked at Jennifer for what felt like the hundredth time since receiving the invitation. "Lady Lourne, are you certain you cannot join us?"

Jennifer shook her head gently where she sat, young Graham fast asleep in her arms. "Your brother will be with you," she whispered, careful not to wake the infant. "Do not fret, darling girl. All will be well."

Abigail merely flashed her a smile before following her brother to the carriage. They were quiet until they arrived at the townhouse, where Charles stood ready to meet them as the carriage came to a halt. A small smile played at the corners of his mouth as he held his hand out to help her.

"Frighton," he greeted Hugh with a nod of his head before turning his attention to Abigail. "Lady Abigail, welcome. You look lovely this evening."

"Thank you, Your Grace," Abigail replied, suddenly feeling self-conscious under the scrutinizing gaze of the Dowager Duchess Vivian.

As they took their seats — Charles at the head of the table, Abigail to his right, Vivian to his left, and Hugh beside Abigail — an uncomfortable silence settled over the room.

The first course was served, and Vivian delicately dabbed at her lips with her napkin before turning her piercing gaze on Abigail. "So, my dear," she began, her voice syrupy sweet, "I trust you're prepared for tomorrow's ceremony? It must be quite overwhelming for someone of your... background."

Abigail felt her cheeks flush, but she managed a polite smile. "I believe I am as prepared as I can be, Your Grace. Charles has been most helpful in explaining what to expect."

Vivian's lips thinned slightly at the casual use of her son's given name. "Indeed? How generous of him. I do hope you appreciate the honor being bestowed upon you, my dear. It's not every day that a girl of your station marries into one of England's oldest and most respected families."

Hugh's grip on his fork tightened, but before he could speak, Charles smoothly interjected. "Mother, perhaps we could discuss something more pleasant? Abigail, why don't you tell us about the charities you're considering patronizing?"

Grateful for the change of subject, Abigail spoke quickly. "There's a particularly interesting one that focuses on education for underprivileged children. I believe, with the right support, we could make a real difference in their lives."

"My, what... ambitious plans," Vivian interrupted, her tone dripping with condescension. "I do hope you're not biting off more than you can chew, dear. The duties of a duchess can be quite demanding, especially for someone not raised in our circles."

Hugh's face darkened, but Abigail placed a calming hand on his arm. "I appreciate your concern, Your Grace," she said, her voice steady despite the hurt bubbling beneath the surface. "I assure you, I am committed to fulfilling my duties to the best of my abilities."

It was during the dessert course that Vivian delivered her most cutting remark yet. As Abigail reached for her water glass, Vivian's eyes narrowed. "Oh dear," she said, her voice dripping with false concern. "We really must work on your table manners, my dear. A duchess should never reach across the table like that. But I suppose we can't expect miracles overnight, can we?"

Hugh's chair scraped back loudly as he stood, his face flushed with anger. "Now see here?—"

"That's enough, Mother." Charles's voice cut through the tension like a knife, silencing everyone at the table. He fixed Vivian with a steely gaze, his jaw set in a hard line.

"I have tolerated your behavior this evening out of respect for you, but I will not stand by and allow you to continue insulting my future wife. If you cannot treat Abigail with the respect she deserves, then I must ask you to leave."

A stunned silence fell over the table. Vivian's face paled, her mouth opening and closing soundlessly as she stared at her son in disbelief. Hugh looked equally shocked, though a glimmer of grudging respect shone in his eyes as he glanced at Charles.

After what felt like an eternity, Vivian straightened in her chair, her face a mask of cool composure. "I... apologize if my words have caused offense," she said stiffly. "It was not my intention."

Charles nodded curtly. "Thank you, Mother. Now, perhaps we could finish our meal in peace?"

The remainder of the dinner passed in awkward silence, the earlier tension replaced by a brittle civility. As the plates were cleared away, Charles stood, signaling the end of the evening.

"Thank you all for coming," he said, his voice carefully neutral. "I look forward to seeing you at the ceremony tomorrow."

As Hugh and Vivian made their way to the door, Charles gently caught Abigail's elbow. "A moment, if you please?"

Once they were alone, Charles turned to her, his expression softening. "Abigail, I want to apologize for my mother's behavior this evening. It was inexcusable."

Abigail shook her head, forcing a small smile. "You do not need to apologize, Charles. I understand. She's protective of you."

Charles's brow furrowed. "That may be, but it doesn't make her treatment of you acceptable. You are to be my wife, and you deserve to be treated with respect."

Suddenly Abigail felt her heart quicken, aware of how close they were standing, of the warmth radiating from Charles's body.

They both started to speak at the same time, then stopped, laughing awkwardly. For a moment, they simply looked at each other and Abigail felt her face flush.

Finally, Charles cleared his throat. "I should let you go. It's getting late, and we have a big day tomorrow."

Abigail nodded, trying to ignore the pang of disappointment in her chest. "Of course. Goodnight, Charles. I'll... I'll see you tomorrow."

"Goodnight, Abigail," he replied softly. "Sleep well."

As Abigail entered her home, she found Harriet waiting up for her in the drawing room, a concerned expression on her face.

"Abby, how was the dinner?" Harriet asked, patting the seat next to her on the sofa.

Abigail sank down with a heavy sigh. "It was... eventful."

Harriet's brow furrowed. "What happened?"

"Charles's mother, she…" Abigail paused, struggling to find the right words. "She made it quite clear that she doesn't approve of me."

"Oh, Abby," Harriet said softly, reaching out to take her hand. "I am so sorry. What did she say?"

Abigail recounted the evening's events, including Vivian's cutting remarks and Charles's eventual intervention. As she spoke, she felt tears welling up in her eyes.

"The worst part is," Abigail admitted, her voice barely above a whisper, "I think I am starting to have feelings for Charles. Real feelings. And knowing his mother hates me, it just makes everything so much more complicated."

Harriet squeezed her hand. "Does Charles know how you feel?"

Abigail shook her head vehemently. "No, and he can't. We agreed not to fall in love, remember? It's just supposed to be a partnership."

"Oh Abby," Harriet said gently, "agreements like that rarely work when the heart is involved. Perhaps if you talked to Charles…"

"No," Abigail interrupted firmly. "I made a promise, and I intend to keep it. Besides, after tonight... I am not sure I could bear it if Charles rejected me too."

Harriet pulled her into a tight hug. "Oh, my dear. What a mess this all is."

As they embraced, there was a soft knock at the door. Hugh entered, his face etched with concern.

"Abby," he said gruffly, "are ye alright? That woman was out of line tonight."

Abigail managed a weak smile. "I am fine, Hugh. Really. Charles handled it well."

Hugh nodded, a grudging respect in his eyes. "He did at that. Never thought I would see the day when I would be impressed by Grouton. Perhaps he will not be the worst husband —though I still would have preferred if you'd married without a scandal, if you'd found someone in a more natural way rather than entering a loveless marriage…"

Harriet flashed Abigail a quick smile and the latter rose to her feet quickly, her eyes flushed. She was certain she would not be able to hide the heartbreaking knowledge from her brother.

Her marriage would not be a loveless one — but the love would only come from her and there was nothing that could heal her broken heart.

* * *

It was not Abigail alone who felt the weight of her impending marriage. Where he sat in his study, Charles too was troubled. He looked up with a frown when his mother skulked into the study and sat down across from him. The tension between them was palpable, the air thick with unspoken words.

Vivian was the first to break the silence. "Charles, darling, surely you can see that I only have your best interests at heart."

Charles turned to face her, his expression a mixture of frustration and weariness. "Do you, Mother? Because from where I am standing, it seems you're doing your best to drive away the woman I am about to marry. Despite your promise to me."

Vivian's face softened slightly. "I just do not want to see you hurt again, my dear. After what happened with Grace?—"

"This is nothing like Grace," Charles interrupted, his voice sharp. "Abigail is different. She's kind, intelligent, and genuinely cares about others. She doesn't deserve your scorn or your judgment."

"But can you be certain?" Vivian pressed. "How well do you really know her? I just fear you're rushing into this marriage without considering the consequences."

"What consequences?" Charles shot back. "You went on about her table manners and her blood — none of which have the least to do with what Grace did!"

Vivian opened and closed her mouth in a futile attempt to answer.

Charles sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Mother, I appreciate your concern, but your rudeness this evening was entirely unacceptable and uncalled for — as your son, I was ashamed and as the duke…"

Vivian looked down and Charles frowned angrily. "As the duke, I am enraged," he continued. "You claim to be concerned about our family's reputation but tonight the Scottish duke and his sister came off looking far better than our family."

"I was trying to protect you," Vivian muttered and Charles sighed. "I am not a child anymore. I can make my own decisions."

"Even if those decisions might lead to heartbreak?" Vivian asked softly.

Charles was quiet for a moment, then he sighed. "That's why Abigail and I have an agreement," he said finally. "We are entering this marriage as partners, nothing more. There will be no love involved, so there can be no heartbreak."

Vivian studied her son's face carefully. "And you truly believe that's possible? To live side by side with someone, to share a life, and feel nothing?"

Charles nodded, though a flicker of doubt crossed his face. "It's for the best, Mother. This way, we both know where we stand."

Though Vivian's expression was skeptical, she didn't press the issue. Instead, she sighed heavily. "Very well. If this is truly what you want, I will... try to be more welcoming to Abigail. For your sake."

Charles nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Thank you, Mother. That's all I ask."

Vivian simply nodded before taking her leave. Charles took a long sip of his brandy, savoring the burn as it slid down his throat. He'd made his decision, he reminded himself. This arrangement was the best way to protect both of them from the pain of betrayal, and the agony of a broken heart.

And yet... the memory of Abigail's smile, the warmth in her eyes when she spoke of her plans for the future, the gentle strength she'd shown in the face of his mother's barbs — all of it haunted him.

"It's just nerves," he muttered to himself, draining the last of his brandy. "Pre-wedding nerves, and nothing more."

But as he made his way to bed, Charles could not quite shake the nagging feeling that he was making a terrible mistake. The thought of Abigail trapped in a loveless marriage, her spirit slowly dimming over the years, filled him with a sense of dread.

"I am doing the right thing," he told his reflection as he prepared for bed. "This is the safest path for both of us."

Yet as he drifted off to sleep, Charles found his dreams filled with warm brown eyes and a gentle laugh, and the persistent thought that perhaps, just perhaps, some risks were worth taking after all.