Chapter 20

CHAPTER 20

O n the morning of his wedding, Charles was up and out of his bed long before the sun was out. Despite telling himself rather urgently not to, he could not help but be reminded that this was his second attempt at getting married.

As he looked at his reflection in the mirror, a dark frown settled between his brows.

What if… his treacherous mind taunted him. What if, like Grace, Abigail also found him unworthy?

"Grouton!" A jovial voice suddenly interrupted his thoughts and Charles turned, a smile appearing around his lips when Joseph walked into the parlor. "Are you ready to be a husband?"

Charles laughed and shook his head slightly, though not without relief at his friend's presence.

"I am ready to try," he said simply and Joseph grinned. "Good. I am here to keep you from running away and scandalizing the ton… again."

Despite his wrecked nerves, Charles managed a laugh. "Me? Scandalize the ton? Never."

Though he attempted to remain lighthearted and good-humored, Charles felt himself growing even more nervous as they arrived at the church. The church was a vision of white flowers and ribbon. Garlands of roses and lilies adorned the pews, their sweet fragrance filling the air. Charles kept his head down as he walked through the guests and took his place at the altar, Joseph standing beside him as best man. As the first strains of music filled the air, Charles felt his heart begin to race.

And then, there she was.

Abigail appeared at the end of the aisle, her arm linked with Hugh's. Charles felt his breath catch in his throat. She was stunning, more beautiful than he had ever seen her. Her veil, delicate and gossamer-thin, floated behind her like a cloud. As she walked towards him, their eyes met, and for a moment, the rest of the world seemed to fade away.

"Dearly beloved," the vicar began as Abigail reached the altar, "we are gathered here today in the sight of God to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony."

The vicar continued, his voice resonating through the church. "Marriage is a sacred union, not to be entered into lightly, but reverently, discreetly, advisedly, and in the fear of God. Into this holy estate, these two persons present come now to be joined."

Charles and Abigail turned to face each other, their hands joining as the vicar led them through their vows.

"I, Charles, take thee, Abigail, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth."

As Charles spoke, his voice was steady, but Abigail could see a flicker of emotion in his eyes. She squeezed his hands gently, offering silent support.

"I, Abigail, take thee, Charles, to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I give thee my troth."

Abigail's voice trembled slightly as she spoke, so overwhelmed was she by the solemnity of the moment. Charles returned her earlier gesture, his thumb brushing softly over her knuckles.

As they exchanged rings, their fingers brushed against each other, sending a jolt of electricity through his body. The vicar blessed the rings, his words echoing through the hushed church.

"Bless, O Lord, this ring, that he who gives it and she who wears it may abide in thy peace, and continue in thy favor, unto their life's end; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen."

And then, with a final blessing, it was done.

"By the power vested in me by the Church of England and the laws of this land, I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride."

Charles leaned in, pressing a chaste kiss to Abigail's lips. It was brief, proper, everything a wedding kiss should be. But as they pulled apart, both felt a lingering warmth that had nothing to do with propriety. For a moment, they stood there, foreheads almost touching, sharing a breath.

Then, Charles turned around and faced the crowd with a stiff smile, taking Abigail's hand in his own.

"The duchess and I would like to invite you to our manor," he announced, his voice deep. "For a celebration luncheon."

Cheers erupted following his words and he turned to look at Abigail, his eyes tender. "How does it feel?" he whispered gently, "being a duchess?"

Abigail laughed softly and a red tint appeared on her cheeks. "Ask me tomorrow," she teased and with a gruff laugh, Charles led her to the waiting carriage.

The majority of the guests followed them to the manor, and Charles looked at his bride proudly. Despite it being her first day as a duchess, she greeted the guests with remarkable poise and grace.

* * *

For her part, Abigail was not entirely certain that she was doing anything right and she let out a sigh of relief when the guests dispersed to the dining hall.

As they moved to their seats at the head table, Charles leaned in close to Abigail, his breath warm against her ear. "Are you alright?" he murmured, flashing her a tender smile.

Abigail nodded, touched by his thoughtfulness. "Yes, thank you. It's just... a bit overwhelming."

Charles's hand found hers under the table, giving it a gentle squeeze. "I know. We'll get through this together."

The meal progressed, a parade of exquisite dishes that neither Charles nor Abigail truly tasted.

"So, Your Grace," an elderly baroness addressed Abigail, whose face flushed at the title, "have you given any thought to redecorating Grouton Manor? I imagine it could use a woman's touch after all these years."

Abigail blinked, caught off guard. "I... well, I haven't really had the chance to think about it yet."

Charles intervened smoothly. "We'll make those decisions together, when the time comes. For now, we're just looking forward to settling into our new life."

The woman merely smiled in response, though the dour look she shot at the woman next to her said exactly what she thought about Abigail's lack of household plans.

As the luncheon progressed, Abigail found herself increasingly overwhelmed by the constant stream of well-wishers and the weight of her new title. She glanced around the room, her eyes seeking familiar faces amidst the sea of strangers.

At the other end of the table, Hugh, Harriet, and Jennifer were engaged in animated conversation. Abigail caught snippets of their discussion, her heart warming at the sight of her family.

"I must say," Jennifer was saying, her eyes twinkling mischievously, "our Abigail looks absolutely radiant. Wouldn't you agree, Your Grace?" She directed this last part to Vivian, who was seated with them, looking somewhat out of place.

Vivian's lips thinned slightly, but she managed a polite nod. "Indeed. The dress is... quite becoming."

Hugh's jaw clenched at Vivian's lukewarm response, but Harriet placed a calming hand on his arm. "It was a beautiful ceremony," she said, smoothly changing the subject. "The flowers were particularly lovely."

"Oh yes," Jennifer agreed enthusiastically. "Though I must say, I was half expecting our dear Abigail to trip over that magnificent train. Remember when she was little, Hugh? Always getting tangled up in her skirts?"

Hugh's expression softened at the memory. "Aye, she was a right clumsy thing. But look at her now — every inch a duchess."

As if sensing their gaze, Abigail looked over at that moment, offering a small, nervous smile. Charles, noticing her distraction, leaned in close.

"Are you alright?" he murmured, his brow furrowing in concern.

Abigail nodded, though her smile was strained. "Yes, I am fine. It's just... there are so many people. So many expectations."

Charles's hand found hers under the table, giving it a gentle squeeze. "You're doing wonderfully," he assured her. "Just breathe. We'll get through this together."

Grateful for his support, Abigail took a deep breath, feeling some of the tension leaving her shoulders.

Vivian watched this exchange with narrowed eyes. "They seem... close," she observed, her tone neutral but her gaze sharp.

Jennifer, catching this, could not resist a small jab. "Well, they are married now. Closeness is rather the point, isn't it?"

Soon, however, guests started trickling out, and before long, Abigail and her husband were alone in their house.

Finally, Charles cleared his throat. "Well," he said, his voice sounding unnaturally loud in the quiet room, "welcome home, Abigail. Shall we have some tea?"

Abigail managed a small smile. "Thank you, Charles. And yes… tea sounds lovely."

Charles nodded stiffly and offered her his arm, leading her to the drawing room. "My housekeeper, Mrs. Morgan, has been running the household since I was a boy," he explained as they took their seats in the drawing room. "And after my father passed and my mother chose to move to one of the country estates, she's been my right hand here."

Abigail could only nod — and then the silence descended once more. They stood there, newly married yet feeling like strangers, each wrestling with the same unspoken question:

And now what?