Chapter 22

CHAPTER 22

C harles was already seated at the breakfast table when his wife came downstairs and he looked at her with a hesitant smile.

"Morning," he said, rising as she approached the table and she looked at him shyly. "Morning, Charles," she returned his greeting and he waited for her to take a seat before reclaiming his own. For a few moments, the pair ate in silence. It was Charles who cleared his throat after a few minutes of this.

"I thought perhaps I could give you a tour of the manor and grounds today," he offered. "If you'd like."

Abigail's eyes lit up at this and she nodded eagerly. "Oh, yes! I would like that very much, thank you."

"Very well," Charles nodded. "Shall we begin after breakfast?"

In truth, Charles thought, he had no idea why things were suddenly so unbelievably awkward between the two of them. Save for the fact that they were now legally married, nothing had really changed between them. They finished the rest of their meal in silence, and Charles stood once they were done.

"Shall we?"

Abigail took his arm, and with a gentle smile he led her through the grand hallways of Grouton Manor.

"This," Charles said as he pushed open a heavy oak door, "is the library."

Abigail gasped as she stepped inside and she looked at Charles, impressed. "It is magnificent," she said as she moved to run her fingers along the spines of leather-bound volumes. "Like a fairytale."

A small smile tugged at Charles's lips as he looked at her. "You are welcome to read anything you like," he offered. "After all, this is your home now too."

Abigail's face flushed and she looked at him, almost apologetically. "I am an avid reader," she admitted. "Hugh always teased me about it — he said I could get lost in stories quite easily, even as a child."

Charles lifted a brow at this, though he remained silent. Abigail's gaze drifted towards the bookshelf longingly once more before she looked at him with a resolute smile.

"We can go on," she said — though not without a hint of disappointment in her tone — and Charles laughed. "It seems my wife is certainly a dreamer," he teased lightly and she blushed, though she took his proffered arm once more.

"I like books," she explained simply. "In the end, in a book, everything works out alright. It makes me feel safe, I suppose."

Charles frowned as he looked down at her. "Safe?"

Abigail nodded, her expression earnest. "Growing up in England, I always felt as though… I missed my roots, my real home," she admitted. "And growing up without parents in a world that always felt like it did not want me… I suppose I always longed for everything to be alright. For… a happily ever after, I suppose."

Charles nodded slowly and his heart filled with sympathy. He'd not truly stopped to consider the effect her upbringing had had on her and as he looked at her now, there was something wistful about her.

"I hope you find it," he offered softly and she tightened her hold on his arm with a smile. "I am sure I will."

They toured the rest of the manor in relative silence, though Charles could see clearly on Abigail's face that she took in everything he mentioned. As they reached the back of the house, he paused at a set of French doors.

"And now for the gardens," he said proudly as he pushed the doors open. "My pride and joy. Of course I do have a gardener, but now and then I quite like being involved here."

Abigail's eyes widened as she stepped out onto the terrace, and Charles beamed proudly. He knew that the gardens were something to be quite proud of — after his father's death, it had been where he'd found his solace when he needed it, when the realities of being a duke felt as though they might constrict him.

"Charles," Abigail gasped next to him. "It is beautiful."

"Thank you," he said simply, though he glanced at her with gratitude. It was not everyone who appreciated the beauty of the gardens as he did.

As they strolled along the paths, Charles made sure to point out various plants and features. It was as they rounded a corner that Abigail suddenly stopped short and a gasp escaped her lips.

Before them stood an enormous weeping willow, the leaves dancing slowly as the wind moved through them.

"It is breathtaking," she whispered as she stepped closer to the tree. Charles watched as she reached out to touch the trailing leaves, her face alight with joy. A warmth spread throughout his chest at the sight, but he pushed it aside quickly.

"A garden full of flowers, and you are most impressed by an old tree," he teased and Abigail laughed as she looked back at him.

"The flowers are beautiful," she admitted, returning her gaze to the tree. "But this… it is simply majestic, is it not?"

"It is quite something, I admit," Charles agreed with a grin. "And it has been here for as long as I can remember. I would like to know how old it is, but to find out I would have to cut it down and…"

"Do not dare," Abigail interrupted him quickly. "I will protect it with my life."

Charles could not stop the laughter that fell from his lips at this. "Is my wife a tree-hugging savage?" he teased and she looked at him with a lifted brow.

"Surely you expected nothing less," she retorted quickly and it took everything he had not to clap his hands at her quick wit.

"I doubt that anyone could ever expect all you are, my lady," he responded simply and she let out a soft laugh.

"A safe answer," she whispered as she took his arm once more. "One is not quite certain whether it is an insult or a compliment."

"In this society, wit is our greatest treasure," Charles said, suddenly serious. "Along with a good dose of tact, of course. It is important not to wear our hearts on our sleeves."

"You make it sound like the ton is a hunting ground," Abigail said with a lifted brow. "As though the vultures will destroy you if you show them your fear."

"They might," Charles said suddenly, a frown appearing between his brows. Abigail looked at him quickly, curiosity evident on her face — but to her credit, she did not ask him to elaborate and he breathed a sigh of relief. He'd have to be careful, he realized. Abigail was far too perceptive for his peace of mind.

Still, despite this realization, the majority of the awkwardness between them had all but faded. As they approached his newest rose garden, Abigail's face lit up once more.

"Oh, how lovely," she exclaimed, moving forward and kneeling down to inhale the fragrance of a deep red bloom.

Charles fought back a smile as he watched her. "These are my own roses," he said proudly. "But I do see the willow has a rival for your affections."

Abigail simply laughed freely. "There is enough room in my heart for roses and an old willow," she declared firmly. "This is by far my favorite part of the estate."

Charles lifted a teasing brow at this and the words left his lips before he could stop to think about them. "You wound me, my lady. All this grandeur, and nothing ranks higher in your esteem than a common shrub?"

Abigail lifted a brow at this and she rose to her feet, careful to dust some fragments of grass from her dress.

"Oh, I hardly believe that these are common," she challenged. "If I know you at all, they are of the highest breeding."

"They are valuable to me," Charles said simply, pretending not to see the small frown between Abigail's brows when she mentioned the breeding of the roses. He knew full well that she was all too aware of her Scottish background — thanks, he thought sourly, to the snobbish outlook of the ton.

He took her arm in his own again and as they neared the edge of the gardens, he gestured to a small, ivy-covered structure in the distance. "That is the old summerhouse," he explained. "Though I am ashamed to admit it is rather run-down. We have not used it since my father passed."

Abigail lifted a curious brow. "Might we see it?"

Charles nodded, despite his hesitation. "As long as you are aware that it is in a state of utter disrepair. I really should ask some of the servants to see to it…"

Abigail, however, was not dissuaded and Charles frowned as they drew closer to the dilapidated building.

"I am afraid it is not fit for a duchess at all," he teased lightly, but Abigail paid him no mind — in fact, she was already pushing aside the ivy and peering in through the grimy windows.

"Oh, nonsense," she said quickly. "It is wonderful. Just imagine what it could be with a little work.

Charles shook his head with a laugh. "You are quite easily pleased, are you not? A tree, some roses and a grimy shack is what catches your fancy. No diamonds and pearls for my wife, it would seem. She'd be satisfied with a pack of seeds."

Abigail laughed at this and she shook her head. "There is a place, I suppose, for diamonds and pearls. And of course I do find them beautiful… but roses, old willows and a grimy shack… well I find that to be simply magical."

Charles merely laughed as he led her back to the house and Abigail looked at him hesitantly.

"Do you think… would it be possible to have the summerhouse restored?"

Charles glanced at her, surprised. "I was thinking of working on it a bit, but restoring it to its former glory? I have never really considered it, but I suppose it is possible."

"Oh, it would be lovely," Abigail said excitedly. "A little haven in the garden where children…"

A furious blush appeared on her cheeks and she halted her sentence, avoiding his eyes. Charles looked down at her with a fond smile.

"We'll have it restored, if it is something that would please you," he said, pretending not to have heard anything about children. Abigail glanced up at him gratefully.

"Thank you, Charles," she said earnestly. "Truly."

To his own mild surprise, Charles found himself oddly reluctant for their tour to end and he looked at her with a gentle smile when they reached the house. "Perhaps we might take tea in the garden this afternoon," he offered impulsively. "If you'd like."

Abigail looked at him, surprised — though her surprise quickly made room for a sweet smile. "I would love that," she declared and he nodded. "I will send word to Mrs. Morgan," he announced, rushing away quickly. There was an uncomfortable warmth that had settled around the confines of his heart when she smiled in that manner, and he thought it best to get away from it as he called for a servant.

"Please tell Mrs. Morgan that the duchess and I will have tea in the garden," he instructed. The young woman nodded quickly before rushing off and Charles hesitated, waiting a few seconds before making his way back to his wife.

Abigail looked quite out of place still. He supposed that it would take some time for her to truly be comfortable and see the estate as her home.

"We will have tea by the willow," he decided before leading Abigail back to the old tree. They did not wait long for a servant to appear with a tea tray and Abigail's gaze wandered over the flowerbeds as she sipped her tea.

"You seem to have taken quite a liking to the gardens," Charles remarked and Abigail nodded at once. "I find it beautiful. So full of life and wonder."

"I am glad you approve," Charles said with a hint of a smile. "Though I fear I may lose my wife to the shrubberies entirely."

Abigail laughed softly. "You need not worry," she teased. "Your conversation is more stimulating than that of the average plant."

"Oh, what a relief," he remarked dryly. "I shall have it engraved on my tombstone when I pass. Here lies Charles Rowling, Duke of Grouton. More stimulating than the average plant."

At once, Abigail's free laughter rang out across the garden and for a moment the awkwardness between them melted away, as Charles's own laughter joined hers.