Chapter 24

CHAPTER 24

O f course, as Abigail knew full well, being married did not only mean that she could eat black pudding and spend time with her husband. As Charles had explained to her shortly after their wedding, there were duties to attend to.

On this particular morning, Abigail sat quietly at her vanity, staring blankly at her reflection as Maria's fingers worked deftly through her hair. Her mind was reeling as she mentally raced through all she needed to do. She needed to select a charity to patronize, plan an upcoming dinner party — her very first as duchess, and review household accounts with Mrs. Morgan…

"Is everything alright, Your Grace?" Maria's gentle voice broke through her reverie and Abigail blinked before forcing herself to smile. "Yes, Maria," she said softly. "All is well. I am merely… thinking."

Maria simply nodded at this, and as soon as she was done, Abigail walked downstairs hesitantly. Charles — as had become a habit — was at the breakfast table already. The London Chronicle was open in front of him.

"Morning," Abigail said softly as she took her seat, and Charles smiled at her. "Morning." He set the newspaper aside quickly and Abigail shook her head.

"You do not have to stop reading."

Charles simply smiled and shook his head. "All frivolous gossip," he said plainly. "I far prefer your company."

Abigail flashed him a shy grin at this before starting to pick listlessly at her breakfast. She ought to have known, however, that her husband was, if nothing else, rather perceptive.

"Is something troubling you?" he asked worriedly, his gaze never leaving her. "You seem… distracted."

"Oh," Abigail dropped her fork and blushed, looking at him regretfully. "I apologize. I was just… thinking."

To her surprise, this did not seem to ease her husband's concern as he gazed at her with a furrowed brow. "Thinking?"

Abigail shook her head proudly. Though he had shown her nothing but kindness, she did not want to be a burden and complain about her concerns.

"It is nothing, really," she insisted now. "I am just… adjusting, I suppose."

"Abigail." Charles leaned forward slightly and he placed his hand over hers. "I know that our marriage came from a rather… unconventional… arrangement, but we are still partners. If something is bothering you, I would like to know."

For some reason, perhaps his earnest tone, these kind words seemed to break a dam and her composure cracked entirely. "Oh, Charles," she burst out now, her voice trembling with emotion, "I am completely overwhelmed and at a loss… Our lessons helped so much, but there is so much more I do not know and… I feel as though I am drowning in responsibilities I cannot understand and expectations I will not be able to meet. The last thing I want is to be a disappointment as a wife, but…"

His hand tightened over hers and he looked at her earnestly. "Abigail," he said now, his voice soft yet resolute. "Why did you not say something sooner?"

Tears formed in her eyes at this gentle question and she shook her head. "I suppose I did not want to burden you with my worries," she admitted and Charles shook his head.

"You are my wife. You could never burden me. And I would never expect you to figure this out all on your own. I understand that it is not something you can learn overnight. And I apologize — I ought not to have stopped our lessons once we married. I allowed myself to be bogged down with work."

Abigail looked at him with wide eyes and he sat quietly for a moment, his thumb absently tracing patterns on the back of her hand.

When he spoke again, his voice was hesitant. "Unfortunately, there are certain… aspects… of my work that do require my immediate attention at the moment. But there is someone who knows intimately what it means to be Duchess of Grouton, someone who could possibly… help."

Abigail looked at him hesitantly, confusion etched across her face. "Who?"

"Well," Charles said slowly, pointedly avoiding her gaze. "I was thinking of asking… my mother. Shortly after my father passed, she moved to one of the country estates… but I could ask her to visit… and she could guide you through the intricacies of your new role."

Despite the kind offer, Abigail felt her heart sink at the suggestion. She could vividly remember Lady Vivian's cutting voice and disdainful glances. The dowager duchess was not the ideal picture of comfort she imagined when she thought about learning more about her new life and responsibilities.

Still, Charles had made the suggestion out of the goodness of his heart and he was right. Vivian Rowling knew what it meant to be the Duchess of Grouton.

When she spoke after a long, uncomfortable silence, her voice was hesitant. "Do… do you think she would? She… did not seem to… approve of me much."

Charles squeezed her hand reassuringly and he smiled at her with a confidence she herself did not feel at all. "My mother can be difficult, I know," he admitted. But despite her prickly exterior, I believe she wants what is best for our family and if anyone can help you… it is her. I know she will agree if I ask her."

Abigail took a deep breath. The idea of her mother-in-law visiting was far more intimidating than it was reassuring. "Thank you," she said at last. "If you believe that she could help, I will be grateful for her guidance."

Charles nodded, a warm smile spreading across his face. "I will write to her today. And… I do appreciate your honesty, Abigail. We are in this together, are we not?"

He looked so warm and comfortable, that Abigail had to smile in return — though her own smile was quite weak. She could only hope that she had not made a terrible mistake.

Of course, the next few days passed far too quickly — and it soon became a blur of anticipation and dread. Most of her time was spent in the library, where she read several books about etiquette and social customs.

That was how Abigail found herself, curled up in a leather chair with Grace and Propriety: A Guide to Etiquette in her lap.

It falls upon the host or hostess to facilitate introductions at any gathering, she read, then frowned. Charles had already taught her all about introduction and her face flushed when she remembered Vivian's comments about her table manners. She paged on quickly until a heading caught her eye: The Refinement of Table Manners.

"Yes," Abigail whispered softly as she settled deeper in the chair. "This is it."

Her eyes flew across the page, taking in every last bit of information eagerly. A demonstration of impeccable table manners is a testament to one's upbringing and social grace. The dining table serves as a stage where the subtleties of proprietary and refinement are displayed.

Abigail frowned. Never before had she thought of the dining table as a stage — but then, she supposed, in this ton everything seemed to be one.

"Your Grace…" Abigail slammed the book shut when Maria appeared in the library and she looked at the girl almost nervously. "Yes?"

"The dowager duchess is here," Maria said softly and Abigail closed her eyes, taking a deep breath before rising to her feet.

"Thank you… Thank you, Maria," she muttered before making her way to the foyer. Charles was already there and she moved to stand next to him before she turned her gaze to where Vivian was standing — every inch the dowager duchess. Her steel-gray hair was impeccably coiffed and her sharp eyes lingered on Abigail for a moment. A strange smile played around Vivian's lips before she turned her gaze to her son.

"Charles, darling," she said, her voice warm as she embraced her son, "How good to see you."

"Good day, Mother," Charles replied, though Abigail was rather certain that his voice held at least a little stiffness. "Thank you for coming. We are grateful."

At this, Vivian turned to Abigail — her smile cooling quite a bit. "Abigail," she addressed her daughter-in-law, her tone carefully neutral. "I trust you are settling in quite well."

"Yes, thank you, Your Grace," Abigail replied as she dipped into a curtsy. "We are pleased to have you here."

Vivian lifted a single brow and her gaze slowly swept over Abigail. "Indeed," she said coolly, then glanced at her son before returning her gaze to Abigail. "Well, I am certain there is much to learn. Charles, darling, you are more than welcome to continue your work. I will take care of your wife."

With nothing more than a single look, servants hurried to take Vivian's belongings to her chamber and Abigail looked at the older woman nervously.

One thing was certain, she thought silently. These lessons were bound to be far less enjoyable than Charles's had been.

"Come, dear," Vivian addressed Abigail over her shoulder as she made her way to the drawing room. "And for heaven's sake, do not slouch. It is unbecoming of a duchess. Straighten your spine. And stop fidgeting with your hands."

As Abigail straightened her spine and held her hands still in front of her, she had to fight to keep a grimace off her face.

Yes, she thought to herself. Certainly, far less enjoyable.

The longer the lessons continued, the more Abigail found that her initial assessment of them was correct. In Vivian's eyes, she was evidently not able to do anything right.

"Really, dear," the older woman complained as they bent over a piece of parchment. "Is that the best you can do? The menu for a dinner party requires thought and strategy. This… reads like a country pub's offerings. I do not know what your brother served at dinner parties, but this is like teaching a commoner. Use your head."

"Yes, Your Grace," Abigail said softly — words she was getting used to uttering. Of course, a small part of her wanted to challenge the woman — wanted to tell her that her way could not possibly be the only acceptable one and that she could give her some grace. She knew instinctively, however, that it would only serve to make matters worse, so she remained quiet.

She was halfway through a new menu, when Charles suddenly appeared in the doorway and she looked at him — grateful for what she hoped to be a reprieve from her mother-in-law's onslaught of criticism. Charles, however, looked at her regretfully as he walked forward to press a gentle kiss to her hand.

"I just received word of an urgent business matter I need to attend to," he explained softly, with a worried glance in his mother's direction. "I will be away for a couple of days."

To Abigail's surprise, Vivian did not look nearly as disappointed as she felt at this. Instead, the older woman smiled almost proudly at her son. "Go take care of business," she encouraged. "Abigail and I will be quite alright."

She looked at Abigail with a falsely sweet smile, and the latter looked at her husband bravely. "Hurry back," she muttered when he wrapped his arms around her in a greeting hug. Vivian remained quiet, though she hardly waited for her son to be gone before clapping her hands together.

"Now for invitations," she announced after glancing at the new menu. Though Abigail tried her best to focus on the older woman's voice, her mind drifted — towards the tasks still awaiting her attention, and her husband's journey to attend to this important business…

"Abigail!" Vivian's voice broke through her voice sharply and Abigail's cheeks heated up as she looked at her.

"Yes, Your Grace?"

"You are not listening to a word I am saying," Vivian accused. "You were miles away."

"I apologize, Your Grace," Abigail said softly. "Could… could you please repeat what you said?"

Vivian grimaced and shook her head. "This is precisely the problem," she said, her lips pressing into a thin line. "You are not taking this seriously enough. Do you have any idea of the responsibility you have taken on? The legacy you are meant to uphold?"

"I am trying," Abigail said, her voice small. "Truly, I am …"

"Trying is not good enough," Vivian snapped. "You are the Duchess of Grouton now, and unlike your brother's joke of a title, it means something. You represent one of the oldest, most respected families in England and rather than learn what it means, you are dreaming like a common schoolgirl!"

Abigail blinked, tears pricking at her eyes. "I am doing my best," she insisted, her voice trembling. "It is… a lot to learn at once."

Vivian let out a harsh laugh. "Oh, my dear," she said, her voice dripping with condescension, "You are in for a rude awakening if you find this to be a lot. The ton will eat you alive if you do not shape up."

She turned from Abigail, her voice tense with bitterness. "I warned Charles, you know," she muttered softly, speaking more to herself. "I told him he was making a mistake, marrying someone with no idea of what it means to be a duchess… someone with your blood. But he insisted on falling for the trap you set, and here we are."

Abigail paled, feeling as though she'd been slapped. "I am sorry you feel that way, Your Grace," she managed to get out and Vivian turned back to face her, her expression cold.

"Let me make something quite clear, Abigail," she said softly. "You are not good enough for my son or this title. But you are what we have to work with, so we will simply make do. You will learn. You will improve… and you will not embarrass this family. Do you understand me?"

Abigail nodded mutely, unable to find her voice.

"Good," Vivian said, smoothing her skirt before resuming her seat. "Now, let us continue. There is a lot to learn."