Chapter 25

CHAPTER 25

R elief coursed through Charles as his carriage rolled to a stop in front of Grouton Manor. He'd never truly minded work trips before, but strangely that had changed now that he was married.

"Welcome back, Your Grace," the butler, Thompson, greeted him at the door with a warm smile.

"Thank you, Thompson," Charles said, returning the smile. "Where are the duchess and the dowager duchess?"

Thompson's smile disappeared at this and he let out a subtle sigh. "I believe that they are in the parlor, Your Grace," he said hesitantly. "They have been there most of the day."

Charles nodded with a frown before slowly making his way to the parlor. To his disappointment, Abigail did not jump up when she saw him. Instead, she looked at him with a small smile.

"Welcome back, Charles," she said simply. Vivian looked at her almost approvingly before turning her own gaze to her son. "Welcome home, darling," she said, her voice far warmer than Abigail's. "We shall see you at dinner. Abigail still has a lot to learn."

Charles frowned at this. Though he could not put his finger on what it was exactly, there was something that did not sit well at all with him. "Right," he muttered with a dark frown. "I will be in my study, then."

It was silly, he thought, to be disappointed. After all, he'd asked his mother to come and help Abigail. There was no reason for them to stop their lessons simply because he had returned from a trip. He loosened his cravat as he walked to his study. Though the ledgers on his desk beckoned, his mind wandered as much as he tried to focus on them.

The manor felt… different.

When the gong sounded for dinner hours later, Charles realized with quite a shock that he had accomplished absolutely nothing. Instead, he had read the same page multiple times without absorbing a single word.

In the dining room, Abigail sat ramrod straight — her eyes downcast. It was his mother who dominated the conversation, her voice sharp.

"Abigail, dear. Do try to remember what I taught you about proper posture," she said. "Your shoulders back, and your spine straight."

Charles watched with a frown as Abigail's shoulders stiffened even further, if that were possible. "Yes, Your Grace," she murmured softly and Vivian sighed.

"Mother," Charles interjected before she could say anything. "How are the lessons progressing?"

Vivian pursed her lips and shook her head. "As well as can be expected I suppose," she said, sounding exasperated. "There is still much work to be done."

Abigail remained silent, pushing food around on her plate — none of which made it to her mouth. Charles frowned. There were dark circles under her eyes and a foreign tightness around her mouth.

This strangeness of the girl he had married, managed to stifle any hope of conversation and he focused on his food silently. It was Abigail who pushed her plate aside first.

"If you will excuse me," she said, her voice eerily calm. "I am rather fatigued."

She waited for both Charles and Vivian to nod before dashing from the dining room like a wounded deer.

A deep frown decorated Charles's brow when he made his way back to his study after dinner. He sighed when he looked at the open ledgers, though there was still no part of him that could focus on them. He tapped the pen against the desk a few times.

Perhaps, he thought, he ought to talk to Abigail. No, he decided swiftly. There was something about this new Abigail that made him rather uncomfortable. Still — he needed to understand what it was that was off, and a sudden impulse struck him.

He stood and hastened his footsteps to the parlor — where it did not surprise him at all to find his mother sitting with a cup of tea.

"Charles, darling," Vivian beamed when he entered and he nodded at her stiffly before taking a seat.

"I was wondering… how things were going with Abigail," he said at once and Vivian let out a deep sigh.

"As well as can be expected I suppose," she said, her tone clipped. "She is… trying, but there is much work to be done."

Charles frowned at this and he opened his mouth to tell his mother that his lessons with Abigail had been quite effective. "What do you mean?" he asked instead and his mother waved a hand dismissively.

"Oh, you know," she said with an elaborate sigh. "Her manners need refining, her knowledge of society is woefully lacking and do not even let me get started on her manner of speaking. Really, one cannot believe her brother is a duke…"

A flicker of irritation coursed through him. "I am certain she is doing her best," he said coldly, and Vivian smiled sweetly.

"Of course," she insisted now. "She is trying, the poor girl, but it will take quite some time before she is ready to host a dinner party."

"She will learn," Charles said firmly. "I find her to be exceedingly clever and I would not have married her had I thought that the duties of a duchess were beyond her."

"It will take time," Vivian insisted and Charles nodded, though a frown furrowed his brow. He hoped his wife would not change too much. Before he could verbalize this thought, however, his mother gracefully rose to her feet.

"Now, if you shall excuse me, I have some urgent correspondence to attend to. Goodnight, darling."

With that, she left the parlor and Charles leaned back in his seat. Of course, growing up as the son of the Duke of Grouton, he learned even as a child how to find out exactly what was amiss in the household.

No matter what happened, one thing always ran absolutely true. The servants knew everything.

Charles was quick to put his plan into action. The next morning, he was up before the rest of the household, silently trailing through the manor. His early rise only paid off once he made his way to the breakfast table, when hushed voices drifted from an alcove.

"...never seen Her Grace look so tired," one was saying. "It's not right, I tell you."

"She's changed," another voice agreed. "She is miserable, the poor woman."

"Hush," a third voice insisted urgently. "It is not our place to gossip. If the dowager duchess heard us now…"

His frown deepened when he took a seat at the breakfast table. Again, Abigail was far quieter than he was used to — she merely picked at her food and kept her eyes downcast.

Though he tried to speak to her, she often rushed away whenever he approached, and to Charles's utter frustration, this continued for days. It took all of his self-control to quietly wait for opportunities to eavesdrop on the servants as opposed to completely going against all propriety and asking them about it.

The hints and whispers about his wife's unhappiness continued for nearly a week — with Charles growing more and more concerned with his wife's worsening appearance.

"Abigail," he said one evening when he had had enough and made his way to her bedchamber. "I can see that you are miserable."

She was skin and bones, he realized with a shock. Her eyes had lost their sparkle and her witty banter had faded to nothingness.

"Please… if this does not make you happy, there is another way, but…"

"No," she insisted, her voice monotonous and soft. "I wish to continue the lessons. Please."

She sounded quite certain — and it was with a sigh that Charles agreed to leave her be. However, this did not last. The very next day, he made his way to the parlor where he knew Abigail and his mother had taken to spending their days.

As he approached, he heard his mother's voice rise in frustration. "No, no, no! How many times must we go over this, Abigail? A duchess does not slouch, she does not mumble, and she does not question her betters!"

"I am sorry, Your Grace," Abigail's voice was barely audible. "I'll try harder."

"See that you do," Vivian snapped. "Heaven knows, you need all the help you can get. Really, it is a wonder Charles chose you at all. Not that he had much of a choice, given your way of catching…"

Having heard enough, Charles pushed the door open, a deep frown between his brows. "That's enough, mother," he challenged. Vivian's surprise quickly morphed into a placid smile.

"Charles, darling…"

It took merely a single glance in Abigail's direction to fuel his determination.

"What do you think you are doing?" he demanded, his voice trembling with rage. "I… Abigail and I asked you here to help her, and guide her — not berate her into submission."

Vivian's eyes widened in feigned innocence. "I am merely trying to mold her into a proper duchess, Charles. Surely you can see how much work there is to be done."

"My wife is not a task," he snapped, his voice booming through the small room. "I will not allow you to crush her spirit in the name of turning her into what you believe a duchess ought to be."

Vivian scoffed at this. "A little discipline never hurt anyone," she insisted. "Besides, if she cannot handle this, how do you expect her to survive in society?"

A muscle jumped in Charles's jaw at this. "In society," he said, his voice measured, "She will be respected as the Duchess of Grouton, and if she missteps I will be there next to her — to guide her."

"Oh, Charles," Vivian said with a laugh. "But that is why you asked me to help guide…"

"Your help is no longer needed." His voice was cold and Vivian's brows shot up towards her hairline.

"I am sorry?"

Charles shook his head, his mouth a thin line. "You can direct your apologies to my wife," he insisted and Vivian scowled as she turned to Abigail.

"You!" She shook her head, her eyes fixed on Abigail. "You poisoned my son against me! Oh, I knew it… I knew you were trouble, but…"

"Stop!" Charles insisted, his voice deep with rage. "This has nothing to do with her poisoning me against you! It has to do with me caring about my wife's wellbeing. It has to do with your behavior."

He shook his head when Vivian opened her mouth to object. "You will leave this house today and not return until you can treat my wife with the respect she deserves. Is that understood?"

"Charles," Vivian started, but he shook his head.

"I asked you a question."

For a drawn-out moment, mother and son stood locked in a battle of wills — neither backing down. It was Vivian whose shoulders finally sagged in defeat.

"Very well," she said at last. "I will go."

Charles merely nodded, watching as his mother turned and stalked away. Only when her footsteps faded did he allow himself to relax and turn his attention to his wife.

Abigail stood in the corner of the parlor, looking small, her face flushed.

"Abigail," he muttered before crossing the room in quick strides. Without giving it much thought, he pulled her into his arms, holding her against his chest.

For a moment, Abigail remained stiff in his embrace. Then, with a shuddering breath, she melted against him and her arms wrapped around him as she buried her face in his chest.

"I am sorry," she whispered, her voice wrought with tears. "I have disappointed you, haven't I? I am trying, Charles, I really am, but I can't seem to do anything right…"

"Hush," Charles soothed, running a hand over her hair gently. "You have nothing to apologize for, Abigail. Nothing at all. I am the one who should apologize. I never should have put you through this…"

"You were trying to help," she mumbled, but he shook his head and rested his chin on her head.

"No," he said softly. "I failed you when I should have helped you. I will not make that mistake again."

Abigail pulled back and looked up at him, his heart aching when he took note of her red-rimmed eyes.

"Listen to me," he said softly. "I do not want you to lose who you are to become a duchess."

"But there is so much I do not know, and so much I need to learn," Abigail insisted, her smile watery.

"You will," Charles assured her. "But without losing yourself. And in your own way — like I taught you originally. No more of this tyranny."

"Thank you," she whispered, but Charles shook his head. "I do not deserve your thanks… at least not yet," he said softly. "But I promise, I will make this error up to you. And I know just how."

She looked at him curiously, but he shook his head with a soft laugh.

"Not quite yet," he teased. "You have had an awful day — I think the first thing you ought to do is rest."

Leaving no room for argument, he led her to her bedchamber — waiting by the door until he saw her climbing into bed and drifting away.