Chapter 26

CHAPTER 26

W hen Abigail stirred from her nap, it was nearly sundown. She stretched and looked around, her heart skipping a beat when she remembered what had led to the nap. The dowager duchess had gone.

Relief coursed through her as she stepped out of the bed, her brows lifting when she noticed the small bundle in front of her bedchamber door. Curious, she padded over and picked it up, unfolding the note on top of it.

When you wake, put this on and meet me in my study. C.

An intrigued smile settled across her lips and she unwrapped the bundle — the smile disappearing to make room for a confused frown when she lifted a dress from it.

The fabric was coarse — a far cry from the fine silks and muslin she was accustomed to wearing. In fact, Abigail thought as she looked at the dress, it looked quite like something a maid would wear on her night off.

"What on earth?" she murmured as she ran her fingers over the rough material. Despite her bewilderment, however, she could not deny that she was quite intrigued. Quickly, she changed into the dress and she released a surprised breath. It was light — unrestrictive and quite different from her usual attire.

She changed her hair into a quick braid before rushing to Charles's study, a thrill of excitement coursing through her as she knocked on the study door.

"Come in," Charles's voice rang out and Abigail stopped in her tracks when she opened the door and noticed him. Charles looked unlike she'd ever seen him before.

Gone were his tailored coat and cravat. Instead, he wore simple breeches and a shirt of rough linen. Even his hair was slightly mussed — as though he'd run his hands through it.

"Charles?" Abigail said, unable to keep the confusion out of her voice. "What… what is going on?"

A grin appeared on Charles's face and for the first time she saw a mischievous glint in his eyes. "We are going on an adventure," he said simply and she gestured down at their clothes.

"What kind of an adventure?"

There was something reckless about the way he smiled and he laughed softly — presumably at the expression of utter confusion on her face.

"You'll see," he said simply, before taking her hand and leading her down a back entrance.

"This is the servants' entrance," he explained in a lower voice. He offered no further explanation and Abigail's heart raced as they slipped out into the warm evening air.

"Where are we going?" she asked softly, and Charles laughed. "To town," he said with a glance down at her. "To see how the other half lives."

It was a far cry from duchess lessons, but Abigail decided to refrain from questioning it, instead, enjoying the brisk air as he led her through the bustling streets of the town.

For Abigail, it felt as though she had stepped into another world. The air was thick with the scents of cooking food and woodsmoke, the streets alive with people merely going about their business — hardly noticing the pair of them as Charles guided her through the crowds.

The sound of a lively tune made Abigail turn her head and she looked with mild surprise at the band of street musicians. To her astonishment, Charles pulled her into a small square where several couples were already twirling to the music — their movements upbeat and quick.

"Shall we?" Charles asked as he looked down at her, offering his hand with an exaggerated bow.

Abigail let out a laugh — a sound of pure joy that she hadn't heard from herself in weeks. "We shall," she replied impulsively, taking his offered hand.

She gasped in surprise when he led her into a frantic set of movements, spinning and twirling with him to the sound of the lively music, with not a single step as structured as the dances she was used to, though it was certainly far more enjoyable. Her heart skipped a beat when Charles pulled her fast against his chest before twirling with her again, all thoughts of proper etiquette and societal expectations dissipating, forgotten in the joy of the moment.

As the music came to an end, Charles led her towards a small inn, glancing down at her with a wink. "Thirsty?"

She nodded, unable to speak, her breath severely lacking. Inside, the inn was warm and noisy — filled with lively chatter and the clinking of tankards. Charles moved as though it was an everyday occurrence for him to enter an inn like this — leading her to a small table in the corner. He winked at her.

"I am going to fetch us drinks," he explained. "Wait here."

Abigail nodded, looking around in wonder at the sights and sounds of what felt like an entirely different world. The people seemed so free, she could not help but notice. So entirely unburdened by the strict rules of society — and the eyes of the ton.

Charles returned rather quickly — two foaming tankards in his hand. He handed her one and she took a sip immediately, coughing at the strangeness of the taste, her nose wrinkling.

Charles smiled at her gently. "It's ale," he explained. "Not quite the fine wines you are used to."

Abigail took another sip — this time, expecting the strange bitterness. "It's… alright," she said at last, and Charles laughed softly.

"It gets better the more you try it," he teased and she laughed before taking another sip.

Without wanting to, she grimaced at the taste again, much to her husband's amusement. "So," she asked once the bitter aftertaste had faded a bit, "how on earth did you discover this place?"

Charles laughed softly and shook his head. "Let's just say I was a rebellious adolescent," he teased. "And then… It has happened once or twice that I found myself needing an escape — which is exactly what this place provides."

"An escape," she echoed and Charles nodded before tilting his head to look at her with a bit more attention.

"Forgive me for asking," he started hesitantly, "but I fear we've never really discussed this. What… what was it like for you? Being… a child, an adolescent?"

Abigail let out a sigh. "I imagine something quite different than it was for you," she said after a long silence. "After my father passed and Hugh became duke… it didn't ever really matter to him. Father tried to fit in — to win the ton's approval — but it never really worked. Hugh was different. He never tried to fit in; he never cared about their approval. He was angry with them."

"So, what… " Charles teased. "He let you get away with anything and everything?"

"I wish," Abigail laughed with a shake of her head. "No, he tried his best, I know… but he shielded me from everything. From the ton, from my peers… from life. Until of course, he met Harriet and she at least helped him loosen the reins a bit and let me attend the season…"

She drifted off at this and sighed, and Charles reached over to take her hand in his own. "And a lot of good that did you," he said sympathetically. "Look at the utter oaf you married."

Abigail laughed at this and she shook her head. "You're not an oaf," she said softly. "You were only trying to help."

"Yes," his discomfort was clear and he looked at her with an unreadable expression. "I… Abigail, I do apologize for my mother," he said at last. "What she did… the manner in which she did it… it was entirely unacceptable."

"Stop," Abigail said, shaking her head and squeezing the hand holding hers. "Let's not talk about it. Your mother… dislikes me. But I… perhaps if I had known more, been better…"

He shook his head at this. "You do not need to know more or be better," he insisted firmly, but before he could continue, a buxom barmaid approached their table, her eyes hungrily fastened on Charles.

"Anything else for you, love?" she asked, hardly noticing Abigail — every ounce of her attention reserved for the handsome man at the table.

"Another ale, perhaps? Or something to eat, or something… not to eat?"

Abigail's eyes widened at this and Charles spluttered into his drink, coughing as he shook his head. "No… no, thank you, Emily," he said, and Abigail leaned back in her seat, her lips pursed as her eyes flitted between the two people.

The barmaid — Emily, apparently — flashed Charles a grin. "Oh, if you change your mind…"

"Emily," he interrupted quickly, his eyes flitting towards Abigail. "I do not believe you've met my wife. Abigail."

"Your… wife?" To the girl's credit, she managed to hide her shock quite quickly — though certainly not quick enough for Abigail's keen eye.

"I didn't realize," she said — her smile quite a bit less enthusiastic and open than it had been at first. "Congratulations."

"Thank you," Charles said, his tone inviting no further conversation. Emily nodded stiffly before turning away and when Charles looked back at Abigail, it was as though the meeting had never happened.

For her, though, it was not as easy, and the night had almost instantly lost its luster. The bitterness of the ale no longer had the soft hint of pleasantness, the sounds grated her nerves and the color of the evening was lost. Though Charles continued a cheerful conversation, Abigail found herself unable to listen to it — until he reached forward and took her hand in his.

"Abigail? What on earth is wrong?"

She blinked a few times, then shook her head — a false smile settling around her lips, though it felt stiff and unnatural.

"Nothing," she lied easily. Of course, in truth, she knew exactly what it was that bothered her. It was the barmaid and the ease with which she had spoken to Charles — like they knew each other far too well.

"It's just… warm in here," Abigail muttered, desperate for any kind of excuse for her sudden shift in mood. Charles was not dissuaded. Instead, he flashed her a charming grin.

"Well then," he said, his voice teasing, "let's get some air, shall we?"

Abigail nodded and allowed him to lead her outside. The night had grown cooler and she shivered. Without as much as a blink, Charles took his own jacket off and hung it over her shoulders.

"Thank you for this evening," she said suddenly, glancing up at him. "I think it was the first time in my life that I felt truly… free."

Charles smiled down at her gently. "You are welcome. I wanted to remind you that being a duchess doesn't mean you have to change who you are inside. In fact, I believe," he continued as they turned down an alley, "That it is your spirit that will make you an exceptional duchess."

Abigail looked up at Charles and her heart skipped a beat. The silvery light softened his features and once again she realized that her husband was truly handsome.

Slowly, as though it were part of a magnificent dream, his hand moved to rest on her waist and her heart started racing madly in her chest. She licked over her lips slightly, her eyes moving to study his features.

Charles, seemingly feeling her gaze upon his features, looked down, his eyes meeting hers. "Abigail," he murmured, his voice soft. Abigail felt her heart begin to race as he leaned in — his face now mere inches from hers.

She closed her eyes, her breath catching in her throat as she felt the warmth of his breath on her lips.

Then, suddenly, a loud crash echoed through the alley and the pair sprang apart quickly — startled to see a cat darting away from an overturned dustbin.

The loaded moment had faded and Charles cleared his throat. "I suppose we should ah, probably head back," he said, his voice strained.

Abigail nodded, not trusting herself to speak. As they made their way back to the manor, though, she was more aware of her husband's presence than she had ever been before.