Chapter 27

CHAPTER 27

"I was thinking we ought to go for a stroll through the market today," Charles suggested one evening, a couple of days after their turn at the inn. Abigail looked up quickly.

Unbeknownst to her husband, the evening adventure had changed the way she viewed him. Of course, she admitted only to herself, it may have had something to do with the almost-kiss in the alley. The moment had awakened something within her — a flutter of emotion that she was not quite ready to name.

"Of course," she muttered now, following him to the carriage without hesitation. The carriage ride was awfully quiet, and Abigail took the time to study her husband. It felt as though she noticed new details about him every day. Today, for example, she noticed that his eyes were not merely deep blue. There were specks of light blue in them, reminding her of the sky on a cold day.

"Abigail?" Charles called once the carriage came to a halt, and she jumped. "We are here," he teased, "but I fear your mind is rather far from the market."

"Not at all," Abigail said with a soft laugh. "I was just… thinking."

He lifted a brow, though he said no more as he offered her his arm to help her out of the carriage. Abigail's heart raced happily when he led her through the market arm-in-arm.

Still, Abigail could not help but notice the appreciative glances in her husband's direction — in fact, it seemed like the women in the market barely noticed her presence at all.

"Your Grace," a plump woman selling apples called out, her cheeks flushed as she offered Charles a bright smile, "Won't you try one of my apples? They're the sweetest in the market, you know…"

Charles smiled politely and accepted the fruit with a gracious nod. "Thank you, Miss Hodges," he said simply. "They do look delicious."

"They are certainly lovely," she insisted with a wink in his direction and Abigail frowned. Abigail glanced at him furtively. "She seems… friendly," she remarked, trying her best to keep her voice light. Charles chuckled.

"Miss Hodges? She's always been that way. Her apples really are the best in the market though — she ought to have offered you one too. Here…"

He handed her the shiny apple without a second thought and Abigail took it absently, trying to shake off the uneasy feeling settling in her stomach. It was nothing, surely. Just a friendly shopkeeper.

"Oh, Your Grace," another voice drifted towards the pair and Abigail frowned when a beautiful blonde leaned forward as they passed, her eyes fixed on Charles. "I have some freshly baked bread here… warm and soft," she purred, her eyes slowly trailing over him with familiarity.

"Thank you, Beth," Charles said with a stiff smile, "but not today."

Almost every stall, Abigail found with a flicker of irritation, held another woman who looked at Charles shamelessly.

"Morning, Your Grace," a plump woman with rosy cheeks beamed when the pair stopped at a flower stand. "I was just wondering when we'd see you again," she said and Charles laughed graciously.

"Morning, Mrs. Wilson," he said and looked down at Abigail. "Mrs. Wilson always has the most beautiful flowers in the market."

Mrs. Wilson giggled, a sound incongruous with her matronly appearance. "Oh, Your Grace, you know just how to make a woman blush," she said and Abigail lifted a brow.

Was it her imagination, or was the woman batting her eyelashes at Charles?

As they continued their stroll through the market, Abigail could not help but notice the vast number of women vying for Charles's attention. A young lady 'accidentally' dropped her handkerchief directly in his path, gazing up at him through lowered lashes while he retrieved it. A widow swooned when he helped her with a heavy basket, her hand lingering on his arm for far longer than was necessary.

By the time they returned home, Abigail's head was spinning. With a muttered excuse, she retreated to the library — Charles following her, his exterior showing no indication that he was at all aware of his wife's dissatisfaction.

She managed to avoid him for a day and-a-half, her muddled mind reeling with the pang of jealousy that coursed through her whenever she thought of how easy it seemed for other women to be blatantly flirtatious with him.

To Charles's credit, Abigail had to admit that he was at least trying to spend quality time with her. It was barely two days after their walk in the market that he joined her where she sat beneath the willow tree.

"I was wondering whether you wanted to join me for a promenade in Hyde Park," he suggested and Abigail looked up at him, trying to hide the excitement that stirred within her.

"That sounds lovely," she managed with a soft smile. "Thank you."

A comfortable silence had settled between them as they strolled arm-in-arm along the winding paths. Once again, Abigail could not help but notice the attention her husband attracted.

They had barely made it halfway around the park when a striking woman in a lavender gown approached them, her golden curls bouncing with each step she took.

"Why, Your Grace," she exclaimed, her voice syrupy sweet. "What a delightful surprise to see you here."

Charles nodded at her politely. "Good afternoon, Lady Ashworth."

The woman barely spared a glance for Abigail — her full attention was directed at Charles. "I was just thinking about you the other day," she said, stepping a bit closer and placing a gloved hand on his arm. "Do you remember the wonderful waltz we shared at the Millbrooks' ball last season? You were such a magnificent partner."

Abigail felt her cheeks flush when Lady Ashworth leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I do hope we will have the chance to dance again soon. Perhaps at the ton's next soirée."

Charles removed her hand from his arm gently, his brows lifted as he looked at her. "If you will excuse us, Lady Ashworth," he said, his tone measured. "The duchess and I were just finishing our walk."

Abigail could feel Lady Ashworth's eyes on her as they moved away and her stomach churned. She no longer had any doubt about the matter —every woman in the ton was practically throwing themselves at her husband.

As they made their way back to Grouton Manor, Abigail could not shake the image of Lady Ashworth's hand on Charles's arm, or the pointed look she had received. The encounter had left her feeling quite unsettled, and in truth, she had no idea how on earth to handle it.

"Is everything alright?" Charles asked as they entered the manor. "You have been awfully quiet today."

Abigail forced a smile. "I am fine," she said quickly. "I am just a bit tired. I think I will rest for a while before dinner."

Charles nodded, though his brow was furrowed with concern. "Of course. I have some business to attend to in town tomorrow," he explained, and Abigail nodded, though doubts twinged in her heart.

"Right," she muttered, avoiding his pointed gaze, trying her best to ignore the image of the women in London vying desperately for his attention.

The doubts followed Abigail through the night and into the next morning, as she sat alone in the drawing room. The tea in front of her had grown cold and the book on her lap was forgotten.

"Your Grace," Thompson announced, breaking her from her reverie. "Lady Beatrice is here."

Abigail looked at the redhead with mild surprise, rising from her seat as Beatrice swept across the room to embrace her. She quickly rearranged her features to rid herself of the frown that appeared between her brows. It was a little more than surprising to have anyone show up at the manor unannounced — especially someone she knew so little as Beatrice. Still, Abigail admonished herself silently, it was kind of her to visit.

"So," Beatrice asked, her eyes gleaming, "How are you settling into married life?"

Abigail gestured for Beatrice to sit, taking her own seat again. "It's… an adjustment," she said carefully, with a glance in Thompson's direction. "Thompson, could you ask Mrs. Morgan for more tea please?"

The man nodded and left, allowing Abigail to turn her attention back to Beatrice. She sighed. "Charles has been very patient," she said gratefully and Beatrice lifted a brow.

"Is he now? Do tell me everything."

Abigail laughed softly. "Everything?"

Beatrice nodded quickly, a throaty laugh escaping her lips. "I must admit," she said with a shrug, "I am rather anxious about marriage — and I would love to know what it is like. Are… are there any problems? Difficulties? Challenges?"

Abigail hesitated and Beatrice laughed again, her eyes cast down to her lap. "I only ask to ease my mind, of course," she said now. "I like to know what I am getting into before I do."

"Of course," Abigail said slowly. Her hesitation was evident when she finally spoke. "Well… it is not exactly a problem, per se…"

"Oh?" Beatrice's eyebrows shot up. "Do go on. We are friends. You can tell me anything."

"It's just…" Abigail sighed, the words tumbling from her lips before she could stop them. "It's just the way other women look at Charles," she admitted. "I know it is silly, because… well, I suppose I am jealous and I do not think I really have room to be jealous, but…"

Beatrice sighed and shook her head, leaning forward to pat Abigail's hand. "Oh, my dear," she said, her eyes gleaming with sympathy. "I hate to be the one to tell you this, but… those women… they are quite possibly his past lovers."

Abigail blinked, feeling as though she'd been doused with cold water. "What? No. No, that can't be right. I am no fool, I know Charles is older than I am and I have heard of his past, but all of them…"

Beatrice sighed. "Practically half the ton… and the slums, from what I've heard," she continued, her voice dripping with sympathy. "And of course we can't be certain that they're all… well… in the past."

"What do you mean?" Abigail asked now, her voice a hoarse whisper, and Beatrice shrugged. "I mean… it would not be unheard of to believe that some are… current."

"Current?" Abigail repeated, her eyes wide and Beatrice nodded, gesturing around.

"I hate to ask, sweet Abigail, but… do you know where Charles is right now?"

"He has work," Abigail whispered, her voice small, and Beatrice shook her head. "Are you certain?"

"You're wrong," Abigail insisted, her heart twinging with desperation. "Charles wouldn't… he is not that kind of man."

"I am sure you are right," Beatrice said now, though her voice still held the note of sympathy. "I should not spread such gossip. Perhaps… Everyone is mistaken."

Abigail nodded, sinking back into the sofa. "Charles is a good man," she said firmly, "He has been nothing but kind, respectful and patient with me."

"Of course, of course," Beatrice agreed, though her tone suggested she was not at all convinced. "The only thing we know for a fact about him, is his broken engagement… The rest is all rumor, of course."

Abigail's head snapped up at this. "Broken engagement? What are you talking about?"

Beatrice's eyes widened in surprise and she pressed a hand to her mouth. "Oh, dear, has he not told you? It was quite the scandal. Charles was engaged to a lovely young lady… I cannot recall her name now, but he called it off just before the wedding. I believe the poor girl was devastated."

Abigail closed her eyes in a desperate attempt to stop the room from spinning.

How could Charles have kept something like this from her? Why would he have done such a thing?

"I am sure there is an explanation," she said weakly, even as doubt gnawed at her heart.

Beatrice reached out to squeeze Abigail's hand. "I have upset you, haven't I? I am so sorry, Abigail. I truly thought you knew."

"No," Abigail assured her through dry lips, "It's not your fault. I… I am glad you told me. I just… I do not want to believe it. Charles has been so kind, so patient with me… Surely a man like that could not be so callous, so capable of…"

"Breaking a woman's heart?" Beatrice finished for her. "Oh, Abigail… sometimes the kindest men can be the most dangerous… They make you believe you're different and then, when you least expect it…"

She trailed off with a shrug and Abigail looked at her desperately, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes.

"What do I do?" she asked weakly and Beatrice took both her hands, her expression serious.

"Guard your heart, Abigail. Protect yourself," she insisted. "And perhaps you ought to be grateful, darling. After all, is it not better to know the truth now? Before you get in too deep?"

"No," Abigail insisted, her voice soft. "Charles… I trust him."

Beatrice glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner, then smiled. "Well, in that case I am glad I did no harm. If you will excuse me, darling–I have quite a bit to do today. I hope your husband doesn't return from his… business… too late."

With that, she left, leaving behind a cloying scent and a Duchess filled with doubt.