Chapter 28
CHAPTER 28
"T hank you, Your Grace," a clerk muttered as he rose from the chair in front of Charles's desk. "I shall ensure that the matter is attended to quickly."
Charles nodded before returning to the stack of documents before him. He sighed as he moved through the stack of papers. As Duke of Grouton, he had significant business interests to manage and today was proving particularly demanding. He rubbed his temples when the door opened and his secretary, Mr. Hawkins, entered with an apologetic look.
"Your Grace," the older man greeted, lifting a sheaf of papers. "The quarterly statements from the shipping company have arrived…"
"Thank you, Hawkins," Charles said with a nod. "Any issues I should be aware of?"
"Nothing out of the ordinary, sir," Hawkins said with a smile. "In fact, profits are up twelve percent from our last quarter and we have expanded our routes to include new ports in the Americas. It seems your recent marriage has been good for business."
A smile tugged at Charles's lips. "Excellent news," he said, keeping his tone light. "Please draft a letter of commendation to Captain Blackwood. His leadership of the fleet has been exemplary."
"Right away, Your Grace," Hawkins replied before leaving Charles to the rest of his papers. A smile appeared on his face.
After his disastrous first engagement, his business had taken a hit. The gossip columns had been filled with speculation bordering on insults, and for a while, he feared that he would entirely tarnish his father's legacy. He was more than a little surprised that his marriage to Abigail seemed to turn things around so much.
Naturally, his thoughts drifted to his wife and he sighed — though a smile settled on his lips.
Despite his mother's doubts, Abigail's presence in his life had proven to be quite the asset — and it was far more than his business that benefited from her.
"Your Grace," Hawkins interrupted his thoughts again and Charles looked up, shaking his head.
"What is it, Hawkins? Is that report from the coal mines in Yorkshire back?"
"No, Your Grace," Hawkins said hesitantly, glancing down at the book in his arms. "But it would seem that you and the duchess have an event to attend tonight."
Charles could not suppress the groan that left his lips. "The Pembertons' garden party," he muttered and Hawkins nodded.
"Indeed, Your Grace. Your presence will most certainly be noticed — and if I may be bold enough to admit as much, the columns are quite eager to see more of the duchess."
"They are?" Charles asked, unable to keep the surprise out of his voice and Hawkins nodded eagerly.
"I am not much of a reader of those columns, Your Grace," he explained quickly, "But my wife is — and of course she mentions it to me when your name is mentioned, or that of the duchess."
"I see," Charles said simply, then he rose to his feet. "Very well, then. I'll take my leave."
He gestured to the pile of finished documents on one side of his desk.
"I will be in early tomorrow to attend to the rest of the documents. Please see that those ones are filed appropriately."
"Yes, Your Grace," Hawkins said and Charles flashed him a smile before gathering his things.
As he climbed into the carriage, his thoughts inadvertently drifted towards Abigail again and he could not help but smile. Over the last few days, she'd started seeming more like herself again — and to say that he was relieved about his mother's influence not being permanent was an understatement.
Abigail was seated in the drawing room when he arrived at the manor, a pensive look on her face, and Charles grinned at her.
"You look deep in thought."
She flashed him a silent smile — one a tad less enthusiastic than he was used to. "I suppose I lost track of time," she said softly, and Charles looked at her, concerned.
"You… do you still want to go to the Pembrokes' Garden Party?"
Abigail's eyes widened slightly at this and she pressed her hand to her lips.
"I forgot all about that," she exclaimed, her eyes wide. "I will go and get ready right now!"
She darted off without another word and Charles frowned as he walked to his own bedchamber. Something was off — although he could not quite put his finger on what it was that bothered him.
Abigail joined him in the foyer shortly afterwards and he felt his lips curling into a smile when he saw her. She looked every bit the duchess in her pale blue silk gown, her hair tied up in curls that framed her face.
"You look lovely, Abigail," he said softly and a faint blush colored her cheeks.
"Thank you," she replied softly, her voice oddly subdued. Charles frowned lightly at the lack of her usual vivacity. "Shall we?"
He offered his arm, which she took with a small smile — one that did not quite reach her eyes. As they settled into the carriage, Charles studied his wife's profile.
"Abigail," he asked hesitantly, "Is everything alright? You… you seem quiet this evening."
Abigail turned her head towards him, her expression carefully neutral. "I am fine," she assured him softly. "I am merely tired, I suppose. How was your day at work?"
Charles hesitated. Work was not something they discussed often. Still, he decided not to press the issue.
"It was productive," he said after a short silence. "We made some good progress on the expansion of our shipping routes. If… if you're interested, I could show you some of the maps sometime?"
"That would be nice," Abigail said, her voice cool. The rest of the short journey passed in relative silence — leaving Charles increasingly perplexed by his wife's demeanor.
Perhaps, he thought, as they arrived at the Pemberton estate, the gathering was just what she needed.
The party was already in full swing as they made their entrance and Charles took stock of it all almost automatically. Colorful lanterns hung from the trees, casting a warm glow over the elegant guests. A string quartet played softly in the background — the Pembertons clearly having spared no expense.
Of course, Lady Pemberton saw them almost instantly and she rushed towards them in eager fashion.
"Your Grace," she greeted Charles before turning to face Abigail. "And Your Grace. It is delightful to see you both — thank you for attending. Please do help yourselves to refreshments and enjoy the evening."
With that she fluttered away and Charles leaned a bit closer to Abigail.
"Our first event as a married pair," he said with a teasing grin. "The Pembertons' social calendar just exploded."
Abigail's head snapped towards him and she frowned. "What are you talking about?"
"According to my secretary," he continued, his voice a low whisper, "we are the talk of the ton, my wife. Everyone wants to know where we are, what you are wearing and if we are happy."
A frown appeared between Abigail's brows at this. "But why?"
Charles laughed softly. "We are the Duke and Duchess of Grouton, my dear wife. Like it or not, people are interested."
Abigail merely pouted silently before allowing Charles to lead her towards a less crowded area of the garden, where he procured two glasses of champagne from a passing footman. He handed one to his wife with a smile.
"Perhaps we could take a turn about the grounds?" he suggested. "The Pembertons are known for their rose garden."
Abigail nodded silently, falling into step beside him as they strolled along the winding paths.
"Look there," Charles said as he gestured towards a marble statue nestled among a bed of flowers. "I believe that is Aphrodite. The Greek goddess of love and beauty. The Pembertons have quite the collection of classical sculptures."
Abigail glanced at the statue, her gaze lingering for only a moment before returning to the path ahead. "It is lovely," she murmured.
Charles frowned slightly at her lackluster response, and he turned towards a nearby flowerbed. "Those roses are a new variety that Lady Pemberton has been cultivating. I believe they put my roses to shame."
"Mmmm," Abigail hummed noncommittally, her eyes distant. Charles remained undeterred. "We could add some to our own gardens, don't you think? Perhaps Lady Pemberton would be so kind as to share them. They'd make quite a lovely addition to the summerhouse once we fix it."
Abigail blinked and nodded. "Oh, yes. I suppose that would be nice," she said, offering him a small smile — though it still did not reach her eyes.
Charles studied her profile, concern etching lines on his forehead. What on earth was going on with his wife? For a second he considered inquiring directly about her mood, but then they turned a corner and stopped in front of a magnificent fountain.
"Ah, here we are," he said, forcing cheerfulness into his tone. "This fountain is quite famous, you know. It is said to have been designed by an Italian master."
"Hmmm," Abigail murmured and Charles came to a halt, turning to face her.
"It is said that it used to house the largest octopus in the land," he continued, keeping his voice nonchalant. "And the offspring of some terrible monsters."
Abigail nodded, her gaze fixed on the sparkling water. "It is very impressive," she said softly, her voice barely audible over the splash of the fountain.
Charles sighed and opened his mouth to respond when a familiar voice cut through the evening air, halting his efforts.
"Charles! Is that you, darling?"
His heart sank when he recognized the speaker even before he turned to face her. Lady Constance Taylor approached, her raven curls bouncing with each step and her eyes alight with mischief.
"Lady Constance," Charles greeted her coolly. "Good evening."
Constance, however, ignored his tone and she placed a hand on his arm as she leaned in. "It has been far too long, my dear. I have missed you so much!"
Charles gently removed Constance's hand from his arm and gestured to Abigail. "Lady Constance. Allow me to introduce you to my wife? The Duchess of Grouton."
Constance lifted a brow and her smile stiffened as she took in Abigail's presence. "Ah, yes, of course," she said, her tone impassive. "How lovely to meet you, Your Grace."
Abigail inclined her head slightly, her expression unreadable. "Likewise, Lady Constance."
"You are quite the lucky woman," Constance insisted, her gaze flitting to Charles before landing on Abigail once more. "You have managed to catch one of the finest lords in the land."
"Indeed," Abigail said and Charles shook his head.
"I will venture far enough to say that Abigail is quite a lovely addition to my family," he said simply and Constance let out a soft laugh, not unlike a purr.
"Oh, Charles," she said, reaching out to lay a hand on his arm. "You underestimate yourself. I know of many women who wished above all else to become the Duchess of Grouton."
An awkward silence fell over the trio and Charles cleared his throat. "If you will excuse us, Lady Constance. The duchess and I were just admiring the gardens."
Without waiting for her response, he guided Abigail away — his hand resting lightly on the small of her back. Once they were out of earshot he turned to her, concern etched on his features.
"It is a beautiful evening, isn't it?" Abigail said before he could start speaking. "Lady Pemberton has really outdone herself."
Charles flashed her a hesitant smile. "Yes, it is lovely," he agreed. "Abigail, I must ask… are you alright?"
"I…" she looked at him and tilted her head. "I actually have quite a bit of a headache," she said at last, her voice soft. "Would you mind terribly if we went home?"
Charles shook his head at once, his heart drumming with worry. "Not at all," he assured her and offered her his arm. "Let's get you home at once."