Chapter 33

CHAPTER 33

W hen Abigail woke, her heart skipped a beat the second she thought back to the previous night. For the first time, Charles had been somewhat vulnerable and open with her. A serene smile settled around her lips as she made her way to the dining room for breakfast. There was no denying that she looked forward to seeing him, but the bright smile that she wore disappeared when she entered the dining room to see a place setting for one only.

"Morning Your Grace," Thompson's by-now familiar voice greeted her. "His Grace told me to apologize for his absence, but he had urgent business to attend to."

"I see," Abigail said softly, trying her best not to look as disappointed as she felt. "Thank you, Thompson."

The breakfast turned to ash in her mouth and she scraped at her plate with a pout. It was silly really, she knew that much.

With a sigh, she stood and made her way to the drawing room. Perhaps, she figured, a good book would take her mind off the fact that she so longed to see her husband.

She had barely started reading when a soft knock at the door interrupted her novel. "Your Grace," Thompson announced, "Lady Beatrice has arrived to call on you."

Abigail looked up from her book, surprised by the unexpected visitor. "Lady Beatrice? Oh, please show her in, Thompson."

It was odd enough, Abigail mused silently, to receive an unexpected visit from the other woman once. Twice made it somewhat of a habit, and there was no denying that it was a strange one. Still, she set aside her novel and smoothed her skirts, rising to greet her friend as Beatrice swept into the room in a flurry of silk and lace.

"Abigail, darling!" Beatrice exclaimed, embracing her warmly. "I do hope I am not intruding, but I simply had to see you. I have the most wonderful news!"

Abigail smiled. Though she was a bit forlorn with her husband's absence and quite surprised to see Beatrice, the other woman's enthusiasm was quite contagious. "Not at all, I am delighted you've come. Please, sit down and tell me everything."

As they settled onto the sofa, Beatrice's eyes sparkled with barely contained excitement. "Well, you see," she began, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "I've met someone. A gentleman. And, oh Abigail, he's simply marvelous!"

She let out a laugh and shook her head. "Who would have thought that I would meet someone so suddenly? So soon into the season too."

"Really?" Abigail leaned forward, intrigued. "Do tell me more. Who is this mysterious gentleman who's captured your heart?"

Beatrice's cheeks flushed a becoming shade of pink as she continued.

"His name is Frederic. And I must admit, we met quite by accident — and it is rather unorthodox, I must admit. It was not even in the course of the season. We met… well, at the market of all places — both reaching for the same quite lovely piece of silk. Of course he let me have it. He is quite charming."

"Oh, Beatrice, that's wonderful!" Abigail exclaimed, genuinely happy for her friend. "What's he like? Is he handsome?"

"Devastatingly so," Beatrice sighed dreamily. "He is tall, broad-shouldered… and I think every woman in the market looked at me with jealousy when he chose to give me his attention. He is quite impressive…" she trailed off and sighed dreamily.

Abigail felt a warmth bloom in her chest at Beatrice's words. There was something so pure, so joyful about her friend's infatuation. "I am so happy for you, Beatrice. Truly. You deserve someone who makes you feel that way."

Beatrice beamed, squeezing Abigail's hand. "Thank you, darling. I can hardly believe it myself still. It is quite unexpected. But enough about me," she said, her tone shifting. "How are you? How's married life treating you? I hope Frederic and I will marry soon, and I am quite nervous about the idea."

Abigail felt her smile falter slightly at the question. How could she possibly explain the tumultuous emotions swirling within her? The growing warmth she felt towards Charles, the way her heart seemed to skip a beat whenever he smiled at her... and the fear that accompanied these newfound feelings.

"It's... it is going well," she said hesitantly. "Charles has been very kind."

Beatrice raised an eyebrow, clearly sensing there was more to the story. "Just kind? Come now, Abigail. We're friends. You can tell me anything."

Abigail bit her lip, torn between the desire to confide in her friend and the fear of giving voice to her conflicted emotions. Finally, unable to contain it any longer, the words tumbled out in a rush.

"Oh, Beatrice," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. "I know the start of our marriage was quite unconventional and… I know I shouldn't admit this, or even entertain the idea, but… I think... I think I might be falling in love with him."

Beatrice's eyes widened in surprise. "In love? With Charles? But I thought... Are you certain?"

Abigail nodded miserably. "I am. And what makes it worse… oh, I was so silly." She closed her eyes and shook her head, her lower lip trembling.

"We promised each other we wouldn't fall in love. But now... oh, Beatrice, I do not know what to do. He's been so wonderful, so patient and understanding. Last night, at the Fairfax ball, we danced and it felt like... like magic. And then in the carriage, he opened up to me about his past, about his broken engagement. I've never seen him so vulnerable."

She looked up at her friend, her eyes pleading for understanding. "I know it is foolish. I know I shouldn't let myself feel this way. But I can't seem to help it."

To Abigail's surprise, Beatrice's expression darkened, a flash of something almost like anger crossing her face. "Oh, Abigail," she said, her voice sharp with disapproval. "How can you be so naive?"

Abigail recoiled slightly, taken aback by her friend's tone. This was quite a change from the Beatrice she had come to know. "What do you mean?"

Beatrice shook her head, her lips pursing into a thin line. "Have you forgotten everything I told you about him? His reputation, his indiscretions? Men like Charles do not change, Abigail. They just get better at hiding their true nature. He will hurt you. I know…" Beatrice sighed deeply and shook her head. "I know you are married already, but you can still guard your heart. You ought to."

"No, Beatrice, you do not understand," Abigail protested. "Those things... they were all misunderstandings. Charles explained everything to me. About his past engagement, about the women at the market... it was not what we thought at all."

Beatrice let out a harsh laugh. "And you believed him? Oh, my dear, sweet Abigail. How gullible can you be?"

Abigail felt as though she'd been slapped. "Gullible?" she repeated, her voice small and hurt. "Beatrice, how can you say such things? I thought you were my friend."

"I am your friend," Beatrice insisted, her voice softening slightly though there was still a sharp edge to it. "That's why I am trying to protect you. Can't you see? He's manipulating you, Abigail. Making you fall for him so he can use you, just like he's used countless other women."

Abigail shook her head vehemently. "No, you're wrong. Charles is not like that. If you could see how he is with me, how gentle and kind…"

"Wake up, Abigail!" Beatrice snapped, rising to her feet. "You're living in a fantasy. Charles Rowling is a rake and a scoundrel, and he'll break your heart if you let him. I thought you were smarter than this."

With that, she turned on her heel and stormed out of the room, leaving Abigail stunned and shaken in her wake.

For a long moment, Abigail sat frozen, Beatrice's words echoing in her mind. She tried to shake them off, to return to her book, but found herself unable to focus on the words on the page. Her thoughts kept drifting back to Beatrice's anger, her cruel reminders of Charles's past.

Was it possible? Could she truly be so blind, so gullible? The seed of doubt, once planted, began to grow, feeding on her insecurities and fears.

Unable to bear the silent torment of her thoughts any longer, Abigail rang for Thompson. The butler appeared promptly, his face a mask of polite inquiry.

"Yes, Your Grace? How may I be of assistance?"

Abigail hesitated, unsure how to phrase her question without arousing suspicion. "Thompson," she began carefully, "I was wondering... do you happen to know where His Grace went this morning? You mentioned urgent business, but…"

Thompson's brow furrowed slightly. "I believe there was an emergency at one of the factories, Your Grace. His Grace left quite early to address the situation personally."

"I see," Abigail murmured, her heart sinking. "And... and do you know when he might return?"

"I am afraid I could not say for certain, Your Grace," Thompson replied. "But given the nature of the emergency, I would imagine it may be quite late. Is there anything you need in His Grace's absence?"

Abigail shook her head, forcing a smile. "No, thank you, Thompson. That will be all."

As the butler bowed and took his leave, Abigail felt a wave of guilt wash over her. How could she have doubted Charles, even for a moment? He was exactly where he said he'd be, dealing with a genuine emergency.

And yet... a small, nagging voice in the back of her mind wouldn't be silenced. What if this was just the beginning? What if Beatrice was right, and she was setting herself up for heartbreak?

Abigail sank back onto the sofa, her teeth worrying at her lower lip. She was falling for Charles, there was no denying it now. But the thought terrified her. It was not just the promise they'd made to each other, though that weighed heavily on her conscience. It was the vulnerability of it all, the risk of opening her heart only to have it shattered.

As the afternoon sun slanted through the windows, casting long shadows across the room, Abigail remained lost in thought. She knew she should feel relieved and reassured by Thompson's confirmation of Charles's whereabouts. Instead, she felt more confused than ever, caught between her growing feelings for her husband and the fear of what those feelings might mean.

With a heavy sigh, she picked up her discarded book, hoping to lose herself in its pages and escape the tumult of her own heart. But even as her eyes scanned the words, her mind kept drifting back to Charles — his laugh, his smile, the warmth of his hand in hers.

She was falling in love with her husband, and she had no idea what to do about it.