Chapter 34

CHAPTER 34

C harles heaved a weary sigh as the carriage rolled to a stop in front of Grouton Manor. The emergency at the factory had been more complex than anticipated, requiring his full attention for the better part of the day. As he stepped down from the carriage, he felt the tension in his shoulders begin to ease. He was home.

The thought brought a small smile to his lips. Home. It was strange how quickly he'd come to associate that word with Abigail's presence.

"Welcome back, Your Grace," Thompson greeted him at the door. "The duchess is in the library."

Charles nodded his thanks, his feet already carrying him in that direction. He paused in the doorway, taking a moment to observe Abigail unnoticed. She was curled up in her favorite armchair, a book open on her lap, but her gaze was distant, unfocused. She looked troubled, and Charles felt a twinge of concern.

"Abigail?" he called softly, not wanting to startle her.

She looked up, her face brightening as she saw him. "Charles! You're back."

"Indeed I am ," he replied, moving into the room. "I hope you weren't too bored without me."

A strange expression flitted across Abigail's face, there and gone so quickly Charles was not sure he'd seen it at all. "Oh, no," she said, her voice light. "I had a visitor earlier. A friend came to call."

For some reason, she refrained from telling him who exactly it was and Charles, supposing it was Harriet, smiled as he settled into the chair opposite her. "How lovely. I trust you had a pleasant visit?"

Again, that odd look passed over Abigail's features. "It was... interesting," she said carefully. "But never mind that. How was your day? Thompson mentioned there was an emergency at the factory?"

Charles shook his head and sighed. "It was a mechanical failure," he explained, gesturing to his disheveled appearance. "I had no choice but to jump in and help to fix it if we didn't want to halt production for the rest of the day. I am afraid I spent my entire day between parts of metal and oil–and I must admit, I prefer the paperwork."

Abigail leaned forward and laughed softly. "I do not know," she teased. "It sounds quite exciting. Were you at least able to resolve the issue?"

Charles chuckled. "Exciting is not quite the word I would use, but we managed to resolve it — and I suppose it was satisfying to fix the issue." He paused, a mischievous glint in his eye. "But enough about my dull day. I have something far more interesting to share with you."

Abigail tilted her head, curiosity plain on her face. "Oh? What might that be?"

With a flourish, Charles produced a stack of newspapers from behind his back. "The latest society columns," he announced. "And, my dearest wife, you are the talk of the ton."

Abigail's eyes widened. "Me? But why? What did I do?"

Charles grinned, unfolding one of the papers. "Shall I read you some excerpts? I think you'll find them most illuminating."

At Abigail's hesitant nod, he cleared his throat and began to read.

" The belle of the Fairfax ball was undoubtedly the new Duchess of Grouton. Her Grace cut a striking figure in emerald silk, her grace and poise capturing the attention of all in attendance ."

He glanced up to see Abigail's cheeks flushing a delicate pink. Encouraged, he continued.

" Her Grace's charm and wit were on full display as she conversed with ease among the cream of society. It is clear that the duke has found a most worthy partner in his new bride. "

"Charles," Abigail protested weakly, her face now a brilliant red. "Surely you are jesting. They can't have written that."

"They most certainly did," Charles insisted, his voice warm with pride. "But I must admit that I am disappointed in them. They are understating your loveliness." He turned to another paper, his eyes scanning the page. "Ah, here's another."

"The Duchess of Grouton was the envy of all ladies present, her natural beauty outshining even the most elaborate gowns and jewels."

Abigail ducked her head, a shy smile playing about her lips. "Perhaps they were simply impressed by my handsome husband," she murmured.

Charles felt a warmth bloom in his chest at her words. "Nonsense," he said softly. "You outshone everyone in that room, Abigail. You were breathtaking."

Their eyes met, and for a moment, the air between them seemed to crackle with unspoken emotion. Charles found himself leaning forward, drawn in by the warmth in Abigail's gaze.

The moment was broken by a discreet cough from the doorway. They both startled, turning to see Thompson standing there, a tray in his hands.

"Forgive the interruption, Your Graces," the butler said. "I've brought some refreshments. Would you care for some tea?"

"Yes, thank you, Thompson," Charles said, his voice slightly gruff. As the butler set down the tray and quietly withdrew, Charles turned back to Abigail, searching for a way to recapture the easy intimacy of the moment before.

His eyes fell on a deck of cards sitting on a nearby table. "I do not suppose you'd care for a game?" he asked, gesturing towards the cards.

Abigail's face lit up. "I would love to," she said eagerly. "What shall we play?"

"How about a hand of Whist?" Charles suggested, moving to clear space on the table between them.

As he dealt the cards, Charles found himself studying Abigail's face. The warm glow of the library lamps casting a soft light on her features — highlighting the delicate curve of her cheek, the slight furrow of concentration between her brows as she arranged her hand.

"Your lead," he said, his voice softer than he'd intended.

Abigail glanced up, a small smile playing about her lips as she laid down her first card. They played in companionable silence for a few moments, the only sounds being the soft rustle of cards and the occasional clink of teacups.

"I must admit," Abigail said as she considered her next move, "I never expected to enjoy being a duchess quite so much."

Charles raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And what's changed your mind?"

Abigail shrugged, a becoming blush staining her cheeks. "I am not entirely sure," she admitted. "At first, it all seemed so overwhelming. The rules, the expectations... but now, I find I rather enjoy it. The balls, the conversations, even the challenge of navigating society's intricacies."

"You are a natural," Charles said warmly. "I've never seen anyone take to it quite so effortlessly."

Abigail ducked her head, but not before Charles caught the pleased smile that flitted across her face. "You're too kind," she murmured.

"Not at all," Charles insisted. "I am merely stating facts. The ton adores you, Abigail. And with good reason."

Their eyes met over the cards, and Charles felt his breath catch in his throat. There was something in Abigail's gaze, a warmth and openness that made his heart race.

"Your turn," Abigail said softly, breaking the spell.

Charles cleared his throat, forcing his attention back to the game. As they played, he found his gaze continually drawn to Abigail's face, to the way her brow furrowed in concentration, the triumphant gleam in her eye when she made a particularly clever play.

"Ha!" she exclaimed, laying down her final card with a flourish. "I believe that's the game, Your Grace."

Charles chuckled, shaking his head in mock dismay. "Well played, my dear. I fear I was thoroughly trounced."

Abigail's laughter, bright and joyous, filled the room. "Perhaps you were simply distracted," she teased. "You seemed rather preoccupied during our game."

Charles felt a flush creep up his neck. Had he been so obvious in his admiration? "Perhaps I was," he admitted, his voice low. "You make for a rather captivating opponent, Abigail."

The air between them seemed to thicken, charged with an energy that made Charles's skin tingle. Abigail's eyes widened slightly, her lips parting as if to speak.

Before she could, the clock on the mantel chimed, startling them both. Charles glanced at the time, surprised to see how late it had grown.

"Goodness," Abigail said, rising to her feet. "I had no idea it was so late. I should retire…"

"Of course," Charles said, standing as well. "Allow me to escort you to your chambers."

They walked in companionable silence, their arms brushing occasionally in a way that sent sparks racing along Charles's skin. At the door to Abigail's bedchamber, they paused, facing each other.

"Thank you for a lovely evening," Abigail said softly. "I enjoyed our game."

"As did I," Charles replied, his voice equally soft. "Perhaps we could make it a regular occurrence?"

Abigail's face lit up. "I would like that very much."

For a moment, they stood there, neither quite willing to say goodnight. Charles found himself captivated by the way the candlelight played across Abigail's features, highlighting the warm brown of her eyes and the soft curve of her lips.

"Well," Abigail said at last, a hint of reluctance in her voice. "Goodnight, Charles."

"Goodnight, Abigail," he replied softly. "Sleep well."

As he watched her disappear into her room, Charles felt a warmth spreading through his chest, a sensation he could not quite name but that filled him with a sense of contentment and possibility.

He made his way to his own chambers, his mind replaying the events of the evening. Abigail's laughter, the sparkle in her eyes as she bested him at cards, the way she'd blushed at his compliments. Each memory brought a smile to his face.

As he prepared for bed, Charles found himself looking forward to the morning, to seeing Abigail at breakfast, to sharing more moments like the ones they'd shared tonight. It was a novel feeling, this anticipation, this... happiness.

As he drifted off to sleep, Charles's last thoughts were of Abigail's smile, of the warmth in her eyes when she looked at him. Whatever the future held, he knew one thing for certain. His life was infinitely better with Abigail in it.