Chapter 38
CHAPTER 38
U naware of the crowd that had gathered around them, Abigail's heart pounded wildly in her chest as she struggled against Frederic's iron grip. His arms were like steel bands around her waist, holding her firmly against his body despite her frantic attempts to break free.
"Let me go!" she hissed, her voice low and desperate. "Please! Let go of me, I don't understand… How…"
Frederic's laugh was low and cruel in her ear. "Oh, stop playing, Your Grace! Do not pretend that there isn't something between us, something special…"
Panic clawed at Abigail's throat as she realized the hopelessness of her situation. She was alone in the woods with a man who clearly meant her harm, and no one knew where she was. Tears of frustration and fear pricked at her eyes.
Suddenly, the sound of rustling leaves caught her attention. Abigail's head snapped up, hope blooming in her chest as she saw Charles emerge from the tree line, his face a mask of shock and confusion.
"Charles!" she cried, relief washing over her.
At the sight of the Duke, Frederic's demeanor changed instantly. His grip on Abigail loosened, and he stepped back, a look of feigned surprise on his face.
"Your Grace!" he exclaimed, his voice dripping with false contrition. "I... I can explain! We never meant to hurt you…"
Abigail stumbled forward, her legs shaky as she put distance between herself and Frederic. She turned to Charles, her eyes pleading, but the words died in her throat as she saw Beatrice step out from behind him, a triumphant smirk playing about her lips.
"You see, Your Grace?" Beatrice said, her voice sickly sweet. "This is what I saw. I knew I had to find you immediately. How awful… I always knew she was not fit to be a duchess. What a shameless harpy."
Abigail felt her world tilt on its axis. She knew how this must look to Charles. Here she was, in another man's arms, hidden away in a secluded clearing. Her heart ached as she saw the pain and betrayal etched across his features.
"Charles," she whispered, taking a step towards him. "Please, it's not what you think. I can explain…"
But even as the words left her lips, Abigail knew it was hopeless. How could Charles possibly believe her? The evidence of his own eyes was damning enough, and with Beatrice's testimony… After what Grace had done to him, she knew how hesitant he was to trust again, and now it would seem to him that she too had broken his trust entirely.
She braced herself for the accusations, the anger, the hurt that was sure to come. But nothing could have prepared her for what happened next.
"Yes. You are right," Charles said, his voice calm and steady as he turned to Beatrice.
Abigail felt as though the ground had fallen away beneath her feet. She stared at Charles, unable to comprehend what was happening.
Charles continued, his eyes never leaving Beatrice's face. "Abigail is clearly not fit to be a duchess."
For a moment, Abigail couldn't breathe. She felt as though she'd been struck, the pain of Charles's words more devastating than any physical blow. This couldn't be happening. It could not be real.
But Charles was not finished. "Perhaps it is indeed you, Beatrice," he said, his voice taking on a tender quality that made Abigail's stomach churn, "you are clearly the one for me."
Beatrice's face lit up with unbridled joy. "Oh, Charles!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands together in delight. "At last you have realized! After everything I did to make you see…"
"Everything you did?" Charles asked, his tone curious. "Tell me, my darling. What exactly did you do? I want to thank you properly for opening my eyes."
Beatrice preened under his attention, her words tumbling out in an excited rush. "Oh, it was nothing, really. I just made sure to spread some rumors, you know. Made you out to be the worst sort of rake. I wanted to be sure Abigail had the worst possible impression of you. And of course she believed it. I never would have."
She giggled, the sound grating on Abigail's nerves. "And of course, I had to make sure she saw you in a compromising position. That fellow over there?" She gestured towards Frederic. "Just an actor I paid to play the part of a baron. It was all too easy, really. But your eyes are open now."
As Beatrice spoke, Abigail watched Charles's expression change. The tender look vanished, replaced by a cold fury that sent a shiver down her spine.
"I see," Charles said, his voice like ice. "That was all I needed to hear."
Before anyone could react, Charles strode past Beatrice, his fist connecting solidly with Frederic's jaw. The man went down hard, landing unceremoniously on his rear with a yelp of pain and surprise.
In the next instant, Charles was at Abigail's side, his hand grasping hers firmly. "Come," he said, his voice gentle but brooking no argument. "We are leaving."
As they turned to go, Abigail became aware of a commotion at the edge of the clearing. The small crowd that had been following them earlier had emerged from their hiding spots, their faces masked with shock and disgust.
Whispers broke out among the onlookers, their eyes fixed on Beatrice. Abigail could see the moment realization dawned on the other woman's face. In the span of a few minutes, she had gone from triumphant to utterly ruined.
But Beatrice seemed beyond caring about her reputation. She lunged forward, grasping at Charles's sleeve. "No!" she cried, her voice shrill with desperation. "Charles! You cannot leave me! We are meant to be together!"
Charles turned, his eyes flashing with a cold fury that made Beatrice shrink back. "You belong in Bedlam," he spat, his voice low and dangerous. "If you ever come near my wife or me again, I will make sure you end up there. For now, being shunned by society will have to suffice."
With that, he turned on his heel, pulling Abigail along with him. As they pushed through the crowd, Abigail could hear Beatrice's anguished wails behind them, but she didn't dare look back.
They walked in silence, Charles's grip on her hand never wavering. Abigail's mind was reeling, trying to process everything that had just happened. Relief warred with lingering fear and confusion, and a thousand questions burned on the tip of her tongue.
It was not until they reached the edge of the park that Charles finally slowed his pace. He turned to face her, his expression softening as he took in her disheveled appearance and tear-stained cheeks.
"Abigail," he said softly, reaching up to cup her face in his hands. "Are you alright? Did he hurt you?"
She shook her head, unable to speak past the lump in her throat. Charles pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her in a protective embrace. Abigail melted into him, her fingers clutching at his coat as she finally allowed herself to break down.
"Shh," Charles murmured, stroking her hair gently. "It is alright. You are safe now. I've got you."
As her sobs subsided, Abigail pulled back slightly, looking up at Charles with red-rimmed eyes. "How... how did you know?" she asked, her voice hoarse. "I thought... I thought you believed her."
A wry smile tugged at Charles's lips. "For a moment, I almost did. My foolish heart… feared it," he admitted. "But then I remembered something my father once told me — ‘trust, but verify.' I knew that if I were going to lose you… I had to be certain and then I realized it all seemed so convenient. I knew Beatrice would give up her own foolish game."
He sighed, shaking his head ruefully. "I should have known something was amiss from the start. The letter I received this morning, supposedly from my mother... it was a forgery. Beatrice must have sent it to ensure I would be in the park at the right time."
Abigail's eyes widened as the pieces began to fall into place. "She planned all of this," she whispered. "From the very beginning… our friendship was nothing but a lie."
Charles nodded, his expression grim. "It seems she has been plotting for quite some time. But why? What could she possibly hope to gain?"
"She wanted you," Abigail reminded him softly. "You heard her. She thought... she thought if she could discredit me, make you believe I was unfaithful…"
"Then I would turn to her instead," Charles finished, his voice tinged with disgust. "As if I could ever want anyone but you, Abigail."
The words hung in the air between them, heavy with meaning. Abigail felt her breath catch in her throat as she met Charles's gaze, seeing the depth of emotion there.
"Charles," she whispered, her heart pounding. "Do you mean that?"
He smiled then, a warm, genuine smile that made Abigail's knees go weak. "With all my heart," he said softly. "I love you, Abigail. I think I have from the very beginning, though it took me far too long to realize it."
Tears sprang to Abigail's eyes once more, but this time they were tears of joy. "Oh, Charles," she breathed. "I love you too. So very much."
For a moment, they simply stood there, lost in each other's eyes. Then, slowly, Charles leaned in, his lips meeting hers in a kiss that was tender and passionate all at once. Abigail melted into him, her arms winding around his neck as she returned the kiss with equal fervor.
When they finally broke apart, both breathless and flushed, Charles rested his forehead against Abigail's. "Let us go home," he murmured. "We have much to discuss, I think."
Abigail nodded, a smile playing about her lips. "Yes," she agreed. "Home sounds perfect."
As they made their way to the waiting carriage, Abigail couldn't help but marvel at the turn of events. What had started as a nightmare had somehow transformed into a dream come true. She knew there would be challenges ahead — the scandal of Beatrice's actions would no doubt cause ripples throughout society — but with Charles by her side, she felt ready to face anything.
The carriage pulled away from the curb, carrying them towards Grouton Manor and the promise of a future filled with love and happiness. As London fell away behind them, Abigail leaned her head on Charles's shoulder, feeling truly at peace for the first time since their marriage began.
Abigail closed her eyes, a small smile playing about her lips. Whatever the future held, she knew that she and Charles would face it together.