Chapter 24

Though the picnic had been a great one, it only served to make Harriet more insistent to avoid her husband. Which was why, two days later, Harriet sat in the sun-drenched drawing-room, her embroidery hoop lying forgotten in her lap as Abigail chattered away about the latest society gossip. Despite her best efforts to concentrate on the intricate stitching, Harriet"s mind kept drifting to Hugh and the ever-present tension that thrummed between them.

"Harriet? Are you listening?" Abigail's voice broke through her reverie.

"What? Oh, yes, of course," Harriet stammered, heat rising in her cheeks. "You were saying something about Lady Ashton"s scandalous new hat?"

Before Harriet could respond, a knock sounded at the door and a footman entered, bearing a silver tray with a single cream-colored envelope. "A message for Her Grace," he intoned.

Harriet took the envelope, her curiosity piqued. The heavy parchment was embossed with the Wentworth family crest, the wax seal unbroken. With careful fingers, she slid open the flap and extracted the invitation.

"The Duke and Duchess of Wentworth request the pleasure of your company at a grand masquerade ball," she read aloud, her heart giving a little leap of excitement.

Abigail clapped her hands, bouncing in her seat. "Oh, how thrilling! You and Hugh must go, Harriet. You simply must! How I wish I could..."

Abigail pouted slightly. Her debut would only take place during the next season, but it was evident that she envied Harriet for being able to attend the ball.

Harriet hesitated, torn between the allure of a glittering social event and the knowledge that attending would mean spending an entire evening in close proximity to Hugh.

"I don"t know, Abigail," she hedged. "You know your brother. I am not quite sure he'd enjoy this... it's not really our custom to go."

"But it would be so much fun," Abigail cajoled. "It would be the first ball you attended as husband and wife, you must go! Please tell me you will ask Hugh to go, please!"

The temptation was overwhelming. Harriet had been cooped up in the manor for weeks, with only household duties and awkward encounters with Hugh to occupy her time. The thought of donning a beautiful gown, of dancing and laughing and forgetting her troubles for one night...it was too enticing to resist.

"Very well," she relented, a grin spreading across her face. "I shall speak to Hugh about attending the ball."

Abigail let out a squeal of delight, throwing her arms around Harriet in an exuberant hug. "Yes!" she exclaimed and laughed. "Oh, everyone will see you together and be so jealous - you do look lovely with one another, and you simply must get a new dress, and..."

Harriet hugged her back, feeling a rush of affection for the vivacious young girl. "Careful - you know that I must convince Hugh first," she reminded gently.

Abigail"s smile turned sly. "Leave that to me. Oh, let us go now."

Abigail wasted no time - grabbing Harriet's hand and dragging her to Hugh's study, where he sat poring over estate ledgers. Abigail burst in without knocking, Harriet trailing behind her.

"Hugh, we must speak to you," Abigail announced, her chin lifted in determination.

Hugh glanced up, his brow furrowed. "What"s this about?"

Abigail thrust the ball invitation at him. "The Duke and Duchess of Wentworth are holding a ball, and I think you and Harriet must attend. If you were to take me along," she tried mischievously.

Hugh's gaze flicked to Harriet, a question in his eyes. Though a flush rose to her cheeks, she met his stare evenly. "It would be good to get out... it might be enjoyable," she said, her voice small. It gained strength when she looked at Abigail, however. "Unfortunately, dear Abigail, you can only attend after your debut - as you very well know."

Hugh was silent for a long moment, his expression inscrutable. Then, to Harriet"s surprise, he nodded slowly. "Very well. If it means that much to ye both, we shall attend the ball. But I agree with Harriet, Abigail. Ye can only attend after yer debut."

Abigail pouted at this, though the unhappiness soon made way for a bright grin. "As long as the two of you go. Oh and you must tell me everything when you return."

Hugh's lips twitched in amusement and he nodded at his wife. "But I do think you will need a new dress for this," he said gently and Abigail grinned brightly.

"Oh, yes," Abigail agreed at once. "Harriet and I can go into the city tomorrow to visit Madame Delacroix. She is the most celebrated dressmaker in all of London - and I know she will create something that will be the envy of all the ton!"

Harriet glanced at Hugh hesitantly. She was not quite certain that she felt entirely comfortable about spending so much of his money on a dress. Hugh, however, flashed her a grin.

"Go," he insisted. "I will arrange for the payment - tell Madame Delacroix to craft this dress as soon as possible. I'll have the carriage readied for you in the morning."

The next day dawned bright and clear, the perfect weather for a trip into the city. Harriet felt a thrill of excitement as she and Abigail settled into the plush velvet seats of the carriage, the horses' hooves clattering over the cobblestones as they made their way towards London's fashionable shopping district.

Madame Delacroix's shop was a vision of elegance, with gleaming mirrors and richly upholstered chaises scattered throughout the airy space. The renowned dressmaker herself greeted them with effusive warmth, her keen eye already assessing their figures and coloring.

"Ah, I have just the thing for you, Your Grace," she trilled, guiding Harriet towards a display of shimmering silks and delicate lace. "A daring shade of crimson, I think, to complement your striking features."

Harriet ran her fingers over the sumptuous fabric, marveling at the way it seemed to come alive beneath her touch. "It's beautiful," she breathed.

Madame Delacroix smiled. "And I suppose you want it at once?"

Harriet glanced at Abigail before looking at the woman. She was not quite yet used to the treatment of a duchess, and she hesitated.

"If... if at all possible, Madame," she managed to get out at last. "My husband will arrange for the payment..."

Madame Delacroix flashed her a smile. "Please, Your Grace. Do not fret. His Grace sent word of the payment early this morning and insisted that the dress be finished as soon as possible. If you will not mind waiting a bit - I can arrange for you to have some tea - I will have it done by the close of business today. You could always send a servant..."

"Oh, no. We will wait. Please, can we, Harriet?" Abigail pleaded. Harriet hesitated, but nodded after a look at Abigail's pleading face. She supposed it was quite enjoyable for her to get out of the manor.

"Yes, we will wait," she decided, and Madame Delacroix nodded.

For the next several hours, Harriet lost herself in the joy of fabrics and fittings, the worries of her marriage temporarily forgotten amidst the whirlwind of creation. Madame Delacroix was a genius, her deft fingers pinning and tucking and draping until the most exquisite gown she'd ever worn began to take shape.

But as the dress neared completion, Harriet became increasingly aware of the speculative glances being cast in their direction by the other patrons. Hushed whispers and pointed looks followed them as they moved about the shop, an undercurrent of something that felt suspiciously like disdain threading through the atmosphere.

At last, unable to bear the scrutiny any longer, Harriet pulled Abigail aside. "Is it just me," she murmured, keeping her voice low, "or does it feel like we"re being watched?"

To her surprise, Abigail's expression turned somber. "It is not just you," she confided, her eyes sad. "Hugh and I... we"re used to it by now."

Harriet's heart clenched. "Used to what?"

Abigail sighed, twisting her hands in the folds of her skirt. "The stares. The whispers. The feeling that we don"t quite belong, no matter our titles or wealth."

She met Harriet's gaze squarely, a flicker of old pain in her eyes. "I told you this, but... Now you see it too. It's because of our Scottish blood. No matter how much we try to fit in, to play by society's rules... there will always be those who see us as outsiders. As somehow lesser than."

Harriet felt a rush of fierce protectiveness surge through her. "That"s ridiculous," she bit out, her voice trembling with indignation. "Anyone who judges you for something so arbitrary is a fool."

Abigail gave her a wan smile. "Perhaps. But it's the way of the world, I"m afraid." She hesitated, then added softly, "It"s why I"m so terribly afraid of my own debut, Harriet. I fear I"ll never find a proper husband, not with the taint of Scottish blood hanging over me."

Impulsively, Harriet pulled the younger girl into a fierce hug. "Listen to me, Abigail Wilkinson. You are a bright, beautiful, kind-hearted young woman, and any man would be lucky to have you as his wife. And if the pea-brained dandies of the ton can"t see that, then they don"t deserve you."

She pulled back, her hands gripping Abigail's shoulders as she met her gaze intently. "I will be right by your side throughout your debut, do you hear me? I'll champion you to anyone who dares to look down their nose at you. We"ll find you a husband worthy of your gifts, I swear it."

Abigail's eyes misted with unshed tears, a tremulous smile spreading across her face. "Do you really mean it, Harriet?"

"With all my heart," Harriet vowed. "We're family now, you and I. And family looks out for one another."

The younger girl hugged her fiercely, sniffling a little into Harriet's shoulder. "Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you for understanding. For being there for me."

Harriet stroked her hair, feeling a swell of tenderness for this brave, vulnerable girl who had come to mean so much to her. "Always, Abigail. I'll always be here for you."

The moment was broken by Madame Delacroix"s reappearance, the completed gown draped over her arm. "Your dresses, Your Grace," she announced, her face wreathed in a proud smile.

Harriet and Abigail gasped in unison, their eyes widening at the stunning creation before them. Harriet's dress was a deep, vibrant crimson, the bodice encrusted with glittering rubies that caught the light like flames. The skirt flared out in a froth of shimmering satin, each ruffle edged in delicate gold thread.

"Madame, it is simply exquisite," Harriet breathed, running reverent fingers over the sumptuous fabrics. "You've truly outdone yourself."

The dressmaker preened under the praise, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "But of course, Your Grace. Nothing but the best for such a distinguished client."

As they left the shop, their precious gowns carefully packaged and loaded into the waiting carriage, Harriet felt a renewed sense of purpose settle over her. She might still be struggling to navigate the treacherous waters of her marriage, might still be fighting to keep her traitorous heart in check...but she would not let that stop her from being the duchess Abigail needed, the champion and protector she deserved.

And if that meant facing down the sneers and whispers of the ton, of putting on a brave face and a dazzling gown and showing the world that the Wilkinsons were a force to be reckoned with... then so be it. Harriet would do whatever it took to ensure Abigail's happiness and success, even if it meant confronting her own deepest fears and desires in the process.

But she would not solve problems that did not exist yet. For now, Harriet would revel in the joy of beautiful gowns and sisterly bonds, and the promise of a glittering night of magic and mischief at the masquerade ball.