Chapter 6

Hugh was quiet where he sat in the carriage, thoughts of Harriet's firm denial stubbornly clinging to his mind on the way back to his own residence in the city. A deep frown settled between his brows as he glared out of the window, barely noticing the lush countryside rolling past him.

Granted, he could not truly deny that his proposal may not have been ‘romantic', but he could not believe how quick Harriet was to deny him. Of course, he had to begrudgingly admit that he admired her staunch adherence to her own convictions, but that did not make it any less frustrating.

It did not make her any less vexing.

By the time his carriage finally crested the hill that commanded a sweeping view of Frighton Manor, his jaw ached from being clenched so rigidly. He remained seated until the carriage came to a halt in front of the manor, and then he jumped out hastily.

No sooner had his feet hit the ground than a familiar blur of muslin erupted onto the front steps in a flurry of skirts and chestnut curls.

"Hugh! You're home!"

Abigail Wilkinson came hurtling towards her brother at full tilt, her face alight with unabashed delight. At seventeen, she carried herself with a youthful enthusiasm and zeal for life that Hugh found quite endearing - she was still unsoiled by the pomp of the city.

"I am so glad you are here," Abigail exclaimed, allowing her brother to lead her back inside the manor. "It is dreadfully dull without you."

Once they were sat in the drawing-room, each armed with a cup of tea, she looked at him curiously.

"You were gone longer than you said you'd be," she said - a statement far more than an accusation. Hugh hesitated, then nodded.

"I left to propose to a lady," he admitted suddenly, and Abigail's eyes widened.

"You did what?"

Hugh shook his head with a laugh and sighed. "Daenae fret, wee lass," he said with a laugh. "Ye willnae have to share the manor with another woman soon."

Abigail, however, paid no heed to this - her eyes were wide with excitement. "You must tell me everything," she said, and a dreamy smile crossed her face. "Oh, was it romantic? Did you stroll through a moonlit garden with her and drop down on one knee? Did you take her to dinner? Is she beautiful?"

Hugh opened his mouth to reply, but she barreled ahead heedlessly, her eyes gleaming with delight. "Oh, did she turn every shade of rose when you professed your undying devotion? Was it love at first sight? How did you know that she was the one?"

Hugh sighed deeply and shook his head. "Abby," he managed to interrupt at last. "I said..."

"What is her name?" Abigail asked quickly, her hands fluttering about eagerly. "I cannot wait to meet her!"

It was quite typical of Abigail to only listen to the parts she wanted to hear and he leaned forward. "I doubt you will meet her," he said at last, and she sat back, her hand pressed to her chest.

Abigail frowned at this. "B... but I don't understand," she sputtered. "Surely you cannot truly mean that you have returned unsuccessful after a proposal? What lady would refuse your suit? You are... you are a duke, and you are handsome, and you are kind and funny and..."

Hugh laughed gruffly. All his life, he had attempted to protect Abigail against the ire of the ton and the judgment of the city - and now it would seem that he had been far too good at it. He was just as good, it seemed, at hiding his anger from her.

"Ye give the lasses too much credit," he laughed. "But we shallnae dwell on it."

Abigail, however, did not seem to want to give up on the conversation at all. Her lips turned down in a tragic pout and the disappointment on her face was so profound that he felt a fleet of stabbing remorse for his foolishness in telling her to begin with. With a sigh, he reached out to pat her cheek in brotherly fondness.

"Daenae look so torn up, wee one," he said gently. "There are far worse fates in this world than a surly old one like meself remaining a solitary, embittered grouch." He managed to infuse some levity into his voice in an attempt to temper her unhappiness. To his surprise, Abigail's mouth firmed into a pout so reminiscent of their late mother that Hugh felt a lurch of sentimental familiarity.

"Well, it is downright absurd if you ask me," she huffed, tossing her head in defiant solidarity. "What could possibly possess a woman to turn up her nose at a match with you? It makes no sense."

Despite himself, Hugh felt the faintest stirrings of amusement at her indignant loyalty. Casting a deliberately unaffected shrug in her direction, he stood and made his way to the door of the drawing-room. "Ye have much to learn about the ways of women in the city and their baffling contrariness, wee one," he said. "This particular lass may be far too quarrelsome and strong-willed for the likes of me to tame after all," he mused. "And I willnae bow to her whims."

"Bow to her whims?" Abigail frowned at this, then narrowed her eyes. "Wait. Wait just a minute. Did this woman... did she tell you in no uncertain terms that she refused your offer, Hugh? Or did she say something else?"

Hugh turned a deep shade of crimson. "She... said something," he admitted at last and Abigail made a grab for his arm, pulling him back to the sofa in the middle of the room.

"Tell me what she said," she demanded now, and Hugh laughed softly. Only his sister could get away with speaking to him in this manner.

"She said," he admitted at last, "that she wouldnae accept me proposal if I asked in a manner that she found ill-befitting," he admitted. "She believes I slighted her by treating her like an object to be bent to me will rather than a woman deserving of deference."

Abigail looked at him curiously at this. "Well, how did you ask her?"

If possible at all, Hugh turned an even deeper shade of red. "I..." he mumbled, "I may have asked her if she was going to marry me and get done with it or nae," he admitted and Abigail shook her head, her laughter ringing through the room.

"Oh, Hugh! No woman would say yes to that," she exclaimed, her eyes twinkling with delight. "And any who did, would not be the right one for you."

Hugh shook his head with a laugh. "Ye are meant to be on me side, imp," he teased. Abigail, however, shook her head - her eyes alight with mischief as she moved to sit next to him.

"I am always on your side if you deserve it," she shot back cheekily. "Now, what I want to know is what you are going to do about this."

"What I am going to do about this?" Hugh lifted a brow and Abigail nodded eagerly.

"Indeed. Are you going to send her flowers? Ask again, politely? Woo her?"

Despite his thunderous scowl, Hugh felt the first genuine tugging of reluctant amusement at his sister's eagerness. Still, he could not allow her teasing to fully diffuse the sting of rejection that still lingered.

"Enough of this, Abigail," he said with a sigh. "The plain truth is that the lady willnae consider an offer unless I bend to her will and propose in a manner that suits her delicate sensibilities. Which ye know I've nay polished talent for deliverin". So perhaps ye could consider sparin" a touch of sympathy for yer poor, hapless brother, eh?"

Abigail, however, only beamed wider - delighted by her brother's pretense of disgruntlement. "Oh, you daft man," she caroled gleefully, bumping her shoulder against his arm with playful insolence. "You cannot give up this easily. What if this lass is your soulmate?"

Hugh let out a gruff laugh and shook his head. "That is nae what it is like at all," he insisted but his sister waved away his spluttering with a flick of her wrist.

"I am merely saying," she explained patiently, "that this woman, who refuses to be cowed by your boorish bluster is clearly a force to be reckoned with. It's a perfect match."

Hugh merely shook his head and his sister looked at him curiously. "She intrigues you, doesn't she?" she asked curiously. "This lady... it sounds like she has mettle, a spirit and spine to match your own legendary stubbornness. Why... you two must have sparked like flint and tinder the moment you met!"

Despite himself, a smile appeared on Hugh"s face. "Aye, that we did," he admitted gruffly. "Nearly set the whole of Mayfair ablaze with the force of our clashin", I'd wager."

Abigail positively glowed with delight at this. "Oh, Hugh," she proclaimed with an empathic nod, "You must try again - only this time, mind your manners. Court her properly and ask her in a charming manner, befitting of a duke, and I know she will come round in no time at all."

Hugh shook his head firmly at this. "I am nae as certain as ye are, imp," he rumbled gravely. "This... lady... is unlike any I've ever encountered before. Willful and tempestuous, aye, but there... is an untamable quality to her spirit that is enough to make a man think twice about even attempting to rein her in."

For a minute, Hugh considered telling his sister the truth - that his proposal was borne from the scandal caused by an utter misunderstanding. He was not, however, inclined at all to ruin his sister's innocence. He would much rather let her believe that he had fallen in love and been spurned.

"Do not tame her, Hugh," Abigail said suddenly - her eyes sparking with steely determination. "If she is as indomitable as you claim, the last thing you ought to do is smother that fire."

Hugh looked at her gently and she leaned forward, taking his hands in hers. "Please, brother," she pleaded. "I know that you would never allow a man to temper my spirit so do not do this to her. What you must do is meet her flames with your own. Stoke them higher until you both burn so bright that the whole of Britain will be in awe of the bonfire you've created together."

Hugh did not know whether to laugh or shake his head in exasperated disbelief. Of course his fanciful sister would romanticize the entire debacle into a dramatic love affair for the ages. Still... there was a kernel of wisdom in her whimsy, a simple truth he could not deny.

"I suppose ye are nae wrong," he admitted with a sigh. "I wouldnae allow any man to temper your fire."

If he was to have any hope of winning Harriet Lourne's hand and protecting his reputation, Hugh knew, he could not treat her as a quarry to be conquered through stubbornness alone. He glanced at his sister, whose open face was a mask of innocence. Had it been only him, he may have let it go entirely - but he would not allow his sister's name to be tarnished through his actions.

Abigail was right - he would need to adapt his approach, find a way to parry her indomitable fire with his own rather than trying to smother the blaze entirely.

The thought should have vexed him - filled him with dread at the prospect of losing ground to this defiant woman. Yet, strangely, all Hugh felt was a slow simmering sense of intrigue and admiration beginning to unfurl within him.

Perhaps it would be prudent to try a new tactic with the Lady Harriet. He looked at Abigail's eager face and sighed, giving a slow nod of acknowledgement - the faintest ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"I suppose it wouldnae be the worst thing in the world to listen to ye once," he teased. "So perhaps ye could advise me on how best to court the lass properly."

Abigail laughed delightedly and she pressed her head against his shoulder for a few seconds.

"Oh, Hugh," she said, her voice filled with joy. "The possibilities are endless."