Page 9 of The Duke and his Hellion (Wedded for Convenience #3)

CHAPTER 9

A bigail awoke early the next morning, her heart racing with anticipation as she remembered what the day held in store. Today was the day of her next lesson with the Duke of Grouton, the day she would continue her education in the ways of the ton .

As Prudence laced her into the gown and pinned her hair into an elegant braid, Abigail could not help but feel a thrill of excitement.

“I hope this dress is the right color,” she muttered absently, looking up at Prudence, her brow contorted in worry. “Do… do you think it is too bright?”

“No, my lady,” Prudence insisted kindly. “It suits you beautifully.”

“Thank you, Prudence,” she muttered as the maid pinned her hair into a braid. Once done, she was quick to make her way downstairs to the drawing room, where Harriet was already seated. A book was open in her lap and a cup of tea was steaming beside her. One of her hands rested on her heavy stomach.

At the sight of Abigail's flushed cheeks and bright eyes, Harriet raised an eyebrow, a knowing smile playing about her lips.

“Well, someone's looking rather fetching this morning,” she teased, setting her book aside and gesturing for Abigail to join her. “I take it you're eager for your lesson with the duke today?”

Abigail blushed, ducking her head as she settled herself onto the sofa beside her sister-in-law. “Is it that obvious?” she asked hesitantly, smoothing her skirts with nervous hands.

Harriet chuckled, reaching out to give Abigail's hand a reassuring squeeze. “Perhaps it is merely because I know how eager you are to be one of the ton ,” she said softly and Abigail sighed.

A soft knock interrupted Abigail's chance to respond and a footman entered.

“His Grace, the Duke of Grouton has arrived, Your Grace, Lady Abigail.”

Abigail jumped eagerly and it was only Harriet's soft touch to her wrist that prevented her from rushing out of the drawing room eagerly. Instead, she waited for Harriet to stand as well, but before they could leave the drawing room, Charles's lean figure came around the corner.

Abigail watched as he entered the drawing room and her heart raced. His hat was missing and his dark hair fell over his forehead in a way that made him seem slightly more human in a most endearing manner.

“Lady Abigail, Your Grace,” he said, bowing low over their outstretched hands. “Thank you for receiving me this morning. Forgive me for being bold enough to meet you here. “

Abigail felt a flutter of nerves in her belly, and she lowered her head with a small smile. “Thank you for coming, Your Grace,” she managed, her voice barely above a whisper. “I am eager to continue our lessons.”

Charles's grin widened, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he straightened to his full height. “As am I, my lady. Shall we adjourn to the park for a turnabout the grounds? It's a lovely day for a promenade.”

Abigail looked at Harriet who nodded. Then, with a small smile playing about her lips as she took his proffered arm. With a final, reassuring glance at Harriet, she allowed Charles to lead her out into the sunlit gardens, the gravel crunching beneath their feet as they made their way towards the park, Harriet following shortly behind.

For a long moment, they walked in silence, the only sound the distant twittering of birdsong and the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze. Abigail could feel the weight of Charles's gaze upon her, could sense the unspoken questions and curiosities that hung in the air between them.

“People are staring,” she whispered and Charles looked around too. He lifted a brow and gestured to another woman.

“Just look at that ugly dress,” he remarked with a tinge of humor in his voice and Abigail giggled before shaking her head.

“You are terribly cruel,” she remarked with a soft laugh.

“Me?” Charles retorted with a quick laugh. “No, my dear lady, she is the cruel one to assault our eyes with that hideous dress.”

Abigail let out a soft, unsure laugh at this and Charles looked down at her with a lopsided grin.

“That must be why people are staring at you — look at how lovely you are in comparison.”

Abigail glanced at the woman he'd mentioned, and despite herself, a grin appeared on her lips. “It is an awful dress, is it not?” she admitted at last and Charles nodded quickly.

“It looks as though she fell into a bird cage with all those ruffles and feathers. I definitely prefer your dress — it is far more beautiful and suited to a promenade.”

He sounded proud of her, and Abigail straightened her back a little. “Thank you,” she said simply and Charles grinned down at her. “So? You no longer care about the staring people, do you?”

Abigail could only shrug, though she could not deny the truth of his statement.

“So, my lady,” he murmured, “are you ready to learn the finer points of courtship? The delicate dance of attraction and pursuit that lies at the heart of every match made in the ton?”

Abigail looked at him quickly and his eyes crinkled as deep laughter rumbled through his chest.

“I apologize, my lady,” he said now. “But you cannot deny that it is how the ton sees it. Are you ready to learn all there is to learn about being courted?”

Abigail felt a flush creep up her neck, her skin prickling with a sudden, unfamiliar heat. “I... I suppose so,” she stammered, her gaze fixed resolutely on the path ahead. “Though I must admit, the whole process seems rather daunting. So many rules and expectations to navigate, so many ways to misstep and offend.”

Charles chuckled, the sound rich and warm as it rumbled through his chest. “Ah, but that's where the thrill lies, my dear — in the challenge of mastering those rules, of bending them to your will without ever quite breaking them.”

He paused, his expression turning serious as he studied her face, his eyes searching hers with an intensity that made her breath catch. “The first thing you must understand about courtship is that it is a game, a carefully choreographed dance of advance and retreat, of coy glances and veiled intentions. Every move, every gesture, every word spoken carries a weight and a meaning that must be carefully parsed and understood.”

Abigail nodded, her brow furrowing as she tried to absorb this new information. “And how does one go about learning these hidden meanings? These secret codes of behavior that everyone seems to know instinctively?”

Charles smiled, a glint of amusement sparkling in his eyes. “Through observation, my lady. Through careful study of those who have already mastered the game. Watch how they interact, how they flirt and tease and cajole. Listen to the way they speak, the inflections and insinuations that lie beneath their words. And most importantly, learn to read between the lines, to see the truth that lies hidden beneath the polished veneer of society's mask.”

Abigail felt a flicker of unease at his words, a sense that there was something dangerous and alluring about the world he described, a world of secrets and lies and carefully crafted illusions. But there was also a thrill of excitement, a whisper of possibility that made her heart race and her skin tingle with anticipation.

“And what of the practical aspects of courtship?” she asked, curiosity evident in her tone. “The tokens and gestures that signal a suitor's intentions, the steps that lead from introduction to marriage?”

Charles's smile widened, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Ah, now we come to the heart of the matter. The tokens of affection, the love letters and locks of hair, the stolen glances and secret meetings. These are the currency of courtship, the tangible proofs of a suitor's devotion.”

Abigail frowned at this and she glanced at Harriet, who looked at them with a strange smile. Had Hugh even courted her sister-in-law properly? She could not help but wonder.

“What about love?” Abigail asked suddenly and a blush tinged her cheeks when Charles looked at her with raised brows — as though the concept she had mentioned was foreign to him. She hesitated and a soft laugh escaped her lips.

“I just mean,” she explained with a shrug, “I know that in this society most marriages are arranged and I am not quite sure how one chooses whom to court, but… my brother loves his wife. Is that not something worth attempting to find in courtship?”

A strange look appeared on Charles's face — almost forlorn, she thought, as though he was remembering something wholly unpleasant.

When he spoke again, his voice was clipped — and with it, the sunny disposition of the day seemed to appear behind a gloomy cloud.

“I do not know much about love, my lady,” he said simply. “All I know is that it is a dangerous endeavor indeed.”

“A dangerous endeavor?” Abigail echoed, her brow furrowing in confusion. “How can love be dangerous? Surely it is the very thing that gives life meaning, that makes the trials and tribulations of this world bearable?”

Charles sighed, a heavy, weary sound that seemed to come from the very depths of his soul. “If only it were that simple, my lady. But love... love is a double-edged sword, a flame that can warm and sustain, but also burn and destroy.”

He paused, his gaze turning distant and a frown furrowing his brow. “I have seen it happen too many times to count. Bright, beautiful young women, full of hope and promise, undone by the very emotion they thought would save them. They give their hearts too freely, too completely, and in the end, they are left with nothing but ashes and regret.”

Abigail felt a chill run down her spine at his words, and she shook her head. “But surely not all love is like that?” she persisted, a note of desperation creeping into her voice. “What of the love between my brother and his wife? It exists, Your Grace, and from my view it is beautiful.”

Charles turned to face her, his expression softening fractionally. “That is a rare and precious thing indeed, Lady Abigail. But it is not the norm, not in this world of ours.”

Abigail shook her head, unwilling to accept his bleak pronouncement. “I cannot believe that, Your Grace. I will not believe it. Love is not some mere trinket to be bought and sold, but a force of nature, a power that can move mountains and part seas. And I refuse to live in a world where it is treated as anything less.”

Charles studied her for a long moment, his gaze searching her face as though trying to read the secrets of her soul. “You are a rare young woman, Lady Abigail,” he said at last, his voice low. “A true romantic, in a world of cynics and schemers. It is a beautiful thing to behold, but also a dangerous one. For the world is not kind to those who wear their hearts on their sleeves, who believe in love above all else.”

“Then let it be unkind,” Abigail declared, her chin lifting with a defiant air. “Let it sneer and scoff and mock. I will not be cowed by its cruelty, nor will I abandon my ideals for the sake of expediency. If love is to be my downfall, then so be it. At least I will have lived and loved with all my heart, rather than merely existing in some hollow shell of a life.”

Charles let out a bark of laughter, the sound sharp and sudden in the still morning air. “You are a force to be reckoned with, Lady Abigail. A true rebel in a world of conformists and sycophants. I do not know whether to admire you or fear for your safety.”

“Can one not do both?” Abigail asked, a hint of mischief sparkling in her eye. “After all, is that not the mark of a true gentleman — to admire a lady's spirit, even as he seeks to protect her from harm?”

“Indeed it is,” Charles acknowledged, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Though I suspect you are more than capable of protecting yourself than I supposed at first, my lady. You have a strength and a resilience that belies your delicate exterior, a core of steel beneath the silk and lace.”

Abigail felt a flush of pleasure at his words, a warmth blossoming in her chest that had nothing to do with the sun overhead. “You give me too much credit, Your Grace. I am but a woman, with all the frailties and foibles that entails. But I am also determined, and I will not rest until I have made my mark upon this world, for good or for ill.”

Charles came to a sudden halt and he looked down at her, his gaze so intimate that it sent a flush covering her cheeks. “Promise me something, Lady Abigail?” he asked now, his voice softening. “Never change.”

He did not give her time to answer — instead, he merely looped her arm through his own as they made their way back towards the house.

Abigail kept sneaking glances at the man next to her. There was truly something about him that she'd never expected to see. Her heart skipped a beat.

But still, she could not help but hope, could not help but dream of a future where love conquered all; where two hearts could find each other amidst the swirling chaos of the ton and emerge stronger, better, more whole than they had ever been before.

As they reached the steps of the house, Charles turned to face her, his expression serious once more. “I hope you have found our lesson illuminating, Lady Abigail,” he said formally, though there was a glint of mischief in his eye that belied his solemn tone. “And I look forward to continuing your education in the days and weeks to come.”

Abigail dipped into a graceful curtsy, a smile playing about her lips as she met his gaze squarely. “I have indeed, Your Grace. And I shall eagerly await our next meeting, with bated breath and a heart full of wonder.”

And with that, she turned and made her way up the steps, her skirts swishing about her ankles and her head held high.