Page 94 of Never Dare a Duke
“And you’ve told this to my son?” the duchess asked.
Abigail nodded. “And he wants nothing to do with it. Understandably, he doesn’t trust me. But I’m a good writer, Your Grace. I can interview Madingley’s allies to show that he’s changed and matured, that he’s done good for so many people. And more importantly, I can interview Mr. Preston for his side of the story. I am sure you are aware that he did not participate in his sister’s scheme. But I would need a letter of introduction.”
Elizabeth’s expression seemed to vary over the next minute of silence, from confusion to curiosity to understanding. Abigail wished her feelings for Christopher were not so open to these two proper ladies, but it could not be helped.
Though Elizabeth, with her romantic streak, might favor Abigail, the duchess was a mother of a son who’d been hurt once too often.
“Let me make this right, Your Grace,” Abigail pleaded.
“Very well,” the duchess said at last. “I will pen it myself. Give me a moment.”
Abigail met Elizabeth’s happy eyes and sighed with relief. Elizabeth came to her and bent to touch cheeks.
“Regardless of why you came here,” the young woman said, “I am glad I had the chance to know you. Thank you for wanting to help my brother.”
“It is the least I can do.”
After Elizabeth had gone and the duchess had finished her letter, she placed it in an envelope, wrote Mr. Preston’s name on the front, and sealed it with her insignia pressed into hot wax.
When she handed the letter over, Abigail smiled. “Thank you so much, Your Grace. I regret that we must part so abruptly and under such strained circumstances. It has been a pleasure meeting you.”
“Take care, Miss Shaw, and go with God. I hope everything you wish to happen comes true.”
Before dinner, Christopher was sitting alone in his study, contemplating nothing but the emptiness that was seeping into his life again. Though close friends would understand the scandal of his youth, others would look at him differently now.
And Abigail had gone. She had not come to him again, and he couldn’t blame her, not after he’d threatened to hold her captive like a barbarian.
God, he hated how desperate he’d sounded.
Someone knocked on the door, and he was tempted to pretend he wasn’t there. “Come in.”
His mother entered.
“Not even a greeting, Christopher?” she said mildly.
“Mother, I didn’t know it was you.”
She sat down before the desk. “I’ve come to speak with you about Miss Shaw.”
He wanted to wince.
“She came to talk to me before she left.”
“And what did she tell you?” he asked warily.
“About why she’d come—and why she was leaving.”
“Then you must be happy she left.”
“Of course. She is doing something that she thinks will help you.”
He stiffened. “You cannot believe that. More publicity will only—”
“I think a woman who loves you will write something to honor you.”
He blinked at her, then his brain started to work again. “Madre,what are you talking about? She didn’t tell you that she loves me.”
“No, she didn’t. But a woman does not risk your wrath lightly.”
