Page 20 of Duke of Gold
Margaret straightened, her movements measured as she gently set Titan down. The weight of reality settled firmly on her shoulders. She turned to her family one last time, her gaze sweeping over their tearful faces and earnest smiles.
With a deep breath, she walked toward the door, her arm slipping into Giltford’s as propriety demanded. Each step felt heavier than the last as she left behind the only home she had ever known. The sound of her family calling out final goodbyes echoed behind her, interspersed with the unmistakable sniffles of those trying to maintain their composure.
As the waiting carriage came into view, Margaret fought the urge to look back again. This was her future now, no matter how foreign it felt.
“Do you intend to remain silent for the entire journey, Duke?” Peggy asked, her tone light but edged with curiosity. She turned her gaze from the window to the man seated across from her, his posture impossibly stiff, his expression unreadable.
Giltford’s eyes flicked toward her, his face betraying nothing. “I have nothing to say,” he replied flatly.
Peggy arched a brow, undeterred. “Nothing at all? Not a single comment about the weather? The state of the roads? Or perhaps some thrilling detail about the estate we are bound for?”
“The weather is dreary, the roads are adequate, and the estate is exactly as it should be,” he answered curtly, his gaze returning to the far wall of the carriage.
She let out a soft laugh, though it was one of exasperation. “How riveting,” she quipped, shaking her head. “I suppose I shall have to entertain myself then.”
Giltford inclined his head slightly. “If you find that preferable to silence, do carry on.”
Peggy leaned back against the seat, crossing her arms as she studied him. “You are remarkably good at saying nothing while still managing to be disagreeable.”
His lips twitched—was that nearly a smile?—but his tone remained even. “It is a skill, I suppose.”
“Hardly one to be proud of,” Peggy retorted, though the corner of her mouth lifted despite herself. “You might try being pleasant. You may find it less taxing.”
“I find honesty far less taxing than pretense,” he replied, his gaze meeting hers for the briefest moment before returning to the window.
“Honesty is well and good,” Peggy said, narrowing her eyes. “But must it always be so joyless?”
He didn’t answer immediately, and for a moment she thought he might simply ignore her. But then he said, “I was unaware my demeanor would serve as a source of your entertainment.”
Peggy laughed softly again, though this time there was a genuine warmth to it. “Oh, Duke, you might be surprised by what I find entertaining.”
For a fleeting second, she thought she saw a flicker of amusement in his eyes, but it was gone so quickly she might have imagined it. He said nothing more, settling back into his usual silence, and Peggy resigned herself to the scenery once again.
Still, her earlier levity soon waned, and the rhythmic motion of the carriage lulled her into a comfortable drowsiness. The world outside the window blurred, and her eyelids grew heavy. The last thing she remembered was the sight of her husband sitting across from her, still and inscrutable, before her world faded to black.
She stirred when a gentle touch brushed against her cheek, her eyes fluttering open to find his face much closer than before. “We’ve arrived, Duchess,” Giltford said, his gruff voice pulling her fully awake.
Margaret blinked, disoriented, and realized with no small amount of surprise that her head had been resting on his shoulder. More startling still, his hand lingered near her face, as if he had only just pulled it away. Warmth flooded her cheeks as she straightened quickly, smoothing her skirts. “When did you move to my cushion?” she asked, her voice soft but curious. “And why?”
He regarded her briefly, his expression as unreadable as ever. “Do you want the servants’ first impression of their new Duchessto be of you nursing an aching neck? ” His tone was as flat as his words were dismissive.
The warmth she had felt moments before dissipated, leaving her oddly deflated. Of course, it had been a practical gesture, nothing more. She nodded, turning toward the window once more as the carriage slowed to a stop.
When she caught sight of the towering castle before them, her breath hitched. It was a vision straight from a medieval romance, its high turrets and weathered stone walls rising majestically against the dull grey sky. But as the carriage drew closer, the grandeur gave way to a chilling reality. The windows were dark, the grounds overgrown, and the very air seemed to weigh heavily, as though the castle itself mourned something long lost.
Margaret pressed her hands together in her lap, her heart sinking as she took in her new home. It was magnificent, yes, but utterly lifeless. Cold and dead, like a forgotten relic of another time.
CHAPTER 10
The introductions began as soon as Margaret stepped through the castle doors. The servants lined up in a neat row in the entrance hall, their faces solemn and stiff as though carved from the very stone of the castle itself.
“This is Margaret, Duchess of Giltford,” Giltford announced, his voice carrying authority but little warmth. He turned to her briefly, his tone softer but no less distant. “Duchess, these are the members of my household.”
Margaret’s gaze swept over the gathered staff. Their countenances were as devoid of life as the castle itself, their heads bowed, their eyes lowered in deference. She forced a smile, though it felt painfully out of place amidst the oppressive atmosphere. “It is a pleasure to meet you all,” she said, her voice quiet yet steady.
No one replied, not even the faintest murmur of acknowledgment. The butler gave the smallest inclination of hishead, but it was the only response Margaret received. The others remained unmoving, their silence heavy and uncomfortable.
The air felt colder, and Margaret swallowed hard, trying not to think of what her future would look like in such a joyless place.
