Page 22 of Duke of Gold
With a sharp exhale, she sat upright and swung her legs over the side of the bed, her feet brushing against the chilly floor. Her heart raced as she glanced toward the door, debating her decision.He won’t come,she told herself firmly. There was no point waiting, no reason to let her anxiety fester in this desolate room.
She reached for her dressing gown and slipped it over her nightclothes, fastening the sash with trembling fingers. Taking a lone candle from the bedside table, she lit it with careful precision and stepped toward the door. The castle’s hallways stretched endlessly before her, quiet and foreboding. The faint flicker of the flame cast dancing shadows on the stone walls, doing little to ease her growing unease.
Margaret wandered for what felt like ages, her bare feet making soft sounds against the cold floor as she opened one door after another. Each room was an empty disappointment. A drawing room, a dining room, a darkened gallery—but no library. Surely a castle of this magnitude would not lack such a simple necessity. Her patience began to wane, irritation bubbling beneath the surface as she tightened her grip on the candleholder.
She rounded another corner, her frustration mounting, when she suddenly collided with something solid. A sharp gasp escaped her lips, and her candle sputtered before going out entirely, plunging her into complete darkness.
“Did you need anything, Your Grace?” came a voice, calm and dispassionate, from the shadows.
Margaret froze, her breath catching in her throat. Mrs. Hallewell. Of course. The woman’s presence was as unnerving as it was inexplicable. Margaret’s fingers tightened around the now-useless candle, her heart thudding in her chest.
“I—” she began, her voice wavering slightly. “I couldn’t sleep.”
Silence stretched between them, and Margaret felt the weight of the housekeeper’s unseen gaze. Finally, Mrs. Hallewell spoke, her tone devoid of judgment yet offering no warmth. “Shall I fetch something to aid your rest?”
“No, that won’t be necessary,” Margaret replied quickly, forcing steadiness into her voice. “I was simply looking for the library.”
“Ah,” Mrs. Hallewell said after a pause. “The library is not in this wing. I will help you familiarize yourself with the manor tomorrow, if you wish. ”
Margaret hesitated, the thought of continuing her search alone battling with the unsettling prospect of wandering through the castle at Mrs. Hallewell’s side. “That would be... appreciated,” she said at last, though her voice lacked conviction.
Mrs. Hallewell stepped closer, her shadowy figure barely discernible in the darkness. “Follow me, Your Grace.”
Gradually, Peggy’s eyes adjusted to the inky darkness, and she could just discern Mrs. Hallewell’s silhouette. The housekeeper stood unnervingly still, her form outlined faintly by the dim lightspilling from a distant sconce. It struck Peggy that the woman was still dressed in her uniform, her cap and apron as precise as they had been hours earlier. A chill crept down Peggy’s spine at the thought. Did Mrs. Hallewell ever retire to bed?If she even sleeps at all,the afterthought whispered, and the notion made her shiver anew. Or perhaps it was simply the housekeeper’s eerie presence that unsettled her so.
“I—I was just looking for the library,” Peggy managed to say, her voice quieter than she intended. She straightened her shoulders, attempting to inject some confidence into her tone. “Could you point me in its direction?”
For a moment, silence reigned. The housekeeper’s lack of response hung in the air, pressing down on Peggy until she nearly repeated herself. At last, Mrs. Hallewell spoke, her voice low and measured, but somehow carrying an unsettling weight. “It is quite late. For your safety, I advise you refrain from wandering the halls and remain in your chambers, Your Grace.”
Peggy blinked, her lips parting as if to protest, but the words caught in her throat. There was something final in the woman’s tone, a quiet authority that left no room for argument. She clutched her extinguished candle tighter, the smooth brass cool against her clammy palms.
“I see,” she said finally, the words barely more than a whisper. “Thank you for your concern.”
Mrs. Hallewell said nothing further, merely inclining her head—a gesture Peggy could only guess at in the darkness—beforeturning and disappearing into the shadows as silently as she had appeared.
Peggy lingered for a moment, her heart hammering against her ribs. The oppressive quiet of the hallway seemed to grow louder, wrapping around her like a suffocating blanket. She had no choice but to retreat. With trembling fingers, she felt her way back toward her chambers, every creak of the floorboards beneath her feet sending a shiver through her.
When she finally reached the safety of her room, Peggy closed the door behind her with a shaky breath. She leaned against it, her body quaking as she tried to collect herself. The dim light of her bedside candle offered little comfort, casting long, flickering shadows that danced eerily along the walls.
“Am I truly living with human beings?” she murmured to herself, her voice breaking the silence of the room. The thought echoed in her mind as her gaze swept over the darkened space. The castle was not merely lifeless—it seemed devoid of humanity entirely.
Her eyes fell upon her escritoire, where the small pouch Petunia had given her earlier lay idly beside a folded piece of parchment.
The sight stirred an odd combination of emotions within her—amusement at her aunt’s peculiar gesture, but also a faint, prickling sense of unease.
Peggy stepped toward the desk, her fingers hovering over the pouch as though it might hold answers to the strange, stifling weight of the household.
CHAPTER 11
Peggy’s fingers brushed the gilded edge of a portrait frame, its surface cool beneath her touch. She paused, peering at the painted faces staring back at her from the dim light of the hallway. A woman, regal and austere, with pearls wound tightly around her neck, stood beside a man whose expression seemed permanently etched in disapproval.
“Charming family,” she muttered under her breath, drawing her fingers away as if the somber expressions might rub off on her.
Her gaze wandered down the hall, taking in the brown wallpaper, its color somewhere between dried mud and despair. The curtains were drawn tight, smothering what little light the pale morning dared offer. Peggy’s chest tightened. This house, her home now, seemed determined to cling to its gloom like a miser hoarding gold.
“This won’t do,” she whispered, the words barely audible over the silence. She straightened her shoulders, resolve hardening within her. “I can’t live like this.”
Her slippers barely made a sound on the polished wood as she descended the stairs, her fingers skimming the banister for balance. The morning room beckoned, and with it, a flicker of hope. Perhaps this time, her husband might join her.
