Page 38 of Duke of Gold
Her lips curved into a small, genuine smile, and for a moment, her fidgeting ceased. “Thank you,” she said softly, her gaze meeting his.
But before the silence could stretch too long, she tilted her head, her eyes sharpening. “Now it’s my turn. Why wereyoufidgeting earlier?”
Morgan blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “I wasn’t,” he began, only to be cut off by her raised brow.
“You were tugging at your cravat as if it had offended you,” she pointed out, her smile teasing now.
He sighed, leaning forward slightly. “I haven’t been to one of these country events since I was seventeen.”
Her brow furrowed slightly, curiosity flickering in her expression. “Seventeen? Why?”
Morgan hesitated, his gaze flickering to the window as if the answer might lie beyond. “I never had the time,” he said casually.
She narrowed her eyes, skepticism clear in the tilt of her head. “Time? Or interest?”
He smirked faintly, though the expression didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Disinterest,” he admitted. “Satisfied?”
“Somewhat,” she said, her voice light but probing.
The carriage slowed as they arrived, and Morgan stepped out first, extending his hand to Margaret as she descended. The soft strains of music carried through the air, mingling with the chatter of arriving guests.
Before they stepped forward, Margaret glanced up at him, her gloved hand still resting lightly in his. “Breathe, Morgan,” she said, her voice gentle but firm. “The night shall go well.”
He looked at her, the quiet confidence in her tone anchoring him. With a slight nod, he offered his arm, and together, they stepped into the light and sound of the evening ahead.
Morgan tugged lightly at the cuffs of his coat as he and Margaret stood just outside the grand doors of the ballroom. The hum of conversation and faint strains of music spilled into the hallway, but all he could focus on was the woman beside him.
Margaret was resplendent, her violet and gold dress catching the light of the chandeliers as they stepped inside together. Her hand rested lightly on his arm, her grip steady despite the magnitude of the evening. She held her head high, her poise impeccable, and Morgan couldn’t help but think that no one in the room would doubt her place as Duchess of Giltford.
The moment they entered, heads turned. Conversations faltered, the murmurs replaced by a wave of astonished whispers. Morgan felt the weight of every gaze in the room, and it was not lost on him that many of them were directed athim. Surprise registered on faces old and young alike—raised brows, widened eyes, even a few exchanged glances of disbelief. After all, the Duke of Giltford had not graced a country event with his presence in over a decade.
“It really is him,” someone muttered near the edge of the room, the words barely audible but unmistakable in their tone of awe.
“After all this time…” another voice whispered.
Margaret remained composed, her soft smiles and nods conveying no sign of unease. Morgan, for his part, kept his expression neutral, though the sheer volume of attention pressed down on him like an invisible weight.They might as well have seen a ghost,he thought wryly.
The ladies from the parish were the first to break the spell of astonishment. Lady Aleshire approached with a warm smile, curtsying as Margaret inclined her head.
“Your Grace,” Lady Aleshire said warmly, “how splendid you look this evening.”
“You are too kind, Lady Aleshire,” Margaret replied, her tone light and sincere. “It is a wonderful event. You and Sir Aleshire have outdone yourselves.”
Lady Aleshire’s gaze briefly flicked toward Morgan, her composure unshaken though her eyes widened by a fraction . “And Your Grace,” she added, addressing him now, “what a delight it is to see you here.”
“An honor, Lady Aleshire,” he replied smoothly, inclining his head. “Your reputation for hosting a fine evening precedes you.”
The warmth in her expression softened into genuine pleasure, and as the other parish ladies approached to greet them, the initial shock gave way to animated conversation. Margaret handled each introduction with the same grace, her laughter light and melodic as she engaged them effortlessly.She’s anatural,Morgan thought, the odd sense of pride stirring once more.
He noted how even the more reticent guests ventured forward to exchange pleasantries with her, and more surprising still, with him. The tentative beginnings of conversations hinted at respect mingled with awe, but Margaret carried the moment, her charm filling any gaps in the exchanges.It’s as though she was born to be a Duchess,Morgan thought, his admiration deepening with every moment.
Colin appeared at his side then, joined by Sir Aleshire, both men wearing knowing smiles.
“You have become as inconstant as the moon, Your Grace,” Sir Aleshire remarked with pleasant humor, though there was an unmistakable glint of surprise in his eyes.
Morgan turned to him, one brow lifting faintly. “I’m not sure whether to be flattered or insulted.”
“Ah, but we at least get to glimpse the moon and appreciate its beauty,” Colin interjected with a teasing grin. “I think you’re even more elusive.”
