Page 62 of Duke of Gold
Peggy gave a small laugh, though it was tinged with disbelief. “You make it sound so simple.”
“It is far from simple,” Lady Aleshire conceded. “But it is also not insurmountable. Strong wills often clash, but they also have the power to build something unshakable.”
Peggy offered a faint smile, though her thoughts remained conflicted. She opened her mouth to respond, but Lady Aleshire pressed on, her tone turning playful.
“Do you know what I find to be a most effective distraction?” she asked, her eyes twinkling.
Peggy tilted her head, intrigued. “What is that?”
“Novels,” Lady Aleshire declared. “I recently came across a set of the most delightful tales. There is one in particular about a rather feisty heroine and the trouble she causes in society. It is both scandalous and wildly entertaining.”
Peggy’s lips curved into a genuine smile for the first time that day. “You must tell me the title.”
“I shall do better than that,” Lady Aleshire replied with a mock conspiratorial tone. “I will bring it to you. You must read it. I insist.”
Peggy laughed softly, a sense of warmth creeping into her chest. “I look forward to it.”
“In fact,” Lady Aleshire continued, her expression brightening, “you must come with me to the bookstore in the village one day. It is a treasure trove of stories, and I daresay it will lift your spirits.”
Peggy hesitated briefly before nodding. “That does sound rather lovely.”
“Good,” Lady Aleshire said with satisfaction. “Consider it a promise. A visit to the bookstore, and a world of distractions to keep your mind occupied.”
As they continued their walk, Peggy found herself looking forward to the promise of books and lighthearted conversation.
Once Lady Aleshire had gone, Peggy returned to the drawing room. A short while later, Barrow appeared with a letter. “Your Grace,” he said, presenting it on a silver tray.
Her heart leapt, her mind immediately flashing to the mysterious note she had received before. But when her eyes fell on the handwriting, she exhaled in relief. “It’s from my sister,” she said, her voice soft with reassurance more for herself than Barrow.
She opened the letter carefully, sinking onto the settee as she began to read.
Dearest Peggy,
I trust this letter finds you well. How is country life treating you? I imagine the renovations are keeping you busy, as are the charity projects. How fortunate the village is to have you to brighten it.
Sterlin and I are quite well. The days seem to pass quickly here, and we are kept entertained by a constant stream of visitors. But despite the busyness, I think of you often, dear sister. How are you? Truly? I hope Morgan is treating you as you deserve, and that you are settling into life together. You know I am always here, should you need me.
Write soon,
Lizzy
Peggy’s chest tightened as she folded the letter with trembling hands. Lizzy’s warm words filled her with both comfort and longing.How are you? Truly?The question lingered in her mind, tugging at her heartstrings.
For a moment, she was tempted to reply, to confide in her sister about the growing distance between herself and Morgan, about the confusion and pain that plagued her. But she hesitated. Lizzy and Sterlin were so happy, their life together full of ease and joy. Could she bring herself to burden her sister with her troubles?
Sighing, Peggy set the letter aside and leaned back against the cushions. Her gaze drifted to the window, where the fading sunlight painted the garden in soft hues. She wondered if happiness—the kind Lizzy had—would ever find its way to her.
Peggy sat at her desk, her gaze fixed on the flickering candle as it cast long, wavering shadows across the surface of her papers. The room was silent save for the soft scratch of her pen, though even that sound faded as she paused, her thoughts too heavy to focus.
She leaned back with a sigh, her fingers lightly tracing the edge of the desk. Sleep would evade her tonight, as it had the previous nights, her worry and unease gnawing at her with relentless persistence.How did everything go wrongso quickly?she wondered, her mind inevitably drifting back to Morgan’s anger and the cold wall he had erected between them.
A soft knock at the door startled her from her reverie. “Come in,” she called, her voice quiet but steady.
To her surprise, it was Mrs. Hallewell who entered, carrying a tray with a small cup of steaming milk. The housekeeper’s expression was as impassive as ever, but there was a faint gentleness in her movements that Peggy had not expected.
“I thought this might help you rest, Your Grace,” Mrs. Hallewell said, placing the tray carefully on the desk.
Peggy blinked, momentarily taken aback. “Mrs. Hallewell,” she began, her voice soft with gratitude, “you didn’t have to trouble yourself.”
