Page 70 of Duke of Gold
As her thoughts gathered, so too did the dull ache radiating from her temple. She winced and instinctively raised a hand to her head, only to pause at the slight dizziness that swayed her world. Steeling herself, she attempted to sit up, though a wave of vertigo forced her back against the pillows with a frustrated huff.
“Your Grace!” Her maid Daisy’s cry of relief startled her, and the girl hurried to her side. “Oh, thank heavens you are awake! We’ve been so worried.”
Margaret offered a faint smile as the maid propped her up with care, the pillows adjusted to support her. The young woman fussed about, smoothing the blankets and all the while exclaiming how glad she was to see her mistress awake.
“Thank you, Daisy ,” Margaret murmured, her voice still weak. “You are very kind.”
Her gaze wandered the room, searching for something—or someone. Her chest tightened as she realized who it was she wished to see most. But Morgan was nowhere in sight. Her eyes fell again on the hydrangeas, their beauty a quiet comfort amidst her disappointment.
“The Duke thought you would like them,” Daisy said softly, following her mistress’s gaze to the flowers.
Margaret’s fingers brushed the edge of the coverlet as warmth spread through her chest. Morgan had sent the flowers—of course he had. They were just as stunning as the one he’d handed her on the cliff. She wondered fleetingly if these had come from the same place or from the garden. Either way, the gesture was unmistakably thoughtful.
Her musings were interrupted by the sound of the door opening. Mrs. Hallewell bustled in, her expression a mixture of relief and authority. “Your Grace, awake at last,” she said, her hands clasping together briefly before she turned her attention to the maid. “Daisy , you ought to have summoned me at once.”
“I was just about to, Your Grace,” Daisy replied with a slight curtsey.
“‘Just about to’ does not suffice,” Mrs. Hallewell admonished, her tone brisk. “See that the physician is sent for immediately.”
The maid nodded and scurried off, leaving Margaret to Mrs. Hallewell’s care. The housekeeper tutted gently as she adjusted the blankets, her movements surprisingly tender for a woman of such stern countenance.
It wasn’t long before the physician arrived, his presence filling the room with professional gravity. After a careful examination, he straightened and offered Margaret a reassuring smile. “You are out of danger, Your Grace,” he said with confidence. “The concussion was mild, and I see no alarming signs. You shall recover fully with proper rest.”
Margaret sighed softly, both relieved and exasperated. “And the pain?” she asked, gesturing lightly toward her temple.
“There will be some discomfort for a few days, but it shall pass,” he replied. “You must, however, adhere to strict bed rest. Overexertion will not serve you.”
Margaret nodded dutifully, though inwardly she bristled. The thought of lying idle, confined to her bed, was maddening. Despite the ache that lingered, she already felt restless.
As the doctor gathered his things and Mrs. Hallewell escorted him out, Margaret’s gaze returned to the hydrangeas. They were a testament to Morgan’s care, a small but undeniable reminder that he had thought of her even when she hadn’t been conscious to see it. It brought a flicker of warmth to her otherwise frustrated heart.
After the doctor’s departure, Margaret’s thoughts wandered unbidden to her husband. Her gaze drifted toward the door, as though expecting him to appear at any moment. She tried to temper the inexplicable pang of disappointment that he had not already done so, but the feeling persisted, stubborn as the dull ache at her temple.
As Mrs. Hallewell entered with fresh linens, Margaret seized the opportunity. “Mrs. Hallewell,” she began, her voice soft but insistent, “might I inquire as to the Duke’s whereabouts?”
The housekeeper hesitated for only a moment, adjusting the tray she carried. “His Grace is engaged with his solicitor, Your Grace.”
Margaret nodded, her lips pressing into a thin line. The explanation was reasonable enough, though it did little to soothe the restless energy stirring within her. Why, she wondered, did she feel such a desperate need to see him? She was safe, tended to, and yet… yet she wished forhim.
She pushed the thought aside and thanked the housekeeper, resolving not to dwell on it further. But as the day stretched on and the hours dragged with agonizing slowness, her resolve faltered. The light outside her window faded into the soft hues of evening, and still, Morgan did not come.
Surely he knew she was awake by now? The staff would not withhold such news from him—of that she was certain. The doctor himself had returned for a second visit; it wasinconceivable that Morgan had not been informed. And yet, his absence lingered like a shadow over her thoughts.
When Mrs. Hallewell arrived with her dinner tray, Margaret could no longer contain her curiosity. “Is His Grace still occupied with his solicitor?” she asked, her voice carefully neutral, though her fingers tightened imperceptibly on the edge of the coverlet.
The housekeeper nodded, her expression unchanging. “Yes, Your Grace. He remains in his study.”
“This late?” Margaret’s brows lifted in surprise. “It must be an urgent matter.”
“I could not say, Your Grace,” Mrs. Hallewell replied, setting the tray down with practiced efficiency.
Margaret offered a polite smile and dismissed her, though her thoughts churned with increasing unease. What could require such lengthy deliberation? Was something amiss? She tried to shake off the rising sense of apprehension but found herself unable to quell it entirely.
She glanced at the hydrangeas once more, their soft colors offering a fleeting comfort. Curious.
She hoped all was well.
CHAPTER 33
