Page 78 of Duke of Gold
“You hate surprises, Anna,” Elizabeth retorted with a roll of her eyes. “You hate everything but your dogs.”
“Quite right,” Anna shrugged, unbothered by the jab.
Margaret chuckled softly at their exchange, grateful for the levity. The sound felt foreign to her ears but not unwelcome.
Elizabeth turned back to her, fixing her with a mock reproachful look. “You might have told me of your arrival sooner, Peggy. I would have called the moment you alighted from your carriage.”
“Never too travel-worn to entertain, eh?” Anna quipped, raising a brow.
The three of them laughed, and for a moment, Margaret felt a glimmer of normalcy.
Elizabeth’s attention returned to the kitten, now grooming its full belly atop the table. “Truly, what a lovely little creature,” she remarked. “Wherever did you find it?”
“It was abandoned in the park,” Margaret explained, her hand stroking the kitten’s soft fur. “Anna and I found it yesterday.”
“She insisted on bringing it home,” Anna added with a pointed look, though her tone carried no real censure.
“Of course she did,” Elizabeth said with a grin. “How could anyone resist?”
Margaret smiled sheepishly, but her attention snagged on the fleeting glance Elizabeth exchanged with Anna. A knowing look passed between her sisters, one that made Margaret’s stomach tighten. Anna had written to Elizabeth, then. Shared enough to signal that something was amiss.
She braced herself for Elizabeth’s inevitable questions, but they never came. Instead, Elizabeth’s expression brightened as she leaned forward. “I have news! We are hosting the closing event of the season.”
Margaret forced a polite smile, though her heart sank. “How wonderful,” she said, her tone carefully neutral.
Elizabeth’s enthusiasm was uncontainable as she outlined her plans—the decorations, the guest list, the musicians. Margaret nodded along, feigning interest, though the idea of a grand ball filled her with a quiet dread. The thought of donning a mask of perfection and mingling with society when her world felt as though it had splintered was almost unbearable.
“I am so delighted you are in Town,” Elizabeth said, her hand lightly brushing Margaret’s. “You will attend, of course.”
Margaret hesitated, but the words did not come. She could not bring herself to disappoint her sister’s excitement. “Of course,” she murmured, though her heart weighed heavy with the lie.
After Elizabeth’s departure, Margaret sank back into her chair with a sigh. The kitten stirred at her side, its tiny paws stretching before it settled back into a ball of fur.
“I am not going,” she said quietly, her gaze fixed on the table.
Anna, seated across from her, set down her glass. Her sharp eyes softened as she studied Margaret. “Whatever you wish, Peggy,” she said simply, her voice devoid of judgment.
Margaret nodded faintly, though her thoughts felt fragile. She wanted to escape the charade, the whispers, the pain of pretending all was well. And yet, a part of her ached at the thought of missing the event, of distancing herself further from the life she had once hoped to share with Morgan.
Later that afternoon, Margaret sat in the library, a book open on her lap, though she had not turned a page in what felt like an age. Her thoughts were a swirl of conflicting emotions—her decision not to attend the ball, the tension of her family’s unspoken concerns, and above all, the ache she carried for Morgan.
The sound of approaching footsteps broke her reverie, and Aunt Petunia entered, carrying a small stack of cream-colored envelopes. “Your sister sent these just now, Peggy,” she said, settling herself into the cushion beside her.
Margaret glanced at the invitations, recognizing the elegant script as Elizabeth’s. “I am sure you all will have a splendid time,” she said, her tone carefully neutral as she handed them back.
“You are not joining us,” Petunia said, her voice soft yet certain. It was not a question, but a conclusion.
Margaret nodded faintly, her fingers twisting the ribbon of her book.
Petunia studied her with the gentle scrutiny that Margaret had always found both comforting and disconcerting. “I know something is troubling you, dear,” her aunt said after a moment.
Margaret hesitated before asking, “Has Anna said anything to you?”
“Oh, but she does not need to,” Petunia replied with a sigh. “Your visit was unexpected, Margaret. And it is plain to see you have not been yourself since your arrival, despite your best efforts to suggest otherwise.”
Margaret swallowed hard, her gaze dropping to the hands folded in her lap.
“In fact,” Petunia continued, her tone steady but kind, “your uncle has his suspicions as well. But you know Sebastian—he never interferes unless absolutely necessary. Still, I imagine it is only a matter of time before he speaks to you himself.”
