Page 81 of Duke of Gold
“Giltford is being a fool,” Colin supplied with a shrug, raising his glass.
Sterlin’s sharp eyes narrowed as he turned his attention to Morgan. “He looks like a wreck too,” he observed, his tone now serious. “And there’s only one thing in this world that can do that to a man.”
“A woman,” Colin finished succinctly.
“Indeed.” Sterlin nodded, crossing to join them. He fixed Morgan with a steady gaze, his tone softening. “I’ve been there, Giltford. Right where you are now. It’s a path full of thorns—thorns of your own making. But it is not impassable.”
Morgan clenched his jaw, Sterlin’s words boring into the raw edges of his guilt.
Sterlin continued, his voice measured but firm. “Trust yourself. Trust your sentiments. But above all, trust your Duchess. You may think you’ve burned the bridge between you, but trust me when I say it is never too late to rebuild it.”
Colin raised his glass in agreement. “Well said, Sterlin. And he’d do well to heed it.”
Morgan said nothing, his thoughts churning as his gaze dropped to the tumbler in his hands. The worst of it all—the thought that haunted him most—was that he had hurt Margaret. The woman he loved, the woman he had vowed to protect, and the one person he could not bear to lose.
He closed his eyes, her words echoing in his mind once more.There is nowe, Morgan. Not anymore.
Not anymore… but perhaps not forever.
He exhaled sharply, setting the glass down with deliberate precision. Margaret’s welfare came first before anything. Andhonoring his vows to protect her for the rest of their lives was precisely what he must do. In whatever ways he knew best.
CHAPTER 38
Ishould do this… accept my fate…Margaret’s thoughts circled endlessly as she sat in the library, a book open in her lap but entirely unread. Her fingers lightly traced the edge of the page as she stared unseeing at the words.I must return to the lodgings Morgan has provided. It is what is expected of me. I cannot linger here, imposing upon my family any longer, no matter how kind and welcoming they are.
She sighed softly, the consequence of her decision tightening her chest.Staying here will only give rise to questions, whispers… and society thrives on such whispers. I will not allow my presence to become a source of ridicule for my family.
Margaret’s gaze shifted to the window, where sunlight spilled into the room, illuminating the dust motes that floated lazily in the air. The warmth of the day seemed at odds with the cold ache in her heart.
“Margaret, my dear, are you quite all right?” Petunia’s gentle voice startled her from her thoughts. Margaret looked up to seeher aunt standing in the doorway, a soft expression of concern on her face.
“I am well, Aunt,” Peggy replied with a faint smile, closing the book and setting it aside.
Petunia crossed the room and lowered herself gracefully onto the cushion beside her. “You have been in here for some time, lost in thought,” she remarked, her sharp eyes studying Margaret’s face. “Are you certain there is nothing you wish to speak about ?”
Margaret shook her head. “Truly, I am fine,” she said, though the slight tremor in her voice betrayed her.
Petunia reached out, taking Margaret’s hand in hers. “Life is what we make of it, my dear,” she said softly. “Every choice, every decision, shapes the path we walk. And each path offers the potential for joy… or sorrow.”
Margaret’s throat tightened as she absorbed her aunt’s words.Morgan’s decisions have certainly brought me nothing but sadness,she thought bitterly, though she kept the sentiment to herself.
Petunia’s grip on her hand tightened slightly. “But, Margaret, joy is not something that must always be given. Sometimes, it must be sought.”
Margaret’s brow furrowed, her lips parting slightly in confusion. “How?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Petunia smiled, her eyes kind. “It is as much within your power as it is within your grasp,” she said simply. “Only you can decide to reach for it.”
Margaret stared at her aunt, the words settling heavily in her mind. The ache in her chest remained, but a small flicker of something else stirred—a fragile sense of possibility.
Two afternoons later, Margaret stood in her room, folding the last of her gowns into a trunk. Her decision had been made, and the preparations for her journey back to the country were nearly complete. She would leave the following morning.
“What are you in such a rush for, Margaret?” Sebastian’s voice drew her attention to the doorway, where her uncle stood with his hands clasped behind his back, a curious expression on his face.
Margaret straightened and offered him a faint smile. “You know your doors are ever open to me, Uncle,” she said softly. “But I think it is time I returned to the role fate has assigned me.”
Sebastian stepped into the room, his gaze steady as he regarded her. “I know what is going on, my dear,” he said after a moment. “But I have refrained from interfering.”
“Just as Aunt Petunia mentioned,” Margaret murmured, lowering her gaze.
