Page 29 of Duke of Gold
Peggy’s face lit up with genuine delight. “I should be honored to join you all again,” she said, her voice bright. “Your work is admirable, and I would be delighted to contribute in any way I can.”
Lady Aleshire nodded approvingly. “Then it is settled. We shall look forward to seeing you next Friday.”
Peggy beamed, a pleasant warmth spreading through her. The invitation was a small victory, a foothold in this unfamiliar world she now called home. She curtsied slightly to the group as she rose, her heart light as she added, “Thank you, ladies. I very much look forward to it.”
Peggy glanced up in surprise as Morgan entered the dining room with the deliberate stride of a man intent on following through with an obligation rather than a desire.
She hadn’t expected him to join her, not after their strained parting last time. Her fork hovered above her plate as her lips parted slightly, her composure momentarily faltering.
“You’re here,” she blurted, then inwardly winced at her lack of poise. “I mean, it is good to see you, Your Grace.”
Morgan paused briefly, his gaze cool but faintly amused. “I do live here, Margaret,” he replied, his voice carrying dry humor as he took his seat at the opposite end of the long dining table. “It would hardly do to avoid my own dining room.”
She couldn’t help but smirk at his retort. “And yet, you’ve managed it with remarkable success until now.”
His brow lifted faintly at her boldness, but he said nothing as the footman poured his wine. Peggy bit her lip to stifle a grin, her spirits buoyed by his presence despite the formal tone of their exchange.
Dinner began in a silence that was not wholly uncomfortable. Peggy kept her focus on her plate, determined not to disturb the fragile truce that seemed to hover between them. But to her surprise, it was Morgan who broke the quiet.
“I heard you attended the charity club earlier,” he remarked, his tone conversational, though his gaze remained fixed on his food.
Peggy’s head shot up, her expression a mixture of astonishment and delight. “You heard?” she asked, unable to suppress a teasing smile. “Spying on me now, are you?”
Morgan met her gaze, unflinching. “Naturally. As my Duchess, I must keep an eye on you. Or two.”
My Duchess.The words settled warmly in her chest, unbidden and unexpectedly pleasant. Her cheeks heated slightly, thoughshe kept her expression light. “Well, I hope my activities met with your approval.”
“How did it go?” he asked, deflecting her teasing with practiced ease.
Peggy brightened at the question, eager to share her success. “Oh, it was a grand success,” she declared, leaning forward slightly. “I charmed the ladies so thoroughly that they extended multiple invitations for future meetings. They were all most welcoming by the end.”
To her astonishment, Morgan chuckled softly, a sound so rare she blinked in disbelief. “That sounds entirely plausible,” he said, the faintest hint of amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth.
Peggy’s heart swelled at the unexpected warmth between them.Could this day get any better?Hope flickered to life within her, fragile but bright. Perhaps she could succeed in drawing him out after all.
Buoyed by his unexpectedly good humor, Peggy decided to broach the topic that had lingered in her thoughts since her visit to the parish. She set her fork down and folded her hands on the table. “I did hear something peculiar while I was there,” she began carefully. “One of the women mentioned the Giltford tragedy. What did she mean by that?”
Morgan’s demeanor shifted immediately. His gaze hardened, and his posture stiffened as if a door had slammed shut betweenthem. The warmth of moments before vanished like a flame snuffed out by the wind.
“Where did you hear such absurdities?” he demanded, his voice low and tight with control.
Peggy hesitated, startled by the sudden change. “From one of the women,” she said cautiously. “They were utterly courteous, I assure you.”
“Courtesy does not ensure truth,” he replied sharply, setting his knife down with deliberate care. “Not all they tell you can be trusted.”
Her frown deepened, her own defiance stirring at his dismissal. “I found them to be quite genuine. Why would they speak falsehoods?”
Morgan’s jaw tightened as his gaze locked onto hers. “You would do well to tread carefully with them, Margaret,” he said, his voice quieter now but no less firm. “There are some matters better left undisturbed.”
“Whatisthe truth then, Morgan?” Margaret asked, her voice steady though her heart raced. She studied him, searching his impassive face for some sign of a response.
For a moment, he did nothing, his expression carved from stone. Then, in a flash of movement, he shot to his feet, the scrape of his chair against the floor sharp and jarring. His anger waspalpable—not a thunderous rage, but a cold, cutting storm that stole the air from the room.
Margaret froze, her breath catching as the sheer force of his reaction bore down on her. Her fingers curled tightly around the edge of the tablecloth, the only sign of her discomposure as she willed herself not to flinch under his dark gaze.
Without a word, Morgan turned on his heel and strode from the room, his steps swift and unrelenting. The dining room door swung shut behind him with a muted thud, leaving Margaret staring at his untouched plate, her gaze drifting to the empty chair he’d left behind.
The silence that followed was deafening.
