Page 36 of Duke of Gold
“And we must ensure it is unlike any other,” one of the other ladies chimed in. “Something memorable, not just another predictable country assembly.”
Peggy, seated among them, listened intently, her hands resting lightly on her lap. She leaned forward slightly, the faintest hint of a smile playing on her lips as she considered their discussion. “If you are seeking something unique,” she began, her voice steady but thoughtful, “perhaps I might be of help.”
All heads turned toward her, curiosity and expectation mingling in their expressions.
“There are some exquisite glasses stored at the castle,” Peggy continued, glancing at Lady Aleshire. “Beautiful pieces from the Ottoman Empire. They’re hardly ever used, and I believe they could lend an air of distinction to the ball.”
Lady Aleshire’s eyes widened in astonishment. “Glasses from the Ottoman Empire?” she echoed, leaning closer as though to confirm she had heard correctly. “Your Grace, that is truly remarkable.”
“It’s a splendid idea!” one of the other ladies exclaimed. “The first of its kind in our little corner of the world.”
“Indeed, this will be a country assembly with a difference,” Lady Aleshire agreed, her tone bright. “Elegant, refined, and entirely unforgettable.”
“The advantages of having the support of a Duchess,” Mrs. Pattons added with a smooth smile, her eyes gleaming with calculated approval.
Peggy’s cheeks warmed at the chorus of praise, and she reached for her teacup in an attempt to mask her self-consciousness. “It would be my pleasure to contribute,” she said modestly. “After all, it’s for a cause that benefits so many.”
Inwardly, she hoped Morgan wouldn’t object to her borrowing the glasses. Though she hadn’t asked yet, she reasoned that such items, now part of the castle’s inventory, fell within her purview as Duchess. At least, that was what she told herself as the conversation moved on to other details.
Peggy stirred her soup absently, the clink of her spoon against the porcelain bowl filling the quiet dining room. The warmth of the broth was welcome, though her appetite was faint at best. She brought a spoonful to her lips just as the soft sound of footsteps echoed in the hall.
Her hand stilled, and she glanced up instinctively. Morgan entered the room with his usual composed air, his dark coat tailored to perfection, and his expression as unreadable as ever. His gaze swept the room briefly before he made his way to the far end of the table. His hair, slightly mussed from the day, caughtthe glow of the chandelier above, and there was a tiredness in his features that belied his otherwise sharp demeanor.
Peggy’s heart gave a small, involuntary flutter, but she quickly dismissed it, returning her attention to her soup. She spooned another delicate bite, resolutely ignoring him as he took his seat. The scrape of his chair against the floor and the quiet murmur of the footman pouring his wine marked his movements, but she refused to look up again.
The silence stretched, broken only by the faint clink of silverware as their first course was served. Peggy kept her gaze on her plate, determined not to yield first. If Morgan wished to speak, then let him.
And speak he did. “I understand you’ve been occupied with the charity ball preparations,” he said evenly.
“How do you know what I’ve been up to?” she asked.
Morgan didn’t reply immediately. Instead, he leaned back slightly in his chair, lifting his wineglass and swirling the liquid with a deliberate air. Then, setting it down, he spoke, his tone even but pointed.
“As a matter of fact,” he began, his dark eyes holding hers, “I know that you’ve given out my Turkish glasses to be used for the ball.”
CHAPTER 18
“Well, I didn’t give them away permanently,” Margaret said, a sheepish little chuckle escaping her lips. “I just lent them out for the evening. I was going to tell you about it.”
Morgan raised a brow, the faintest glint of amusement flickering in his eyes. “We’re never seeing those glasses again,” he said, his tone carrying a mock resignation as he clucked his tongue.
Margaret’s mouth parted in mock outrage. “Oh, don’t be a pessimist,” she admonished, setting her spoon down with a soft clink. “Lady Aleshire is not that careless. She has the utmost regard for quality.”
“Quality, yes,” he said, his lips twitching slightly. “But it is your trust in people that I find remarkable, Margaret.”
“Trust is hardly a flaw,” she countered, narrowing her eyes at him playfully. “You, on the other hand, sound like a cynic.”
“A cynic?” he repeated, his brow arching further. “Is that what you call being cautious?”
“Cautious? No,” she replied, lifting her glass to her lips. “It is what I call being a pessimist.”
Morgan chuckled, a low, warm sound that surprised her. “If all those are synonymous with being cautious, then I most definitely am all that.”
She tilted her head at him, curiosity blooming in her chest. “Have you always been so cautious, then? Or did something instill it in you?”
He regarded her for a moment, his expression unreadable. “Caution comes with the position, Margaret. It serves me well.”
“But surely, there must be times you’ve cast caution aside,” she pressed, her voice light with interest. “Have you ever traveled? Truly traveled, I mean. Seen places beyond England’s borders?”
