Page 46 of Duke of Gold
The meeting resumed, though the air between them was taut and stifling. Even the rustling of papers seemed too loud, the voices too subdued. Peggy nodded along to the discussions, contributed when required, and maintained the facade of calm, but the sting of Mrs. Pattons’s comment remained. Her mindchurned restlessly, replaying the words and the insinuations they carried.
When the meeting finally concluded, Peggy exchanged polite farewells, her smile brittle, her voice devoid of its usual warmth. The other ladies offered kind regards and curtsies, their gazes lingering on her, filled with sympathy or discomfort she could not bear to decipher.
By the time she arrived home, Peggy was scarcely aware of her surroundings. She barely noticed the soft click of the front door as it closed behind her or the muted voices of the servants exchanging pleasantries in the hall. Her steps were measured, precise, as she ascended the stairs to her chambers, but her thoughts swirled like a storm.
Mrs. Pattons’s words echoed incessantly:With a husband like yours...The audacity of the comment!
Is this how the world sees him? Is this how they see me?Is there truth in what she said?
CHAPTER 22
“Are you two stalking me now?” Morgan drawled, leaning back in his chair as Colin and Sterlin were ushered into his study. His voice carried a note of mockery, though the faint curve of his lips betrayed his pleasure at seeing them. “Clearly you’ve run me to ground like hounds after a fox.”
“Hardly stalking, Giltford,” Colin replied with his usual irreverence. “Merely ensuring you don’t wither away in solitude.”
Morgan arched a brow, gesturing for them to take the seats opposite him. “And what brings you to my humble castle in the middle of the season, Sterlin?” he asked, directing his attention to the Duke.
Sterlin settled into the chair with practiced ease. “I’ve been in the country to survey a property I’ve taken a fancy to—a quaint little estate not far from here,” he explained. “And once I concludedmy business, this one”—he nodded toward Colin—“insisted we invade your peace and quiet.”
Morgan smirked, shaking his head as Colin interjected. “You cannot expect me to pass up the opportunity to see if your famed hermit’s shell has cracked. Besides,” Colin added with a glint in his eye, “if the Duchess does not object to our presence, who are we to deprive you of our company?”
Sterlin chuckled his tone light but teasing as he leaned forward. “Well, at least it seems you’ve abandoned your rusticating ways for the moment. A commendable step.”
Morgan shot them both a dry look. “Do you two conspire to vex me, or is it simply instinctual?”
“Speaking of,” Colin began, his eyes suddenly gleaming with the unmistakable light of mischief. Morgan’s posture stiffened imperceptibly, his shoulders bracing against the inevitability of whatever Colin had planned to say.
“He was at the country ball I told you about,” Colin said, turning to Sterlin with exaggerated delight.
Sterlin straightened, a spark of intrigue lighting his expression as he glanced at Morgan. “You? At a ball?” he asked, his tone dripping with disbelief. “Surely I’ve misheard.”
Morgan sighed, his fingers tapping idly on the edge of his desk. “The Duchess wished to honor the invitation,” he replied evenly.
“Ah,” Sterlin said, a knowing grin spreading across his face. He exchanged a look with Colin, whose grin mirrored his own. “I see what’s happening here.”
Morgan’s eyes narrowed. “I’d thank you not to draw ridiculous conclusions.”
Sterlin ignored him, his grin widening. “Marriage humbles even the proudest of men,” he mused with exaggerated wistfulness. “A Duke braving a country ball? Clearly, matrimony is working its magic.”
“Or its mischief,” Colin added, laughter underscoring his words. “Though, I must say, it suits you, Giltford.”
Morgan cast them both a long-suffering look, though there was no denying the faint warmth creeping into his expression. “It was a mere formality,” he said, his tone clipped, as though to dismiss their teasing. “A gesture of courtesy, nothing more.”
“Of course,” Sterlin replied with mock solemnity, though the sparkle in his eye said otherwise. “Our women rarely leave us much choice in such matters, do they?”
“No, indeed,” Morgan murmured, inclining his head in agreement. Sterlin’s fond chuckle filled the room, and Morgan noted the softened expression that crossed his friend’s face. There was no mistaking it—the man was utterly besotted with his wife.
“Quite persistent, I must agree,” Morgan nodded.
“Let me offer you some advice, Giltford,” Sterlin began, leaning forward in his chair with an expression of exaggerated solemnity.
Morgan raised a brow, his tone dry. “Because that is precisely what I needed today—unsolicited advice.”
Sterlin ignored the jab entirely, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Do not fight it.”
Morgan’s brow arched higher. “And what, precisely, am I not to fight?”
Sterlin waved a hand as though the answer were obvious. “Whatever winds your marriage brings—be it a mellow breeze or a tempestuous storm—e mbrace every bit of it.”
