Page 72 of Duke of Gold
“But—” she began, her voice rising with the desperation of someone grasping at fragments of hope.
“Need I remind you,” he interrupted smoothly, cutting her words like a blade, “you agreed to these terms before you said your vows.”
Margaret’s breath faltered. The dispassion in his voice was more painful than anger could have ever been. She sat back, the papers slipping from her fingers, her gaze fixed on the man before her—the man who had kissed her with such warmth, held her as though she meant something, and now spoke to her as though she were little more than a nuisance to be managed.
For a moment, all she could do was stare, her heart aching as realization settled in her chest like a stone. Whatever she thought they had begun to build, Morgan had just dismantled it with unrelenting precision.
“Termsyoupractically shoved down my throat, Morgan,” Margaret shot back, her voice trembling with frustration. “I had little choice in the matter to begin with, needIremindyou?”
Her words hung in the air, but they seemed to have no effect on him. Morgan’s expression remained as cold and unyielding as ever. It was clear—painfully, heartbreakingly clear—that he had already resolved himself to this course of action.
Margaret’s chest tightened as she stared at the man before her. Only days ago, he had been warm, even tender. He had been her friend, perhaps something more. But now? Now, hewas a stranger, distant and unreachable. She didn’t know if she wanted to scream in exasperation or surrender to the tears threatening to spill over.
Had their relationship truly meant nothing to him?
“Very well, Your Grace,” she said at last, the words escaping her lips with a hollow finality. She rose to her feet, her movements slow and deliberate as though she were holding herself together by sheer will. “If that is what you wish.”
She left the room, her back straight and her head high, but the moment the door closed behind her, her composure crumbled. She pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle a sob, the betrayal cutting deeper than she had thought possible.
By the afternoon, Margaret had begun to pack. The housemaids moved about silently, their sympathetic glances only deepening her resolve to leave as quickly as possible. But it wasn’t until the dawn of the day before her scheduled departure that she made her decision.
“Have the carriage brought around,” she instructed the butler in a clipped tone, avoiding his curious gaze. She donned her traveling cloak and left the estate without ceremony, the rising sun casting a pale light over the grounds she once thought might become her home.
Her family in London was, predictably, delighted by her unexpected arrival. Peggy fabricated a reason for her visit aseasily as one might don a bonnet, though the lie felt brittle even as she spoke it.
“Oh, with Anna and Lizzy both gone, I simply couldn’t bear to stay away,” she said brightly during dinner. “I missed you all far too much.”
Her father and siblings seemed content with her explanation, their smiles warm and welcoming. But as the evening wore on, Margaret struggled to maintain the mask of cheer. The storm within her—of anger, disappointment, and heartbreak—threatened to spill over.
Unfortunately for her, Anna, ever the scrutinizing cousin, saw right through it.
That night, as Peggy sat in her old bedroom, brushing her hair before the vanity, Anna appeared at the door. Without invitation, she entered and perched on the edge of the bed, her arms crossed and her brow arched in pointed curiosity.
“Something is wrong, isn’t it?” Anna asked without preamble. “This cannot be a mere visit, Peggy.”
Margaret hesitated, keeping her back to Anna as she carefully placed the brush down. “You are far too quick to jump to conclusions, Anna,” she said, her voice steady but lacking its usual vibrancy.
Anna snorted softly. “You are an atrocious liar, Peggy. You know that, don’t you?”
Peggy sighed, her shoulders slumping ever so slightly. She turned at last, her expression carefully composed but her eyes betraying the turmoil within.
“What happened?” Anna pressed, her tone softening as she leaned closer. “You need not bear it alone.”
Peggy’s lips parted, the words on the tip of her tongue, but for a moment, she faltered. The thought of unburdening herself was as tempting as it was terrifying. She swallowed hard, unsure if she could face the truth aloud—unsure if she could bear to hear it herself.
Margaret’s mind replayed Morgan’s words, his cold dismissal, and the dispassion in his eyes as he had pushed those papers toward her. She thought of his kiss, the warmth of his touch on the cliff—the fleeting moments when she had believed he cared. Moments that now seemed like cruel illusions.
“Did that ghoulish Duke do something to you, Peggy?” Anna’s voice cut through her reverie, sharp with both concern and indignation. “Is that why you are here? Has he been mistreating you?”
Margaret’s head snapped up, her eyes narrowing slightly. “You speak of him as though he were a cruel beast, Anna,” she said, her voice measured but tinged with disapproval.
Anna leaned forward, her expression unrelenting. “Why, any man who would send his wife away like this must be a cruel one indeed.”
Margaret’s hands clenched the edge of her dressing gown. “He did not send me away, Anna,” she replied, her voice taut. “I came of my own accord.”
Anna’s eyes flashed with stubborn determination. “Because of something he must have done to you,” she insisted. “Come now, talk to me, Peggy dear. What did he do?”
But the question—laden with implication—only added to the tempest within Margaret. It wasn’t Anna’s concern that grated on her; it was the disrespect in her words about Morgan, a man Margaret herself could hardly defend at the moment but still felt bound to shield from insult.
