Page 73 of Duke of Gold
“I would appreciate it,” Margaret said, her voice sharp as the edge of a blade, “if you refrained from such disrespectful words about my husband, Anna.”
Anna’s eyes widened, and she leaned back as though struck. The warmth of her earlier concern faded, replaced by a flicker of hurt and surprise. For a moment, she seemed unsure of how to respond, her lips parting only to close again.
“I’m sorry, Peggy,” Anna said at last, her tone subdued. She rose from the bed with deliberate grace, smoothing her skirts as though regaining her composure. “I will let you sleep now.”
Margaret watched as her cousin left the room, the door closing softly behind her. The silence that followed was heavy, pressing down on her like a weight. She sank onto the edge of the mattress, her hands trembling slightly as she pressed them against her lap.
Anna had only been trying to help, to draw her out of the shell of hurt she had built around herself. And yet, Margaret had all but slammed that effort back in her face with cold indifference. Guilt coiled tightly in her chest, and her stomach churned at the thought of the hurt she had caused someone who had only wanted to protect her.
She turned toward the window, the moonlight casting long shadows across the room. Her gaze lingered on the hydrangeas on her bedside table, their soft colors dulled by the night. She felt as though she were unraveling, each strand of emotion slipping through her grasp.
Margaret closed her eyes, but sleep felt like a distant luxury. The storm within her refused to abate, and she knew—deep down—that it was far from over.
CHAPTER 34
“Ishould not have said what I said, Anna. I am truly sorry,” Margaret said earnestly, her voice quiet but steady as she found her cousin in the morning room. She clasped her hands before her, resisting the urge to fidget as she waited for a response.
Anna turned from where she had been arranging a vase of roses, her brows lifting slightly before softening into a kind smile. “Oh, Peggy, we all have our moments of irritation and ill-temper,” she said lightly. “And God knowsmymoments are practically perpetual. Yours are nothing to fret over, dear.” Her lips twitched into a playful grin as she added, “Truly, if there were a competition, I should win it handily.”
Margaret let out a soft laugh despite herself, and the tension in her shoulders eased. Only Anna could turn such a moment into humor. “Perhaps,” she admitted, her lips curving into a small smile. “But it does not excuse my behavior.”
Anna waved a dismissive hand. “Nonsense. I’ve already forgotten it.” Then, tilting her head with a sudden spark of mischief, she said, “I tell you what—how about a walk? It shall do us both good to clear our heads.”
Margaret hesitated for only a moment before nodding. A walk would be a welcome distraction from the thoughts that had plagued her since her return—thoughts of Morgan, of his coldness, and of the ache she carried in her chest. “I think that is an excellent idea,” she agreed.
“Mrs. Hallewell,” Morgan’s voice carried down the corridor as he strode toward the housekeeper, his tone sharper than intended. “When did the Duchess leave? And with whom?”
The housekeeper hesitated, her hands smoothing over her apron. “Her Grace departed early this morning, Your Grace. She left with Miss Wren, her lady’s maid. No one else accompanied them.”
Morgan frowned, his brows knitting together. “And you allowed her to travel without an escort?”
“She insisted, Your Grace,” Mrs. Hallewell replied softly. “She said it was best not to trouble anyone further. She assured me the arrangements were sufficient.”
Morgan exhaled sharply, turning away as a wave of frustration surged within him. “Very well,” he muttered. “You may go.”
The housekeeper curtsied and departed quietly, leaving Morgan standing in the hall, his mind reeling. Margaret had left for London, just as she had said she would. He had no right to be surprised. He had orchestrated her departure, had he not? Yet the knowledge settled heavily in his chest, an ache he couldn’t ignore.
Unable to contain the restlessness gnawing at him, Morgan made his way to her chambers. The door creaked faintly as he pushed it open, and the faint scent of lavender greeted him. For a moment, he simply stood in the doorway, his gaze sweeping over the room.
Her absence was everywhere.
He stepped inside, and his eyes caught on the little things she had left behind. A ribbon lay forgotten on the vanity, its deep blue a stark contrast against the polished wood. Nearby, a half-read book rested on the bedside table, its pages marked with a pressed flower. A hydrangea.
His chest tightened as he reached for the book, his fingers brushing against the delicate petals. She had loved that flower, had fought to bring life back to the Silent Castle’s garden, despite his protests. He closed the book and set it back down with deliberate care, the gesture doing little to quell the ache within him.
He moved to the window, pushing aside the curtain to look out over the grounds. The view stretched wide, the autumn landscape bathed in golden light, but it felt cold and lifelesswithout her. The silence of the castle, once his solace, now felt suffocating.
This is what you wanted,he told himself firmly.She is safer without you. Happier, perhaps, surrounded by her family and friends.
Margaret drew a deep breath, savoring the crisp air and the faint scent of blossoms carried on the breeze. For the first time in days, she felt something akin to peace.
Anna strode beside her with an easy grace, her steps purposeful but unhurried. They had chosen the park, where paths wound through lush greenery and offered a welcome respite from the confines of the drawing rooms and parlors they frequented.
Margaret was aware of the eyes following them—subtle at first, then increasingly bold. Whispers trailed in their wake, low but unmistakable. She kept her chin lifted, refusing to acknowledge the curiosity she knew she must be drawing.
She could only imagine what society thought. Her return to London was unexpected, and doubtless, many believed she ought to be ensconced in her husband’s home, still glowing from the early days of marriage. That she was here, walking freely with her cousin, likely confounded them further.Was the Duke truly the reclusive beast they believed him to be?The whispers seemed to ask.Had he driven her away already?
Margaret tightened her grip on her reticule, focusing instead on the sound of Anna’s voice as she began to speak.
