Chapter 14

CHAPTER 14

“ T he new lady’s maid is here for you to assess, Your Grace,” Mrs. Hallewell said as Peggy finished her breakfast. Her tone, as always, was even and measured, but her sharp eyes lingered a moment longer than necessary.

Peggy waved a hand dismissively, the weight of the previous night’s events still pressing heavily on her mind. “I trust your judgment, Mrs. Hallewell. There’s no need for me to make any assessments.”

The housekeeper inclined her head in acknowledgment, but Peggy could feel the faint judgment that radiated from the older woman. It only added to her frustration. She had spent a restless night, her thoughts looping endlessly over Morgan’s abrupt departure and the anger that had crackled between them. She had not seen him since, and the worry that gnawed at her was as baffling as it was unwelcome.

The morning dragged, and by the afternoon, Peggy found herself in her study, attempting to lose herself in her book. She turned page after page, but the words seemed to blur, her mind too distracted to follow the story. With a sigh of defeat, she set the book aside and wandered upstairs to her bedchamber.

Opening the door, she was startled to see a young woman folding linens near the wardrobe. The maid curtsied swiftly, her movements bright and confident. “Your Grace,” she said with a smile. “I am Daisy Wren, your new lady’s maid.”

Peggy blinked, caught off guard by the girl’s liveliness, a quality the household had sorely lacked. She tilted her head slightly, studying the maid, who continued to put away laundry with quick, efficient hands. There was something refreshing about her manner, and Peggy felt an odd sense of relief at the sight.

“I do hope that my services will be to Your Grace’s standards and satisfaction,” Daisy added, turning back with a hopeful expression.

“Oh, I have no doubts we shall get along just fine,” Peggy replied warmly. “For a start, you talk, which is more than one usually gets in this household. So that’s a relief,” she added, a sheepish chuckle escaping her lips.

Daisy smiled, a flash of good humor in her expression. “I understand, Your Grace. In the village, this household is known as the Silent Castle.”

Peggy arched a brow at the term. The Silent Castle. It had a certain grim poetry to it. “And what do you make of such a reputation?” she asked, unable to keep the curiosity from her tone.

Daisy shrugged lightly, still smiling. “It suits some folk. My cousin Molly is a chambermaid here. She was the one who told me about the vacancy and spoke to Mrs. Hallewell on my behalf.”

“She’s done you a great kindness then,” Peggy said.

“She has, though Molly has always been a bit... withdrawn,” Daisy admitted.

“Withdrawn is a subtle way to put it,” Peggy said with a wry smile. “Half the time, it feels like an eternal slumber in this castle.”

Daisy laughed softly. “Rest assured, Your Grace, you now have someone to converse with. Whenever you wish it, I shall be right at your service.”

Peggy couldn’t help but return the smile. She hadn’t realized how deeply she had craved even the simplest companionship until this moment. “Well then, Daisy Wren, I shall count on you.”

Later that afternoon, Peggy found herself back at the charity meeting. The ladies were as welcoming as they had been before, their chatter warm and lively. This time, the conversation shifted to plans for the annual charity ball.

“It is to be held next week,” Lady Aleshire explained, her tone brisk and efficient. “It is our largest event of the year and always raises a substantial amount for our causes.”

“We shall require all the assistance we can muster,” Mrs. Pattons added. “There are invitations to send, decorations to arrange, and we must ensure the orchestra is prepared.”

“I have a feeling this ball would be one with an even bigger difference this year,” Lady Aleshire said, her smile bright.

“I would be delighted to help in any way I can,” Peggy offered eagerly.

Lady Aleshire nodded approvingly. “Your Grace, your assistance would be most welcome.”

The women began dividing tasks, their energy infectious. Peggy couldn’t remember the last time she had felt so engaged, so... purposeful. For the first time since arriving at Giltford, she allowed herself a spark of optimism. There was work to be done—and perhaps, along the way, connections to be forged.

Later, as Peggy strolled past one of the drawing rooms, something caught her eye. Or rather, someone. Through the open doors, she spied her husband standing on the terrace, his figure silhouetted against the fading sunlight as he gazed out over the gardens.

Curiosity piqued, she retraced her steps and stepped onto the terrace, the cool air brushing her cheeks. Morgan didn’t turn to acknowledge her, but he spoke all the same.

“You were at the meeting today,” he said, his tone neutral. It wasn’t a question, and she couldn’t read his expression.

Peggy hesitated, her hands clasping loosely before her. Was he still displeased? She recalled his warning not to get too close and wondered if he harbored lingering annoyance. “It was just as pleasant as before,” she replied lightly.

“And,” she added, searching for an opening to shift the subject, “there’s going to be a ball in the coming week. I was told it’s an annual affair.”

Morgan nodded, his gaze still fixed on the gardens below. The silence stretched until, unexpectedly, he spoke again.

“The flowers were hydrangeas, you know,” he said.

Peggy blinked, startled. “I beg your pardon?”

“At the fountain,” he elaborated, turning slightly toward her. “When I asked you what flowers lined the pathway. They were hydrangeas.”

A flush warmed her cheeks as the memory of their first encounter resurfaced—the tangled confusion, the laughter she hadn’t been able to suppress at his expense, and the indignation that followed. This was the first time he’d mentioned that night since their wedding, and the fact that he remembered such a detail left her momentarily at a loss for words.

Her gaze drifted to the gardens below. Coincidentally, hydrangeas bordered the short stone stairs leading into the lush greenery, their soft blue and white hues glowing in the dappled light. She hadn’t noticed them until now.

“Hydrangeas,” she echoed softly. “I shall endeavor to remember them.”

Morgan finally met her gaze, and to her surprise, there was a faint smile in his eyes. It was brief, almost imperceptible, but it softened his usually austere features.

Peggy’s heart gave an unexpected flutter. He was a man of such contradictions—reserved and yet occasionally warm, gruff but with moments of surprising gentleness. She decided to seize this rare moment of good humor and bring up her intention to attend the ball.

“I thought I should tell you,” she began, her tone casual but resolute. “I intend to go to the ball.”

Morgan’s expression shifted subtly, the warmth ebbing as his brow furrowed faintly. “You may be the Duchess, Margaret,” he said, his voice low and measured, “but you needn’t concern yourself with the affairs of the village. There are no such expectations upon you.”

“I understand,” she said quickly, nodding to show she took no offense. “But I wish to go. And of course,” she added, her tone softening to a gentle tease, “I do not expect you to join me.”

The quiet returned, and Peggy could almost feel the weight of his contemplation in the air. She half-expected him to dismiss the idea entirely, but instead, he surprised her.

“I will be joining you,” he said finally.

Peggy’s eyes widened in disbelief, her lips parting slightly. “You will?”

Morgan glanced at her, the barest flicker of amusement crossing his face. “You sound as though I’ve agreed to something dreadful,” he replied, before turning his gaze back to the gardens.

Peggy could only stare at him, her lips parting slightly. “You will?”

Morgan glanced at her, the barest flicker of amusement crossing his face. “What manner of a Duke would I be to let my Duchess show up at her first public event alone?” he said, faintly teasing, as though the matter was entirely obvious.

He paused for a moment, his gaze drifting back to the gardens. “Besides,” he added, “it is important to remind them of who we are.”

Peggy tilted her head, her brows furrowing. “Remind them? Whatever do you mean?”

Morgan’s jaw tightened slightly, and for a moment, she thought he wouldn’t answer. Then, he said, “There are always those who forget. It is our duty to ensure they remember.” His words were even, but there was a hardness beneath them that made Peggy shiver despite the mild air.

She could only stare at him, her mind swirling with questions she dared not ask. What does he mean by that?