Chapter 17

CHAPTER 17

“ W here is the Duke, Barrow?” Peggy asked as she approached the butler.

Barrow dipped his head respectfully. “His Grace is occupied, Your Grace. Either in meetings with his steward or solicitor, or on his estate rounds.”

Peggy’s lips tightened slightly at the reply. Vague, as always, she thought. “Thank you, Barrow,” she said, though her voice betrayed a thread of disappointment.

She couldn’t shake the feeling that Morgan was intentionally avoiding her. It had been two days since the night she found him frozen before the shelf, and in all that time, he had remained unseen. Was it guilt? Did he know she had been the one to find him in that unsettling state? Or perhaps it was something else entirely.

Her unease only deepened with the nagging suspicion that the servants might be withholding the truth from her. Their impeccable politeness seemed almost conspiratorial, as though the entire household shared some secret she was not meant to uncover.

Still, two afternoons after that strange, fateful night, Peggy found herself grateful for the distraction of unexpected callers. Lady Aleshire and Mrs. Pattons arrived without notice, their familiar faces a welcome relief from the stifling atmosphere of the castle.

“Oh, pardon our unannounced call, Your Grace,” the two women echoed as they settled into the drawing room, their manners as polished as ever.

Peggy smiled warmly, gesturing for the tea to be served. “It is no trouble at all,” she assured them, taking her seat. “Your company is always welcome.”

Once the tea was poured and pleasantries exchanged, Lady Aleshire set her cup down and straightened in her chair. Peggy noticed the faintest hint of hesitation in the woman’s demeanor, a contrast to her usual self-assuredness.

“Well,” Lady Aleshire began, smoothing a hand over her skirts as she exchanged a quick look with Mrs. Pattons. “We, the ladies at the club, had a discussion.”

Peggy tilted her head slightly, her interest piqued but tempered by a small pang of concern. The woman’s tone was unusually tentative. “Oh?” she prompted gently.

Lady Aleshire glanced at her companion once more before continuing. “W e thought that as the Duchess, you might like to take over as the head of the committee .”

Peggy blinked, taken aback. “The head?” she echoed, unsure if she’d heard correctly.

“After all, it is only proper, given your station, Your Grace,” Lady Aleshire added, her voice carefully measured, though her posture suggested she was braced for resistance.

Peggy’s hand tightened lightly around her teacup as she processed the proposition, her thoughts spinning.

“Oh no, not at all,” Peggy quickly interjected, sitting forward slightly with a warm smile. “I would be delighted to take part in every aspect and learn from you, Lady Aleshire, but I shan’t want to usurp the position you’ve held for years.”

Lady Aleshire blinked, her expression softening as a hint of surprise crossed her features. “There is no such thing as usurping, Your Grace. I am making the offer to you.”

“Yes,” Mrs. Pattons chimed in eagerly, her tone effusive as she nodded. “And it’s a unanimous agreement, Your Grace.”

Peggy’s gaze flicked to Mrs. Pattons, noting the almost exaggerated enthusiasm in her manner. Obsequious as ever, she thought wryly, though she kept her face pleasant. Turning back to Lady Aleshire, Peggy clasped her hands lightly in her lap, her demeanor earnest.

“Well,” she began thoughtfully, “you can tell the ladies that I appreciate the gesture, but I am politely declining. We shall all continue to reach out under Lady Aleshire’s leadership.”

Lady Aleshire’s lips curved into a small, genuine smile, and Peggy felt a quiet relief at her apparent approval.

“And I would be honored to continue learning from her,” Peggy added, before glancing at Mrs. Pattons. “And from you all, Mrs. Pattons.”

Mrs. Pattons preened slightly, her expression brightening as though she had been personally praised.

“As you wish, Your Grace,” Mrs. Pattons said with a deferential nod, though her lips tightened ever so slightly before relaxing into a smile. Peggy caught the brief shift in her demeanor, and for a moment, doubt flickered in her mind. Was she displeased? But just as quickly, Mrs. Pattons’s good humor returned, and Peggy inwardly admonished herself for imagining things. Perhaps she was being overly suspicious.

“Oh, you are too kind, Your Grace,” Lady Aleshire said now, a soft pink blooming on her cheeks. The warmth in her voice was genuine, and Peggy felt her spirits lift. She was glad to have navigated this delicate matter without offense—at least not outwardly.

With that matter settled, the conversation turned to the preparations for the ball. Lady Aleshire welcomed all of Peggy’s suggestions with an open mind and a gracious smile, and for the first time, Peggy felt as though she were beginning to truly belong among these women. They agreed to meet the rest of the committee tomorrow afternoon to begin putting plans into motion.

Later, as Peggy walked the ladies to the door, their conversation full of bright chatter, they were unexpectedly interrupted. Rounding a corner, they came face to face with Giltford. He stood tall, his solicitor at his side, a bundle of documents in hand.

Peggy’s breath hitched, a strange wave of relief washing over her as she took him in. He looked like himself again—composed, steady, and utterly impenetrable. The haunting image of him from two nights ago seemed like a distant memory now, though the unease it had planted remained.

Forcing herself to recover quickly, Peggy stepped forward and offered a warm smile. “Your Grace, may I present Lady Aleshire and Mrs. Pattons?”

Morgan’s gaze shifted to the women, his expression unreadable but his tone flawlessly polite. “Ladies,” he said with a small nod. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Both women dropped into identical curtsies, their movements fluid and practiced. Yet Peggy couldn’t help but notice the subtle tension in Mrs. Pattons’s posture, the slight widening of her eyes as she lifted her head. Lady Aleshire, by contrast, maintained her calm poise, though her gaze flicked briefly to her companion, perhaps noting the same thing Peggy had.

Mrs. Pattons smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Her hands clutched the folds of her skirt tightly, and her voice, when she spoke, had a faint tremor. “Your Grace,” she said, her usual effusiveness dampened.

Peggy glanced between them, confusion tugging at her. Why does she seem so uneasy? she wondered, watching as Mrs. Pattons lowered her gaze almost immediately after addressing Morgan.

Morgan, for his part, seemed utterly indifferent, his manner composed but detached. He exchanged a few polite words before excusing himself, his solicitor in tow, and disappeared down the hallway without a backward glance.

As the women continued toward the door, Peggy couldn’t shake the curious tension that lingered in the air. Mrs. Pattons’s earlier cheer seemed forced now, her steps quick as though eager to leave the castle. Peggy’s brows knitted together. There was something strange at play, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

What could make her so intimidated?

After the ladies’ departure, Peggy felt an urgency she could no longer ignore. She had seen Morgan for the first time since that unsettling night, and while he had appeared his usual composed self, the memory of his vacant eyes and stillness lingered like a shadow in her mind. If I do not speak with him now, I may not get another chance, she thought, setting her shoulders and making her way toward his study.

When she reached the door, she hesitated briefly before knocking. The sound echoed faintly in the quiet hallway. “Come in,” came his voice, calm but clipped.

Peggy pushed the door open and stepped inside, her hands clasped tightly before her. Morgan looked up from behind his desk, his dark eyes assessing her for a moment before he set his pen down. “Margaret,” he greeted, his tone neutral.

She took a cautious step forward. “I wished to speak with you,” she began, her voice steady though her heart raced. “About... about the other night.”

His expression stiffened imperceptibly, but she caught it. He leaned back in his chair, his fingers interlocking as he rested them on the desk. “There’s nothing to speak of,” he said, his tone final.

Peggy’s lips parted, frustration bubbling up despite her best efforts to temper it. “Nothing to speak of? You were standing in the hallway, unresponsive, as though you were—” She stopped herself, exhaling sharply. “I need to know that you’re alright.”

Morgan’s jaw tightened, and he looked away briefly, as if composing himself. When his gaze returned to her, it was colder, more distant. “I am fine,” he said. “There is no need for concern.”

Peggy took another step forward, the disappointment and unease she’d felt for days welling up in her chest. “You may say that, but how can I not be concerned? You—” She faltered, unsure how to phrase it without prying too far. “You seemed... troubled.”

His gaze darkened, and he leaned forward, his elbows resting on the desk. “Margaret,” he said, his voice low but firm, “I have work I must tend to.”

The dismissal was clear, cutting through whatever argument she might have voiced. Her breath hitched, the sting of rejection sharp as she stood frozen for a moment.

“Of course,” she finally said, forcing a small nod as she stepped back. Her hands fidgeted with the folds of her dress, her disappointment weighing heavily in her chest. “I won’t keep you, then.”

Morgan didn’t respond, his attention already returning to the papers before him. Peggy turned and left the room.

Does he not see that I care?

“This venue must sparkle with elegance,” Lady Aleshire declared, her voice brimming with enthusiasm as she placed a list of required items on the table. “It is our most anticipated event, after all.”

“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, caught the 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.”