Chapter 24

CHAPTER 24

P eggy walked briskly down the hall. It was a Monday, and though she would usually have been preparing for that afternoon’s charity meeting, today she had decided to forgo it entirely. Her spirits were still too unsettled, her affront at Mrs. Pattons’s audacious comment too fresh. Best to compose herself fully before addressing the matter.

Instead, she had resolved to turn her energy to something more constructive—renovating the castle. And where better to begin than by broaching the matter with Morgan? Her mind raced with ideas as she approached the study, the grand double doors looming ahead. She paused, smoothing her dress and taking a breath before raising her hand to knock.

“Enter,” came his voice, deep and composed.

Peggy stepped inside, her gaze immediately drawn to Morgan, who was seated at his desk, a letter in hand. The late afternoon light streaming through the tall windows cast him in a golden glow, highlighting the strong lines of his face. He set the missive down, rose to his full height, and turned toward her.

“Margaret,” he greeted, his tone polite but tinged with curiosity. “To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”

“Good afternoon, Morgan,” she said, allowing a small smile to grace her lips. “I thought I might steal a moment of your time.”

“You’re welcome to try,” he replied with a faint smirk, stepping around the desk to meet her.

He does look handsome today. The thought slipped in unbidden, and Peggy found her eyes lingering a moment too long on the way his dark jacket fit perfectly over his broad shoulders. She quickly averted her gaze, chastising herself. Focus, Margaret.

“I came to discuss the castle,” she began, clasping her hands lightly in front of her. “I’ve been thinking of a few improvements we might make.”

Morgan arched a brow, gesturing for her to continue. “You can do whatever you wish with the castle, Margaret. But keep your dainty, ladylike off my study.”

She laughed softly, undeterred by his teasing. “Oh, come now. The entire castle needs some work, Morgan,” she encouraged, her tone playful yet resolute. She was heartened by his willingness to agree so easily but had no intention of letting him keep the study exempt. “Even this room could use a touch of cheer.”

Morgan folded his arms across his chest, watching her with an amused expression as she gestured around the room. “When was the last time you redecorated?” she asked, her head tilting inquisitively.

He shrugged. “Not since my grandmother was Duchess, I’m told. My mother never bothered.”

Peggy’s lips parted in surprise. “Good heavens, that was ages ago! It sounds to me as though we are chapters behind in our decorations,” she quipped, unable to keep the incredulity from her tone.

A low chuckle escaped Morgan, and the sound warmed her more than she cared to admit. “Perhaps so,” he allowed, though his arms remained crossed, his stance defensive as if to guard the study from her ambitions.

Peggy turned slowly, surveying the space with a critical eye. The heavy, dark wood paneling seemed to absorb the light rather than reflect it, and the furnishings, though of fine quality, bore the wear of decades. “Let’s see,” she mused, tapping her chin with a gloved finger. “A lighter wood color should work just fine in here.”

Morgan leaned back against the edge of his desk, one brow lifting in faint challenge. “You are quite determined, aren’t you?”

“Indeed, I am,” she said with a smile, already picturing the transformations she would set in motion. “And just wait until you see what I have planned.”

“Did you not hear a word I just said, Margaret? I like my study as it is,” Morgan said.

“Perhaps some yellow wallpaper to complement the lighter wood color?” Peggy suggested sweetly, turning to face him with a wicked smile playing at her lips. “And we could hang pink china saucers all around the walls. A charming touch, don’t you think?”

Morgan gave her a long, incredulous look, his brow arching in disbelief. Then, to her delight, he burst into laughter—a deep, rich sound that warmed the otherwise somber room. “If you think for a moment I’ll let you turn my study into a doll’s parlor, you are sorely mistaken,” he replied, shaking his head.

Peggy tilted her head, feigning contemplation. “A doll’s parlor? Now, there’s an idea. Perhaps we could place a vase of dainty roses on your desk as well.”

Morgan smirked, pushing off the edge of his desk and crossing his arms as he studied her. “You, my dear, have a rather dangerous imagination.”

“I prefer to think of it as a creative mind,” she countered, her tone light as she crossed the room to the door. “And you may find you like what I have in store, Morgan. Though, if you do not, you are always free to sulk here in the dark wood like a hermit.”

He chuckled again, shaking his head as he waved her off. “Go on, then. Conquer the rest of the castle. Leave my study to me.”

Peggy left with a satisfied grin, his laughter still echoing in her ears. She had barely stepped into the hallway when the butler appeared, his expression composed but expectant.

“Your Grace,” he began with a bow, “you have a caller. Lady Aleshire is in the drawing room.”

Peggy straightened, smoothing her skirts as a smile graced her lips. “Thank you, Barrow. I shall see her immediately.”

She entered the drawing room to find Lady Aleshire already seated near the fire, her usual commanding presence softened with an air of relief. Rising to greet her, Peggy approached with warmth. “Lady Aleshire, how wonderful to see you returned,” she said, her voice carrying genuine pleasure. “How is your grandchild?”

“Oh, he is a strong little lad,” Lady Aleshire replied, her shoulders easing as a smile broke across her face. “He will be fine, getting better every day. The doctors assure us he is out of danger now, and we need not worry any longer.”

Peggy’s own relief was immediate, and she clasped her hands together. “That is marvelous news. I am so very glad to hear it.”

She rang for tea, and as the maid hurried away, Peggy turned her attention fully to her guest. She noted, with some concern, that Lady Aleshire’s expression had grown somber, the brightness of moments ago dimmed.

“I heard what happened with Mrs. Pattons,” Lady Aleshire said, her tone measured. “The women told me everything.”

Peggy inclined her head, her calm demeanor belying the simmer of irritation beneath the surface.

“I came to express my deepest apologies first,” Lady Aleshire continued, meeting her gaze directly, “before I bring Mrs. Pattons over to do the same.”

Peggy blinked, momentarily surprised by the directness of her guest’s declaration. She gathered herself quickly.

“Oh, it isn’t your doing, Lady Aleshire,” Peggy said with a graceful wave of her hand, her tone light but firm. “And while I appreciate the gesture, I would prefer to keep the likes of Mrs. Pattons out of my house and life. I shan’t want any further associations with her.”

Lady Aleshire frowned slightly, though her expression remained kind. “Oh, but it is only proper that she apologizes,” she insisted, leaning forward slightly, her eyes searching Peggy’s face. “And you were not at today’s meeting. Oh, do return to the club, my dear. Your presence and participation cannot compare to anything,” she added earnestly.

Peggy smiled faintly at the compliment, though she detected the hint of pleading beneath Lady Aleshire’s words. “I have no intentions of quitting the charity club, I assure you,” she said, meeting the woman’s gaze with quiet resolve. “Certainly not because of someone as petty as Mrs. Pattons. I simply took today off to tend to some household matters that required my attention.”

Lady Aleshire exhaled audibly, her relief palpable. “Oh, that is a comfort to hear,” she said, her shoulders relaxing as her smile brightened. “I should hate for us to lose you over such foolishness.”

Peggy inclined her head graciously, but before she could respond, Lady Aleshire continued with sudden enthusiasm. “Since you would prefer not to have Mrs. Pattons brought to your house, I shall call an emergency meeting on Wednesday and have her apologize to you there.”

Peggy’s brow furrowed in concern. “Oh, you needn’t do that just for me. I shan’t want to inconvenience the other ladies. They may very well have prior plans for their Wednesdays.”

Lady Aleshire waved away her protest with a practiced air. “It is no trouble at all. We set aside our Wednesdays for such contingencies, you see. We’ve had numerous impromptu meetings in the past. It would hardly come as a surprise to the women—nothing they are not already accustomed to.”

Peggy hesitated, still unsure, but Lady Aleshire pressed on. “Besides,” she added with a meaningful look, “there is still much to discuss and plan after the ball. We cannot afford to fall behind in our preparations.”

At last, Peggy inclined her head with a small, measured smile. “Very well, Lady Aleshire. If you are quite certain, then I shall attend.”

“Splendid,” Lady Aleshire said, clapping her hands together softly. “It is settled, then. You shall see Mrs. Pattons humbled, and we shall press forward with our plans.”

As tea was served and the conversation turned to lighter topics, Peggy couldn’t help but feel a flicker of satisfaction at Lady Aleshire’s resolve. She had allies in this club, and for all of Mrs. Pattons’s barbs, Peggy realized she was not nearly as isolated as she might have feared.

Wednesday arrived swiftly, and Peggy entered the charity club meeting with her head held high. The room was abuzz with its usual chatter, though there was a distinct air of anticipation surrounding the proceedings. True to her word, Lady Aleshire had orchestrated the moment Peggy had been promised.

Mrs. Pattons stood before her, her expression tight and her lips pressed into a thin line. “I... I must apologize, Your Grace,” she began, though her tone lacked any true contrition. “It seems I may have spoken out of turn the other day.”

Peggy inclined her head slightly, her hands clasped neatly before her. “Indeed,” she said, her tone calm but firm. She waited, allowing the silence to stretch just long enough for Mrs. Pattons to shift uncomfortably.

After enduring a few more half-hearted mutterings of regret, Peggy raised a brow and said, “Do you know why we have to mine for gemstones, Mrs. Pattons?”

The unexpected question drew a ripple of murmurs through the room. Mrs. Pattons blinked, clearly taken aback. “I—” she began, but faltered.

Peggy offered a small, serene smile and continued, “Because efforts must be made for the best. It is not always the loudest or most prominent stones that are the most valuable. No, the treasures among them, the very best, are often the most unassuming. The most reserved.”

A hush fell over the room, save for the soft rustle of skirts as several ladies shifted in their seats. A few stifled snickers broke the silence, and Peggy’s gaze briefly met Lady Aleshire’s across the room. There was no mistaking the satisfaction in the older woman’s eyes, her lips twitching as though she fought to maintain decorum.

Mrs. Pattons’s face turned a brilliant shade of crimson, her mortification as palpable as the smug amusement radiating from several of the other ladies. Her hands twisted the lace handkerchief in her grasp, though she managed to stammer out, “A... a thoughtful sentiment, Your Grace.”

“Indeed,” Peggy said again, her smile unwavering as she inclined her head graciously. Her point had been made, and she had no intention of belaboring it. “Now, shall we return to the agenda for the day? I believe there is much to be done following the ball.”

As the meeting continued, Peggy noticed the whispers of approval shared between her allies, and the satisfaction in her chest only grew. By the time the gathering concluded and she returned home, her spirits were considerably lighter.

As she stepped into the entryway, Barrow approached with a slight bow. “Your Grace,” he said, holding out a folded missive. “This was delivered for you.”

Peggy paused, taking the note from his gloved hand. Her brows knit slightly as she turned it over in her fingers. It bore neither address nor seal, just a plain fold of paper, unadorned and unassuming. “Where did it come from?” she asked.

“A boy from the village brought it, Your Grace,” Barrow replied. “He did not say who sent him, only that it was for you.”

Peggy frowned but nodded her thanks. “Thank you, Barrow,” she said, her tone even, though her unease grew as she began ascending the stairs.

Her fingers trembled ever so slightly as she unfolded the note, the paper crinkling softly in her hands. Her eyes scanned the single line scrawled in an unfamiliar hand:

Do you truly know who you married, Duchess?

Peggy froze mid-step, her heart lurching. No, I should not pay this any mind. I know the man I married…

After inspecting the estate with his steward, Morgan turned his horse toward the castle. As he reached the final bend in the path, the sight of footmen bustling near the entrance caught his attention. His brow furrowed as he slowed his horse.

The men were carrying old furniture out of the castle, placing it onto carts for removal. He recognized a few of the pieces—an ancient settee with worn upholstery, a chipped side table, and an assortment of faded chairs. Peggy’s renovations were well underway.

Morgan dismounted, handing his reins to a waiting stablehand. He lingered at the base of the steps, watching as the men worked.

The castle was lighter now, brighter. Peggy’s vision was coming to life, her touch evident in every corner. The house no longer seemed to hold its breath in grief or silence. It was beginning to breathe again.

She is changing this place, he thought, the realization both warming and unsettling. His gaze shifted toward the castle’s windows, where sunlight glinted off the panes. And she’s changing me.

The thought stirred something deeper, a memory that slipped through the cracks of his mind.

He was fourteen, seated at the large oak desk in the study, a sheet of parchment spread before him. The air was heavy with the scent of ink and old books, the faint murmurs of the household staff filtering through the closed door. Victoria’s soft footsteps echoed in the hall before she appeared, her small frame framed by the doorway.

“Morgan, come and see!” she exclaimed, her copper curls bouncing as she bounded into the room. “The portraits! Have you ever noticed how serious they all look?”

Morgan glanced up from his writing, an indulgent smile tugging at his lips. “They are meant to look serious, Victoria. They are our ancestors.”

Victoria huffed, clearly unimpressed. “I know that, but must they all look so glum? Do you think our great-grandfather was like Father? Rarely around?”

Morgan set his pen down, leaning back in his chair. “The men of that time had more honor and valor,” he said. “They left their families, yes, but to serve a greater cause. They were gallant and protective.”

Victoria tilted her head, her curiosity piqued. “Gallant? Tell me more.”

He gestured to the chair beside him. “Come, sit. I’ll tell you a story.”

She hurried over, perching on the edge of the seat, her wide eyes fixed on him with rapt attention. Morgan launched into the tale of a distant ancestor who had ridden into battle to protect his lands, returning victorious but weary. His words painted vivid pictures of bravery and sacrifice, of men who left not for wealth, but for duty.

When he finished, Victoria’s expression had softened. “I like that story,” she said. “Do you think Father is gallant like that?”

Morgan hesitated. The truth was, their father left not for battles or honor, but for business ventures and social gatherings in London. “Perhaps,” he said lightly, reaching for the letter he’d been writing. “Now, shall I read you this?”

Victoria nodded eagerly, and Morgan began to read aloud: “Dear Father, I hope this letter finds you well. All is as it should be here, though the wheat harvest has suffered some blight. The tenants remain in good spirits, and the repairs to the south gate are nearing completion.”

“That’s boring,” Victoria interrupted, wrinkling her nose. “Add something interesting!”

He smiled at her audacity. “And what would you have me write?”

“Tell him about Mrs. Evers slipping on the garden path. Or how Cook’s cat had kittens in the pantry.”

Morgan laughed softly, tempted to point out their father would find no interest in such details. But instead, he indulged her, amending the letter with the small anecdotes she suggested. Her laughter filled the room as he wrote, a sound that warmed the often cold air of the castle.