Chapter 25

CHAPTER 25

“ S omeone’s in transports,” Morgan remarked as he observed his wife. She was seated across from him, her eyes alight with energy, and she tucked into her meal with a zest that belied the typically subdued air of their dinners.

“Oh, but what reason would I have not to be?” Margaret replied, her voice practically lilting with happiness as she set down her fork and dabbed at her lips with a napkin.

“Care to share the occasion?” he asked, leaning back slightly, the corner of his mouth quirking upward.

Margaret needed no further prompting. “Well,” she began with obvious delight, “the matron who made that dreadful remark about you at the club—Mrs. Pattons—offered an apology today. A rather grudging one, of course, but an apology nonetheless.”

Morgan’s brow lifted, intrigued. “And did you simply accept it and move on?” he inquired, though the faint glint in his eyes suggested he already knew the answer.

Margaret’s lips curved into a sly smile. “Oh no, your grace. I couldn’t let her get away so easily. I reminded her that the finest treasures are often the most unassuming. It made quite an impression,” she added, her tone light but victorious.

Morgan felt a swell of pride in his chest, an unfamiliar yet satisfying warmth. “Not bad. Not bad at all,” he said, inclining his head slightly in acknowledgment.

Margaret’s eyes sparkled, her gaze locking onto his. “Is that a compliment, your grace?” she asked, her eyes bright with hopeful teasing.

“It’s an acknowledgment,” he replied with a faint smirk, deliberately avoiding the trap she’d set.

“Oh, come now,” she huffed, folding her arms in mock petulance. “What would it cost you to give a proper compliment?”

Morgan chuckled, the sound low and rich. “Are you truly that starved for compliments, Margaret?”

“I just defended your honor,” she retorted, her chin lifting as her lips twitched with a barely restrained smile. “The least I deserve is a compliment from you.”

Her playful gloating only amused him further. “Ah, so this is where your happiness stems from,” he teased, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Fishing for accolades from your husband.”

Margaret laughed, the sound bright and unguarded, and Morgan found himself laughing with her.

“Would you like to hear what ideas I have for the music room renovations?” Margaret asked, her voice tinged with excitement as she looked at him across the table.

Morgan found himself unexpectedly intrigued. “I suppose I could be persuaded,” he replied, his tone mild but curious.

After their meal, Margaret wasted no time leading him to the music room. Her steps were light, her energy infectious, and Morgan followed with an amused smile tugging at his lips. Once there, she gestured to the room with a flourish, her green eyes shining as she began to explain.

“I thought of a theme in tones of green and brown,” she said, her hands moving expressively as she spoke. “I want to create an illusion of nature indoors. A room that feels both vibrant and soothing, as though you’ve stepped into a sunlit forest.” She turned to him, her face aglow with pride. “Isn’t it a splendid idea?”

Morgan allowed himself a small smile, his gaze lingering on her as she awaited his response. “I must say, it does sound quite creative and well thought through,” he admitted, his voice warm. Then, before she could accuse him of holding back, he added, “And yes, Margaret, I am giving a true compliment now.”

Her reaction was immediate and utterly delightful. She practically bounced on her feet, her hands clasping together as a radiant grin lit up her face. “I’m a genius, I know,” she declared, the words brimming with self-satisfaction.

Morgan laughed, shaking his head. “Although you could use a lesson or two in humility,” he teased.

Margaret ignored the jab entirely, too caught up in her vision for the room. “Oh, I think it will look like a dream once it’s done!” she exclaimed, spinning in place as her eyes roved over the walls, the windows, the high ceiling. It was as though she were already admiring her completed masterpiece.

Speaking of dreams…

Morgan’s amusement dimmed slightly as the thought crossed his mind. He studied her, his hands slipping into his pockets as he leaned casually against the doorframe. Her enthusiasm was contagious, her happiness a balm to his weary soul, yet beneath it all lingered the matter of her silence—her silence about the nightmares.

Why had she said nothing? Margaret was not one to keep her thoughts to herself, especially not about something so significant. And yet, she had chosen to keep her discovery to herself.

He needed answers, and he needed them soon. Morgan decided then and there that it was time to ask her .

“Why are you keeping quiet about it?” Morgan asked, his voice breaking the stillness in the room.

Margaret, who had been examining the far wall with her typical animated focus, froze mid-step. She turned to him slowly, her expression shifting into a mask of perplexity. “About what?” she asked, though the slight tension in her tone betrayed her.

“The nightmares,” he clarified, his gaze unwavering. “You found me, didn’t you?”

She stilled completely, her shoulders straightening. “I did,” she said softly, nodding with solemnity.

Morgan studied her, searching for some flicker of the curiosity he knew so well. Yet her face was strangely unreadable, her composure throwing him off balance. “It is unlike you not to question at all,” he said, his tone quieter now.

Margaret hesitated for a moment, her eyes meeting his before shifting away. “I didn’t need to question,” she replied, her voice calm, measured.

Her response unsettled him, though not in the way he might have expected. For the first time, he found himself unable to read her. She was neither probing nor retreating, simply… waiting.

“Why?” he pressed, his brow furrowing as he leaned slightly closer.

“You’ve brought it up yourself now, haven’t you?” she said, a faint smile tugging at her lips. There was no triumph in her tone, only a quiet certainty that left him momentarily speechless.

Her words hung between them, and something inside him shifted. He felt calm, surprisingly so, even as the weight of the conversation lingered. It was unlike anything he had ever experienced when confronting his past. There was no urgency, no judgment in her demeanor—only patience. He exhaled, realizing for the first time how much he appreciated that patience, even if he wasn’t entirely certain what to do with it.

Margaret, however, seemed entirely at ease. She moved toward the corner of the room and resumed her assessment of the space, her skirts swishing lightly as she turned. “Now, back to the music room,” she said, her tone bright once more. “I’ve been thinking that a mural of climbing ivy along this wall might complement the theme wonderfully.”

Morgan blinked, momentarily thrown by the sudden return to their earlier discussion. “You wish to paint ivy on the walls?” he asked, his voice almost incredulous.

“Not ivy, precisely,” she corrected, casting him a glance over her shoulder. “More of a delicate suggestion of it—subtle vines, perhaps, with small flowers interspersed.” She gestured toward the wall, her movements fluid and assured. “It would bring the illusion of nature indoors even further, don’t you think?”

Morgan folded his arms, watching her with growing fascination. She made no further mention of his nightmares, no inquiries into what haunted him or why. It was as if she had instinctively known to step back, to leave the door ajar rather than forcing it open.

What game is she playing at? he wondered, the thought slipping unbidden into his mind. And should I be concerned?

Yet even as the question formed, he found himself reluctant to call it a game. There was no artifice in her demeanor, only a quiet determination that intrigued and unsettled him in equal measure. For the first time, he began to wonder if perhaps she understood him far better than he had given her credit for.

“I think the pianoforte could do with some lacquer as well,” Margaret said, running her hand lightly over the instrument’s crusted surface. Her touch was delicate, but the intent behind her observation was clear—she would not rest until the entire music room was transformed into her vision of perfection.

“Indeed,” Morgan agreed, his voice lower than he intended. He took a step closer to her, his gaze momentarily drawn to the way her fingers lingered on the wood. She glanced up at him, and as he closed the distance, her sudden shift of expression caught him off guard.

Margaret stumbled slightly, her hand jerking back from the pianoforte as she stepped away. Her back pressed lightly against the instrument, and she looked up at him with wide eyes, her lips parting as though to speak, though no words came forth. A faint blush crept up her cheeks, staining her skin a delightful pink.

Morgan’s breath hitched as his eyes fell to her lips. They were soft, inviting, maddeningly close. Heaven help him, he thought, every inch of her was inviting.

His hand twitched at his side, an instinctive desire to close the final gap between them. His head lowered slightly, drawn by some invisible force, and for a brief, reckless moment, he considered giving in.

But reason caught him just in time. With great effort, he turned his head and pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek instead, the soft brush of his lips against her skin far more intimate than it had any right to be. He heard her breath catch, and the sound sent an ache through him that he dared not explore.

“I think we should call it a night, Margaret,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. It was the only course of action he could take, the only way to steady himself before this overwhelming want consumed him entirely.

Her gaze lingered on his, searching his face as though she might decipher the sudden shift in his demeanor. Then, with a small nod, she straightened, smoothing her skirts with practiced composure. “Very well,” she replied softly, though her voice carried a note of hesitation.

Morgan stepped back, clasping his hands behind his back as though to physically restrain himself. “Goodnight, Margaret,” he said, his tone steadier now.

“Goodnight, Morgan,” she returned, her eyes still on him as he turned and left the room.

As he strode down the hallway, the air between them still felt charged, lingering on his skin like a memory.

Perhaps the earlier I put some space between us, the better I can contain this relentless, maddening pull .

But as he reached the end of the hall, he couldn’t shake the feeling that no amount of distance would ever truly be enough.