Chapter 26

CHAPTER 26

T he following morning saw Peggy waking with a lightness in her heart she hadn’t felt in weeks. Sunlight streamed through the delicate curtains, casting a warm glow over her room, and as she sat up in bed, the events of the previous evening washed over her. Morgan’s kiss—it had felt like a dream, soft and fleeting, but filled with a promise she dared not name aloud.

She placed her fingertips lightly against her cheek, recalling the warmth of his lips. Surely, it wasn’t a dream, she thought, her smile widening. Her heart brimmed with hope, a buoyant optimism she had not dared indulge in before. Her plan to make him fall in love with her, to slowly but surely win his trust, seemed to be working. For the first time, she allowed herself to imagine a future where she wouldn’t live in isolation, tucked away in a cold, unfeeling marriage. It filled her with a quiet, giddy joy.

As she sat at her dressing table, her lady’s maid, Clara, set about helping her with her morning routine, pinning her hair into an elegant arrangement. “Your Grace seems to have had a good night’s rest,” Clara observed with a faint smile. “You are looking most rejuvenated this morning.”

Peggy chuckled lightly, her gaze meeting Clara’s in the mirror. “Oh, you make it sound as though I was a wilted flower.”

Clara blushed slightly but pressed on. “I beg your pardon, Your Grace, but you haven’t been at your best of late,” she replied gently, her tone tinged with concern.

Peggy paused at that, her hand momentarily stilling on the edge of the dressing table. Clara was right, though the girl’s words were far kinder than the reality Peggy had faced. The weight of Morgan’s struggles, his nightmares, and the silence between them had gnawed at her spirit, though she had kept it all carefully hidden. Now, however, something had shifted. Last night’s tender moment had sparked a hope she hadn’t realized she needed so desperately.

“Well, in that case,” Peggy said, her voice bright and resolute, “I am much revived indeed.” Her smile grew, and she straightened her posture, glancing at her reflection with newfound confidence. She couldn’t help but think of the kiss again, her cheeks warming slightly at the memory. For the first time, she began to anticipate the future of her marriage with something akin to excitement.

“It seems the cool night air favored your slumber,” Clara said, her hands deftly securing the last pin in Peggy’s hair. The girl’s tone carried a subtle curiosity, her words touched with the unspoken question of what good fortune could have inspired such cheerfulness in her mistress.

Peggy’s lips twitched as she caught Clara’s curious gaze in the mirror. With a soft laugh, she replied, “Indeed it did. And I had the most marvelous dream.”

“In that case, I shall dress you in your best this morning, to complement Your Grace’s spirits,” Clara said brightly, her hands moving with renewed energy as she smoothed out Peggy’s bodice.

Peggy’s smile softened as she watched the girl bustle about. All was going well, she thought. But even as hope flickered brightly in her chest, a lingering shadow remained—the perception people held of Morgan. If only they could see the man she saw, the one who was more than his stoicism and guarded silences.

As Clara adjusted the folds of her dress, Peggy decided to seize the moment. “Clara,” she began, keeping her tone light, “what do the villagers truly think of Giltford? And of our marriage?”

The girl paused, her hands faltering briefly before resuming their work. “I wouldn’t presume to speak for the entire village, Your Grace,” she said hesitantly.

“Of course not,” Peggy replied with a reassuring smile. “But I would value your perspective. You are from the village, after all.”

Clara hesitated, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of the ribbon in her hand. “Well,” she began slowly, “the Duke has always been... a commanding figure. Many find him intimidating.”

Peggy tilted her head, her gaze steady. “And what of me? What do they think of this marriage?”

The girl’s reluctance was evident, but after a moment, she sighed and spoke plainly. “They pity you, Your Grace,” she admitted softly. “They think it must be a trial to be wed to someone so distant.”

Peggy’s lips pressed together as she digested this. The words sounded uncomfortably close to the sentiments Mrs. Pattons had voiced, and she couldn’t help but wonder if this was mere coincidence or if such opinions ran deep among the villagers.

But she refused to let the revelation dampen her spirits. One step at a time, she told herself firmly. She would make things work with Morgan, and she would change the way others saw him. He deserved that much.

The remainder of the morning was spent overseeing the first stages of the renovations, her hands and mind fully occupied with the lively activity of workers bustling through the house. Color swatches arrived from the furniture shop, and Peggy eagerly began sorting through the options, envisioning the transformation of each room.

Her concentration was interrupted by the butler’s appearance in the doorway. “Your Grace, Lady Aleshire has called,” he announced.

Peggy’s expression brightened. “Show her in, please.”

Moments later, Lady Aleshire entered the room, her steps brisk and her demeanor cheerful. “Oh, nothing quite like some renovations and redecorations!” she declared with evident enthusiasm, her gaze sweeping over the fabric samples and paint palettes spread across the table.

“Indeed,” Peggy agreed with a warm smile. “I could use your keen eye, Lady Aleshire. Will you lend me your expertise?”

The women were soon settled with tea, their heads bent over the array of swatches and color schemes. “This shade would be splendid for the morning room,” Lady Aleshire suggested, tapping a soft pastel green.

“And perhaps this one for the music room,” Peggy countered, holding up a richer, forest-green tone.

They compared, combined, and selected colors. It was a pleasant distraction, and for a while, Peggy allowed herself to focus entirely on the work at hand, the future of her home becoming brighter with each choice they made.

“As a matter of fact, I came bearing some news today,” Lady Aleshire said, setting her teacup down with deliberate care, her expression alight with a hint of mischief.

“I do hope you bear good tidings,” Peggy replied, tilting her head with curiosity.

“Oh, indeed I do,” Lady Aleshire said with a smile. “Mrs. Pattons has withdrawn from the charity club after her humiliation the other day.”

Peggy blinked, taken aback for only a moment before composing herself. “Well, that is solely her prerogative,” she said, shrugging lightly and lifting her own tea to her lips.

“Indeed it is,” Lady Aleshire agreed, sipping her tea with a measured grace. “And I, along with all the other women, am relieved it turned out this way.”

Peggy raised her brow in surprise, setting her cup down gently. “Relieved?” she asked, her curiosity now fully piqued.

Noticing the question written plainly on Peggy’s face, Lady Aleshire leaned forward slightly, her voice lowering just enough to signal the gravity of her words. “We were all tired of Mrs. Pattons’s hypocrisy, both in the club and in the village at large, but none of us knew how to address it directly, let alone curb her ways.”

Peggy’s brow furrowed. “I knew she was unpleasant,” she said slowly, “but I did not realize the exact extent of her behavior.”

Lady Aleshire’s eyes gleamed with a knowing look. “She had the nasty habit of carrying tales from one household to the next, spreading discord with her poisonous tongue. She’s caused numerous misunderstandings and squabbles amongst peers—some of which linger to this day.”

“Oh dear,” Peggy murmured, her voice tinged with genuine concern. She had known Mrs. Pattons was a difficult woman, but this revelation painted a far more insidious picture.

Lady Aleshire gave a firm nod, her tone growing lighter now that the matter had been aired. “Had you let her get any closer, Your Grace, she would have carried tales about you and the Duke far and wide. It is most fortunate that things turned out the way they did.”

Peggy leaned back slightly in her chair, her thoughts racing at the idea. While she had hoped to resolve the unpleasantness with Mrs. Pattons, she hadn’t anticipated such a decisive conclusion—or that it would be met with such enthusiasm. “It seems,” she said with a faint smile, “that I have stumbled into the good graces of fate.”

“Indeed, you have,” Lady Aleshire said warmly. “And you have your own keen mind to thank for this newfound respite. Truly, your handling of the matter was most admirable.”

Peggy waved off the compliment with a graceful gesture. “Oh, I merely did what I thought was necessary. It was no great feat, I assure you.”

“Nonsense,” Lady Aleshire replied with a pleased laugh. “The ladies have you to thank, and we are most grateful.”

The conversation continued pleasantly for a time, but before taking her leave, Lady Aleshire paused, her expression taking on a businesslike tone. “We do have an upcoming inspection of the new ward being constructed at the children’s hospital,” she said. “I shall send word when the date is confirmed. I trust you will attend?”

Peggy inclined her head with a smile. “Of course, I will.”

“It will also be an opportunity for you to officially meet the children as the new Duchess,” Lady Aleshire added, her voice warm with encouragement.

Peggy’s face brightened, her smile softening into something genuine and eager. “I look forward to it,” she replied earnestly. The prospect filled her with a curious blend of anticipation and purpose.

After seeing the Baronet’s wife to the door and bidding her farewell, Peggy turned back into the house, her mind still brimming with thoughts of the hospital and the upcoming inspection. She was halfway down the hallway when a strange sound caught her attention.

It was faint but distinct—a scraping noise, low and uneven, as though something heavy was being dragged or pushed against the wall. Peggy paused, tilting her head as she tried to determine its source. It came from the opposite hallway, the one where the renovations had yet to begin.

Curiosity stirred within her, and she adjusted her pace, her slippers soundless against the polished floors as she followed the noise. The hallway was dimmer than the rest of the house, the sunlight filtering through narrow windows, casting long shadows on the walls. Rounding the corner, she stopped abruptly at the sight before her.

There, by the giant oak shelf that loomed against the hallway wall—the very same shelf where she had found Morgan before that fateful night—stood the butler. His back was to her, both hands pressed firmly against the side of the shelf as though he were about to push it.

Peggy’s brow furrowed, her steps slowing as she tried to make sense of what she was seeing. The butler stiffened suddenly, his head turning sharply at the sound of her approach.

“Your Grace,” he said, quickly straightening, his hands falling to his sides in a movement that seemed almost too practiced. His expression betrayed nothing, save for the faintest flicker of surprise that he quickly masked.

Peggy’s gaze shifted between him and the shelf, her curiosity deepening.

“Is everything quite alright? I thought I heard sounds,” Margaret asked, her voice steady but tinged with curiosity as she took a step closer.

“Sounds?” the butler repeated, his tone carefully measured, though the faintest flicker of surprise crossed his face before he quickly masked it.

“Yes,” she continued, tilting her head slightly, her gaze unwavering. “Scraping sounds, to be precise. And they seemed to be coming from this area.”

The butler straightened further, clasping his hands neatly in front of him. “All is quite well here, Your Grace. No sounds at all,” he replied smoothly, his tone calm but a shade too quick. “I didn’t hear anything myself.”

Peggy’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. His demeanor was composed, but there was something about the way his gaze flickered—just briefly—toward the shelf behind him that made her pause. It was the smallest of gestures, yet it betrayed a hint of unease.

“Very well,” she said at last, though her tone carried a note of doubt. She lingered for a moment longer, her gaze flitting to the shelf. It loomed large and imposing, as though it had always belonged in its place. Yet the memory of Morgan standing near it that night returned to her unbidden, casting a shadow over her thoughts.

The butler dipped into a bow, his expression impassive once more. “If there is nothing else, Your Grace,” he said, his voice as polished as ever.

Peggy nodded faintly, turning to leave, though her steps were slower than usual. Something about the encounter unsettled her, though she could not quite say why. The scraping sounds had been real—she was certain of it—and yet the butler’s denial, paired with his nervous glances at the shelf, left her with more questions than answers.

As she made her way back down the hallway, she cast one last glance over her shoulder. The butler had already disappeared, leaving the area silent once more. Peggy pressed her lips together, the faintest crease forming between her brows.

What on earth could he have been doing by that shelf?