Chapter 27

CHAPTER 27

T he faint murmur of voices caught Morgan’s attention as he walked toward his study. He slowed his steps, turning toward the sound. It was coming from the ballroom. Curiosity, or perhaps something more instinctual, made him pause at the open doorway.

Inside, the room was alive with activity. Several footmen and maids bustled about, their arms laden with fabric swatches and polished fixtures. In the center of it all stood Peggy, her shawl tossed over one arm, her hands gesturing animatedly as she spoke to the foreman. She radiated energy, her voice confident and bright as she issued instructions.

Morgan leaned casually against the doorway, crossing his arms as he watched. Her cheeks were flushed, her expression intent, and the light in her eyes was unmistakable. She was wholly in her element, commanding attention without demanding it, her warmth drawing the staff into her orbit with ease.

He couldn’t help but compare her vitality to the stifling air that had so long permeated the castle. The walls that had once seemed heavy and oppressive now seemed lighter, as though the house itself had been holding its breath and was finally allowed to exhale. And all because of her, he thought, the realization settling in his chest like a quiet ache.

Peggy turned suddenly, catching sight of him in the doorway. Her eyes brightened. “Morgan!” she called. “What are you doing skulking about?”

“I don’t skulk,” he said dryly, stepping into the room.

“Then what do you call standing in the shadows, watching me?” she teased, arching a brow.

“Observing,” he replied, his tone light. “I was curious about the commotion.”

Peggy laughed, the sound ringing pleasantly through the room. “Well, since you’re here, perhaps you can give me your opinion.” She gestured toward the drapes being held up by a maid. “What do you think? The blue or the gold?”

Morgan glanced at the options, his gaze lingering on Peggy longer than the fabric. “The gold,” he said. “It complements the molding.”

Peggy tilted her head, considering. “You’re right,” she said with a smile, turning to the maid. “We’ll use the gold then.”

As the staff returned to their work, Peggy stepped closer to him, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. “Do you think we should host a ball here one day?” she asked, her tone casual but her eyes hopeful.

Morgan hesitated, his defenses rising instinctively. “I’ll think about it,” he said with mock deliberation.

Her lips curved into a playful pout. “You’ll think about it? That’s your answer?”

“Do you expect me to make such monumental decisions on the spot?” he countered, the corner of his mouth twitching upward.

Peggy laughed again, shaking her head. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re relentless,” he returned, his tone softening despite himself.

They bantered a bit longer, her teasing drawing smiles he hadn’t realized he was capable of. But as her attention returned to the ballroom and the staff, Morgan felt a pang of something uncomfortably close to regret as he stepped away.

Back in his study, Morgan sank into his chair, the memory of her laughter still lingering in his mind. He ran a hand over his face, frustrated by the way her presence clung to him even now. She was a force of nature, a warmth he couldn’t help but be drawn to—and that terrified him.

A knock at the door broke his reverie. “Enter,” he called, sitting up straighter.

Mrs. Hallewell stepped inside, her hands folded neatly before her. “Your Grace,” she began, her tone brisk. “I wanted to discuss the arrangements for the upcoming repairs in the east wing.”

Morgan nodded, gesturing for her to continue.

She spoke of the logistics, but as their discussion neared its end, she hesitated. “There is one more thing, Your Grace,” she said carefully.

He looked up, his brow lifting in question.

“The Duchess,” Mrs. Hallewell said, her voice softening. “Her Grace has been tireless in her efforts to restore this house. She works endlessly, always with a kind word for the staff. But...”

“But?” Morgan prompted, his tone sharper than he intended.

“She is lonely, Your Grace,” Mrs. Hallewell said plainly, meeting his gaze. “She puts on a brave face, but anyone who watches closely can see it. She needs support—your support.”

Morgan’s jaw tightened. “She seems to be managing well enough.”

“She is,” Mrs. Hallewell acknowledged, her tone unwavering. “But that does not mean she does not feel the weight of it all. A kind word from you could make all the difference.”

Morgan leaned back in his chair, his expression carefully neutral. “I will take it under advisement.”

Mrs. Hallewell inclined her head, recognizing the dismissal, and took her leave.

As the door closed behind her, Morgan exhaled slowly, her words replaying in his mind. She is lonely. The thought needled at him, pricking his conscience in a way he couldn’t ignore. Yet the idea of reaching out, of opening himself up even a fraction, filled him with equal parts dread and longing.

Peggy strolled down the hallway, her thoughts pleasantly adrift. It wasn’t until she neared the towering oak shelf that her steps faltered. She paused, tilting her head as her gaze fell on a faint gap between the edge of the shelf and the wall.

Frowning, she stepped closer, brushing her gloved fingers along the seam where the wood didn’t quite meet the plaster. A sliver of darkness peeked through—a gap that hinted at something beyond. Peggy pressed her palms lightly against the edge, and it shifted just enough to confirm her suspicion. There was a door behind it.

Her heart quickened. The butler’s strange behavior from the other day came rushing back, and she straightened, her lips pressing into a determined line. Turning sharply, she beckoned to a pair of passing footmen.

“You there,” she called. “Come here at once.”

The footmen exchanged a hesitant glance but obeyed, their steps quickening as they approached.

“I need you to move this shelf,” Peggy said, gesturing toward the towering piece of furniture.

The men hesitated, their brows furrowing. “Move it, Your Grace?” one of them asked, clearly uncertain. “It’s quite large, and His Grace?—”

“I am quite aware of its size,” Peggy interrupted briskly, though her tone remained calm. “And as for His Grace, I shall take full responsibility for the matter.”

One of the men shifted uncomfortably, his hands twitching at his sides. Peggy felt a flicker of doubt, a momentary urge to summon Morgan and ask him directly what lay behind the door. But she dismissed the thought just as quickly. He would never tell me. Not yet, she thought, a resolute firmness settling over her. Whatever was hidden here, she needed to find out for herself.

“Move the shelf,” she repeated, her tone firm but not unkind.

After a brief pause, the footmen obeyed, bracing themselves as they gripped the heavy wood. With a few grunts of effort, the towering shelf began to inch forward, revealing a concealed door behind it. Peggy stepped back, her breath catching as the full view came into sight.

The door creaked slightly as she pushed it open, revealing a cavernous space beyond. Peggy stepped inside, her gaze lifting in awe as she took in the room. It was a grand library, its soaring shelves reaching from floor to ceiling, each one stocked with rows upon rows of books. A faint smell of aged leather and parchment hung in the air, and the soft light filtering through narrow windows gave the space a timeless quality.

Peggy turned slowly, her gloved fingertips brushing over the nearest shelf. Why would the household tell me there was no library in the house? she wondered. The very idea seemed absurd. She moved further into the room, her eyes scanning for anything out of the ordinary, but all she found was a space filled with books and history—nothing that justified such secrecy.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of hurried footsteps, and she turned just as Mrs. Hallewell appeared in the doorway. The housekeeper’s face paled visibly as her eyes darted around the room.

“Your Grace,” Mrs. Hallewell said, her voice unusually sharp, “this is no place for you.”

Peggy blinked, taken aback by the woman’s uncharacteristic tone. “No place for me? It’s merely a library.”

Mrs. Hallewell stepped further into the room, her hands wringing together nervously. “It is not meant to be disturbed,” she said, her eyes flickering toward the footmen. “You two—leave us at once.”

The footmen, all too eager to escape the tension in the air, bowed quickly and departed. Peggy, however, remained rooted in place, her brow furrowing as she turned back to Mrs. Hallewell.

“Why was this room hidden from me?” Peggy demanded. “What reason could there be to conceal something so innocuous?”

Before Mrs. Hallewell could respond, a deeper, sharper voice cut through the air.

“Margaret.”

Peggy’s breath hitched as Morgan appeared in the doorway, his dark gaze sweeping over the scene. His face was a mask of barely controlled fury, and the tension in his frame was palpable.

“Out,” he commanded, his tone brooking no argument. “All of you.”

Mrs. Hallewell quickly scurried past him without a word, but Peggy remained where she stood, her chin lifting defiantly. “Morgan, I?—”

“Not another word,” he snapped, stepping further into the room. “You had no business here.”

Peggy stood her ground, her chin lifting as a flicker of defiance sparked in her eyes. “I am your wife, Morgan,” she said, her voice steady despite the ache blooming in her chest. “This castle is my home too. I have every right to know what lies within its walls.”

Morgan’s jaw tightened, and his gaze turned colder. “You do not understand.”

“Then make me understand!” she demanded, taking a step closer. Her hands balled into fists at her sides as her frustration swelled. “I am not some interloper or stranger, Morgan. I am your wife. You owe me that much.”

“I owe you nothing,” he said sharply, the words holding a bitterness that struck her like a blow. He turned away from her, his movements brusque, and ran a hand through his hair. “This room, this... place—it is not for you.”

Peggy’s chest constricted, her breath catching as she fought to keep her composure. “Why?” she asked, her voice softening but no less insistent. “What could possibly warrant such secrecy? What is it you’re so determined to keep from me?”

He turned back to her then, his eyes dark and filled with something she couldn’t quite name—anger, perhaps, or pain. “Do not press me, Margaret. Leave it be.”

His refusal only fueled her frustration. “You cannot shut me out like this, Morgan. Not forever.”

“You do not understand what you are asking,” he bit out, his voice low but fierce. “And you will not find the answers here. Now leave.”

Peggy stared at him, her heart pounding as her words faltered. His walls were firmly in place, impenetrable and unyielding, and no matter how desperately she wanted to reach him, he refused to let her in.

At last, she nodded stiffly, swallowing the lump rising in her throat. “Very well,” she said quietly, her voice trembling despite her best efforts. “I shall leave. But know this—whatever it is you are hiding, it will not remain hidden forever.”

Morgan said nothing, his silence as heavy as the tension in the room. Peggy turned and walked out, her steps measured but her heart shattering with each one.

As she made her way back to her chambers, her mind raced, her thoughts a whirlwind of hurt and confusion. Her husband’s anger, his secrecy, his unwillingness to share even the smallest piece of himself—it all weighed on her, pressing down until she could scarcely breathe.

When she reached her bedchamber, she closed the door behind her, the sound echoing in the stillness. Her gaze fell to her bureau, and a memory surfaced—the note she had received days ago.

She had dismissed it then, brushing it off as nonsense. But now, with Morgan’s words ringing in her ears, the question took on a far more unsettling weight. Crossing the room, she opened the drawer and retrieved the note, unfolding the paper slowly as though it might reveal something more the second time.

The words stared back at her, stark and unyielding. Do you truly know who you married, Duchess?

Peggy sank onto a chair, clutching the note in her hands. Her composure finally cracked, and tears slipped down her cheeks, warm and unbidden. She tried to make sense of it all, to piece together the fragments of her husband’s behavior, but the more she thought, the more elusive the answers became.

Peggy adjusted her gloves as she descended from the carriage, her smile poised and serene despite the turmoil that churned beneath her exterior. She was here to inspect the new ward at the children’s hospital.

Although she was grateful for the distraction, the ache in her chest remained, a persistent reminder of Morgan’s anger and the wall now standing between them.

“Ah, Your Grace,” Lady Aleshire greeted warmly, gesturing for Peggy to join her at the steps of the children’s hospital. “You’ve brought such a brightness with you today.”

Peggy inclined her head graciously. “I am delighted to be here. The work being done at this hospital is truly remarkable,” she replied, her voice steady and bright, though it took effort to maintain the facade.

The group was soon ushered inside, where the headmistress—Mrs. Trenton, a stern yet kind-faced woman Peggy had met briefly at the charity ball—awaited them. She dipped into a polite curtsy. “Your Grace, it is a pleasure to see you again,” she said.

“And you as well, Mrs. Trenton,” Peggy replied, extending her hand. “I have heard much about your dedication to the children here.”

Mrs. Trenton’s eyes softened with pride. “It is my life’s work, Your Grace. Would you care to meet the children? They have been most eager to greet you.”

Peggy nodded, following Mrs. Trenton and Lady Aleshire through the hospital’s airy hallways. The laughter and chatter of children filled the space, a sound both chaotic and heartwarming. Peggy’s spirits lifted momentarily as they entered a large, bright room where a group of children sat at low tables, engaged in various activities. At Mrs. Trenton’s prompting, the children rose and offered polite bows and curtsies.

“This is our Duchess, children,” Mrs. Trenton announced with a smile. “She has come to see how well you are all doing.”

Peggy beamed at them, her heart softening at the sight of their eager faces. She moved among them, exchanging kind words and asking about their studies, marveling at their enthusiasm. But as her gaze swept the room, she noticed an empty chair in the far corner.

“Are we missing someone?” Peggy asked, her tone light but curious.

Mrs. Trenton followed her gaze and sighed. “Ah, that would be Lottie. She often slips away when she finds herself engrossed in a book. A most voracious reader, that one.”

Peggy’s smile deepened. “Where might we find her?”

The headmistress led her to a quiet corner where a small girl of about nine years old was perched on a cushioned bench, entirely absorbed in a book nearly as large as her lap. Peggy’s heart softened at the sight.

“Lottie,” Mrs. Trenton called gently, and the girl’s head shot up, her eyes wide with surprise. She quickly slid off the bench, clutching the book to her chest as she offered a deep curtsy.

“Your Grace,” Lottie murmured, her cheeks pink with embarrassment.

“There’s no need to be nervous,” Peggy said kindly, kneeling slightly to meet her gaze. “What is it you’re reading?”

Lottie hesitated, then held the book out to her. Peggy took it carefully, glancing at the title. “ Tales of Courage and Valor, ” she read aloud, her smile growing. “A fine choice.”

The girl’s face lit up, her shyness melting away. “It’s my favorite,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve read it three times already.”

Peggy chuckled, handing the book back. “You must have an excellent memory, then. What a wonderful thing, to love stories so much.”

The two exchanged a few more words, Lottie growing more animated as she spoke of her favorite tales. Peggy found herself unexpectedly drawn to the child, her enthusiasm and love of books sparking a longing deep within.

If only… she thought wistfully, her heart constricting as she imagined sharing such moments with a daughter of her own. The thought was fleeting but sharp, and she quickly pushed it aside, returning her attention to the present.

By the time they departed, Peggy felt both buoyed by the children’s resilience and weighed down by her own burdens. As the carriage rumbled back toward home, she sat in silence, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.

“Are you quite well, my dear?” Lady Aleshire asked gently, studying her with concern.

Peggy forced a small smile, shaking her head lightly. “Oh, I am perfectly well,” she said, her voice carefully composed. “Just a little tired, that is all.”

Lady Aleshire regarded her for a moment longer, then nodded. “It was a fine day, was it not?”

“Indeed,” Peggy murmured, her gaze fixed on the passing countryside. But as the conversation faded, her thoughts drifted to the library, to Morgan’s anger, and to the note hidden in her bureau drawer.