Chapter 29

CHAPTER 29

M organ dismounted his horse with practiced ease, the reins looping smoothly over his gloved hand. The crisp afternoon air carried the faint scent of damp earth and fallen leaves, and his boots crunched against the gravel of Colin’s driveway. He hadn’t planned this visit, yet here he was, the need for clarity—or perhaps distraction—driving him more than he cared to admit.

“Giltford!” Colin’s familiar voice rang out as the Marquess strode from the house, his brow lifting in mock surprise. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your esteemed company? Or am I mistaken, and the sky has fallen?”

Morgan fixed him with a flat stare, though Colin’s grin only widened. “A social call? Marriage is changing you, old friend,” Colin teased, crossing his arms and leaning casually against the balustrade. “Shall I summon the household? This occasion calls for champagne.”

Morgan’s jaw tightened as he handed off the reins to a waiting groom. “If I’ve interrupted anything, I can leave,” he said, his tone clipped.

“Nonsense,” Colin replied breezily. “You’re here now, and I shall make it my duty to uncover what brought you. Though I suspect it has something to do with your lovely Duchess.”

Morgan’s chest tensed at the mention of Peggy, the knot in his stomach tightening further. He ignored it, brushing past Colin into the house.

Colin followed, his curiosity unabated. “You’re not even denying it. Marriage truly must be working some kind of miracle. I half expected you to growl at me and storm back to your solitude.”

Morgan ignored the jab, pulling off his gloves with deliberate precision. “This isn’t a laughing matter, Colin.”

The levity in Colin’s expression faded, replaced by a hint of concern. “Then tell me what it is,” he said, gesturing for Morgan to join him in the study.

Morgan hesitated but relented, following Colin to the familiar room. The fire crackled in the hearth, casting a warm glow over the leather armchairs and polished surfaces. Colin poured them both a drink and handed one to Morgan before taking a seat.

“Well?” Colin prompted, swirling his glass. “Out with it.”

Morgan stared into his own glass for a long moment before speaking. “It’s the library,” he said finally. “She found it.”

Colin raised a brow. “She?”

“Peggy.”

“Ah.” Colin sipped his drink, studying Morgan over the rim. “And this is troubling to you because...?”

Morgan’s grip on the glass tightened. “Because it wasn’t meant to be found. Not by her. Not by anyone.”

“And yet it was,” Colin said lightly, leaning back in his chair. “What happened?”

Morgan recounted the events with clipped brevity, his words bristling with frustration. When he finished, Colin’s brows drew together in thought.

“You care for her,” Colin said after a pause, his tone uncharacteristically serious. “That’s what this is about.”

Morgan scowled. “This is about her overstepping?—”

“No, it’s about you not knowing what to do with how much you care,” Colin interrupted. “You’ve never been like this before, Giltford. Not in all the years I’ve known you. And you cannot pretend otherwise.”

The words struck a nerve, and Morgan stiffened, his gaze hardening. “You’re mistaken.”

“Am I?” Colin leaned forward, his expression probing. “She’s your wife, Morgan. She’s your family now. If you cannot trust her, then who can you trust?”

“I’m trying to protect her,” Morgan shot back, his voice sharp.

Colin tilted his head, his eyes narrowing slightly. “From what? Or is that simply what you tell yourself? Perhaps it’s not about protection at all. Perhaps it’s about you hiding in your shadows, clinging to your past and your sorrows because they’re familiar.”

Morgan’s lips parted to respond, but the words faltered. Colin’s gaze bore into him, and for the first time, he found himself unable to dismiss the observation outright.

“Perhaps you should take a wife,” Morgan said abruptly, his tone carrying more bite than humor as he sought to deflect. “You seem to have all the answers to the challenges of marriage. A sage of wisdom in your bachelorhood.”

Colin chuckled, his grin returning. “A fine idea, though I doubt there’s a woman alive willing to put up with me. My opinions, as you say, are far too wise to be borne.”

“Or perhaps you fear she would outwit you,” Morgan said, his lips curling into a faint smirk. “You could hardly keep up with a wife if she were half as sharp as you claim to be.”

“True enough,” Colin conceded with a laugh. “But we’re not discussing my imaginary marriage. We’re discussing yours—and why you are behaving like a man intent on undermining his own happiness.”

Morgan’s smirk faded as Colin’s words landed squarely on his chest. The room fell into a heavy silence as Morgan turned his attention back to his glass, his thoughts spiraling. Colin’s words echoed in his mind, unsettling and uncomfortably accurate. Was it truly protection? Or something else entirely?

The fire crackled softly, its warmth doing little to thaw the cold knot growing in his chest. He didn’t have an answer. Not yet.

The hour was late, and the quiet of the house pressed heavily against Peggy’s chest. She lay in her bed, staring at the canopy above her, willing herself to sleep. But it was no use; her thoughts were too loud, too persistent, her worries weaving an unrelenting symphony of doubt and regret.

With a soft sigh, she rose from the bed, slipping her feet into her slippers and drawing her shawl around her shoulders. The air outside her bedchamber was cooler, carrying with it the faint creaks of the old house settling into the stillness. She moved soundlessly, her footsteps light against the wooden floors, her destination unknown.

Her wanderings took her through the dimly lit hallways, the faint light of the sconces casting shadows that danced against the walls. She paused before a row of somber portraits, their painted gazes fixed and unmoving, their expressions heavy with a gravity she had not fully understood until now. The faces were proud but joyless, their mouths unsmiling, their eyes dark and distant.

Peggy’s lips pressed into a thin line as she studied them, her fingers brushing against the edge of the ornate frames. Now I understand why they look so somber, she thought to herself. This house—this family—it keeps secrets. Secrets that drain every drop of cheer and cast shadows over even the brightest of days.

She shivered slightly, drawing her shawl closer as she turned away. The house seemed alive with its silence, the weight of its history pressing down on her as she moved. She passed the library door but averted her eyes, the memory of Morgan’s anger tightening her chest. She turned a corner and paused, her gaze falling on the slightly ajar door to the music room.

The room seemed to call to her, a quiet invitation she could not ignore. Pushing the door open fully, Peggy stepped inside, the faint scent of polished wood and old parchment greeting her. Moonlight streamed through the tall windows, casting silvery patterns across the floor.

She drifted toward the pianoforte, her hand trailing lightly over its smooth, worn surface. Lowering herself onto the bench, she sat in the moonlit silence, her hands resting idly on her lap. For a moment, she simply stared at the keys, the room enveloping her in its stillness.

Then, almost without thinking, she reached out, her fingers brushing against the cool ivory. She pressed a key gently, the note ringing softly in the quiet. Another note followed, and then another, until a melody began to take shape beneath her hands. It was a tune she had played countless times before, simple yet soothing, its familiarity offering a measure of solace.

The music filled the room, her fingers moving more confidently now, each note a balm to her restless mind. As the melody swelled, Peggy felt some of the tension in her chest ease, though the ache in her heart remained.

Morgan lay in bed, staring at the shadows that danced across the ceiling. The stillness of the night offered no reprieve from his thoughts, which churned endlessly, refusing to settle. With a sigh, he pushed himself upright, swung his legs over the edge of the bed, and stood. Sleep would not find him tonight.

He pulled on his dressing dress and left his bedchamber, the faint chill of the hallway pressing against his skin as he moved. His steps were silent on the floorboards, his mind adrift as he wandered aimlessly through the dimly lit house.

Then he heard it—a soft melody, weaving through the quiet halls like a whisper. He paused, tilting his head. The music was faint, coming from the direction of the music room. Curious, and perhaps a little wary, he followed it.

When he reached the doorway, he stopped, his breath catching at the sight before him. Margaret sat at the pianoforte, her profile illuminated by the silvery glow of moonlight streaming through the tall windows. Her fingers moved deftly over the keys, each note resonating with a bittersweet melody that seemed to carry her very soul.

He didn’t speak, unwilling to break the spell. Instead, he leaned against the doorway, watching her, the weight in his chest growing heavier with every passing second. There was something achingly beautiful about the way she played, her posture graceful, her expression pensive. When she finally pressed the last note, her hands lingered on the keys, and the silence that followed was almost deafening.

“That was exquisite,” Morgan said, his voice breaking the stillness.

Margaret startled, her head whipping around to face him. “Morgan,” she breathed, her hand pressing lightly to her chest. “You frightened me.”

“Apologies,” he said, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. Though I must say, your playing is far more effective than the clock at keeping the house awake.”

A soft laugh escaped her, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Perhaps I should apologize for disturbing the peace.”

“Not at all,” he said, stepping further into the room. “I rather enjoyed it.”

She turned back to the pianoforte, her fingers absently grazing the keys. “I didn’t realize anyone else was awake.”

“Neither did I,” he admitted, his gaze lingering on her. There was a sadness in her eyes, one she was clearly trying to hide, and it tugged at something deep within him. Without thinking, he extended his hand. “Come,” he said softly.

She hesitated briefly before placing her hand in his. He helped her to her feet, his grip firm yet gentle, and led her toward a nearby sofa by the tall window overlooking the gardens. They sat together, the moonlight casting silvery patterns across the room.

For a moment, neither spoke. Then Morgan exhaled heavily, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees. “There’s something you should know,” he began, his voice low and strained.

Margaret turned to him, her gaze steady but questioning. “What is it?”

He hesitated, his jaw tightening as he wrestled with the words. “The library,” he said finally. “It wasn’t always meant to be hidden.”

She remained silent, allowing him the space to continue.

He leaned back, staring out the window. “It was my sister’s favorite place in the house. She practically lived in that room, surrounded by books. Our mother was often unwell, and our father... he was absent more often than not. It was just the two of us. She loved books; they were her escape. And that library became her haven.”

Margaret’s brow furrowed, her heart aching at the pain she heard in his voice.

“She was everything,” he said quietly, his voice breaking slightly. “And I failed her. I couldn’t protect her.”

He paused, swallowing hard as the memories surged forward. “We were attacked there. In that room. She didn’t make it out.”

Margaret’s breath caught, and her hand moved instinctively to cover his.

“I survived,” he continued, his voice hollow. “But I hated myself for it. I s till do. She deserved better. She deserved a longer life, filled with all the stories she loved so much. And I—I locked it all away. The room, the memories, the pain.”

Tears pricked Margaret’s eyes as she listened, her fingers tightening around his. “Morgan,” she whispered, her voice soft but filled with emotion.

He turned to her, his expression raw, his defenses crumbling in the face of her compassion. “I thought if I locked it away, I could keep it from consuming me. But now…” He shook his head, unable to finish.

Margaret shifted closer, her other hand reaching up to touch his face, her palm warm against his cheek. “You cannot lock away pain,” she said gently. “It becomes a part of you, whether you acknowledge it or not. But you can choose to embrace it, to let it remind you of the love you shared, the memories you hold. Only then can you begin to heal.”

Her words pierced through him, resonating in a way he hadn’t expected. For the first time, he allowed himself to meet her gaze fully, to see the sincerity in her eyes.

She leaned forward, wrapping her arms around him in a soft, comforting embrace. “You are not alone, Morgan,” she whispered. “Not anymore.”

He froze for a moment, her words sinking in. Then, slowly, he lifted his arms and held her, his grip tentative at first before tightening as he allowed himself to rest in her presence. For once, he let go of the fear, the pain, the walls he had built so carefully. And in that moment, he embraced her—his wife—without worrying about the consequences.

The silence between them was no longer heavy, but tender, filled with understanding.