Chapter 30

CHAPTER 30

P eggy’s heart ached as she studied her husband’s face, etched with shadows of grief long borne in silence. His pain was palpable, pressing against her chest as if it were her own.

“I shall have the library closed,” she said resolutely, though her voice wavered under the strain of emotion. “I deeply regret ever opening it to begin with. Had I known…” She trailed off, her throat tightening. She reached for his hand, her grip gentle yet firm, as if to anchor him to the present and pull him from the depths of memory.

Morgan shook his head, a faint sigh escaping his lips. “You could not have known, Margaret. You bear no fault in this.”

Before she could form a reply, he surprised her, his voice softer, yet steady. “And there is no need to close the library. Not anymore.”

Her brow furrowed, confusion flickering in her eyes. “You wish it to remain open?”

The corner of his mouth lifted in a semblance of a smile, though it was tinged with sorrow. “Victoria would have wished for someone to cherish that room as she did. To sit among its treasures, to let it breathe with life once more. Such a thing is impossible if it remains locked away, a memorial to the past.”

“Oh, Morgan,” Peggy whispered, her voice trembling with a blend of sorrow and admiration. Without thinking, she stepped closer, her arms encircling him. Her cheek pressed to his chest, where his heartbeat thrummed steady and strong beneath the fabric of his coat. She clung to him as if her embrace might somehow offer solace for years of buried pain.

He held her lightly, his hands settling against her back. For a moment, neither spoke, the quiet of the room broken only by the crackle of the fire and the weight of unspoken emotions.

Peggy tilted her head back, her gaze searching his. “I should not wish to impose upon such a space,” she said softly, wanting to be certain her presence there would not deepen his wounds.

“I wish for it to remain open, Margaret,” he said, his voice firm, yet not unkind. “The library is yours now, to do with as you see fit. I no longer wish to flee from her memory, as I have done for so many years. You were right—it is time to face the past and accept it for what it was… and what it shall always be.”

Her chest swelled with pride, her earlier sorrow giving way to a deep respect for the man before her. “Morgan,” she said, her tone barely above a whisper, “I am… so very proud of you.”

A flicker of warmth passed through his eyes, and though he said nothing, the slight incline of his head spoke volumes. In that moment, Peggy knew the past had not been forgotten, but perhaps, at last, it was no longer an insurmountable wall between them.

“I shall have the library cleaned,” Margaret declared, her tone soft but resolute. “But I shall make no alterations. It ought to remain just as Victoria wished it.” Her hands clasped in front of her, she glanced up at Morgan, her heart aching with the quiet resolve she saw reflected in his gaze. She wanted, desperately, to preserve the memories that brought him joy, to remind him of the laughter and love that once filled the space.

His arm tightened around her, a warmth she felt as much in her chest as against her skin. “Thank you, Margaret,” he murmured, his voice low, yet carrying an unmistakable depth of gratitude.

The following afternoon, Margaret found herself brimming with an odd sort of excitement as the maids set to work in the library. Dust was swept away, curtains drawn back to allow light to pour into the long-shuttered room. Margaret’s gown brushed against the polished floor as she moved about, ensuring every detail was attended to.

“I never thought I should live to see this room reopened,” Mrs. Hallewell, the housekeeper, muttered, her voice just loud enough to carry. It sounded less like an observation and more like a private thought escaping unbidden.

Margaret turned, her smile warm. “I am glad to hear it is a welcome change, Mrs. Hallewell.”

The older woman’s eyes, a pale gray that often appeared steely, softened as she regarded Margaret. “It is indeed, Your Grace. We have you to thank for it.”

Margaret stilled, surprised by the sudden glimmer of warmth in the housekeeper’s gaze. There was something alive there—something that spoke of a heart long hidden beneath layers of propriety. Margaret returned her smile, genuine and bright. “I am merely glad to have played a part.”

Mrs. Hallewell nodded and turned toward the maids, issuing brisk but efficient instructions. Once satisfied, she turned back to Margaret, a faint blush dusting her weathered cheeks. “Many a night,” she began, her voice quieter now, carrying the weight of remembrance, “the young lady Victoria would have His Grace read to her here. I would bring them tea and biscuits, and their laughter would fill this house.”

Margaret’s breath caught. The image was so vivid, so achingly bittersweet, she could almost hear the echoes of laughter carried through the walls. She glanced at Mrs. Hallewell, and the woman’s usual composure had slipped entirely. There was a tenderness about her now, a nostalgia that tugged at the corners of her mouth and misted her eyes.

The housekeeper cleared her throat and straightened, smoothing an imaginary wrinkle in her apron. “It was a joyful time,” she said simply, her voice steady once more, though Margaret could still hear the tremor beneath it.

“It sounds as though it was,” Margaret replied softly. She hesitated for a moment before adding, “I hope we might bring some joy back to this room once again.”

Mrs. Hallewell inclined her head, her expression inscrutable, though a faint smile lingered. “I believe you just might, Your Grace.”

And for the first time, Margaret saw not just respect in the older woman’s demeanor, but something bordering on affection. It sent a flutter of warmth through her chest, and she turned her gaze back to the bustling room, to honor the memories it held.

After overseeing the final details in the library and entrusting Mrs. Hallewell with its care, Margaret found herself restless. The afternoon sunlight spilled through the tall windows of the manor, gilding the polished floors in gold. She clasped her hands, hesitating for a moment before setting her course toward her husband’s study.

Morgan had kept himself buried in ledgers for most of the day, and though Margaret understood the weight of his responsibilities, she did not wish for him to shoulder them alone—not at such a time as this. She resolved to lift his spirits, even if she lacked confidence in the success of her endeavor.

When she reached the study, she paused, smoothing the folds of her gown before stepping inside. Morgan was seated at his desk, quill in hand, his dark head bent in concentration. The sight of him, so intent and steadfast, stirred something in her chest—a curious mixture of admiration and tenderness.

“I thought,” she began, her tone light as she approached, “that a walk might be a splendid way to pass the time before dinner.”

His quill stilled over the page. For a moment, she feared he might dismiss her suggestion entirely. But then, to her surprise, he closed the leather-bound ledger with deliberate care and lifted his gaze to hers.

“Have you visited the stables yet?” he asked, his tone even but his expression holding a glint of something—curiosity, perhaps? Amusement?

Margaret blinked, caught off guard. “I have not,” she admitted. “I have had no cause to do so.”

“Perfect,” he said, rising to his feet with an easy grace. He extended his arm toward her, the gesture both gallant and unexpected.

She placed her hand upon his sleeve, the warmth of his presence steady beneath her touch. “And why, pray, should the stables be of interest now?” she asked, tilting her head with a hint of bemusement.

He glanced down at her, his lips curving ever so slightly. “Because,” he declared, “I shall introduce you to the horses.”