Chapter 34

CHAPTER 34

“ I should not have said what I said, Anna. I am truly sorry,” Margaret said earnestly, her voice quiet but steady as she found her cousin in the morning room. She clasped her hands before her, resisting the urge to fidget as she waited for a response.

Anna turned from where she had been arranging a vase of roses, her brows lifting slightly before softening into a kind smile. “Oh, Peggy, we all have our moments of irritation and ill-temper,” she said lightly. “And God knows my moments are practically perpetual. Yours are nothing to fret over, dear.” Her lips twitched into a playful grin as she added, “Truly, if there were a competition, I should win it handily.”

Margaret let out a soft laugh despite herself, and the tension in her shoulders eased. Only Anna could turn such a moment into humor. “Perhaps,” she admitted, her lips curving into a small smile. “But it does not excuse my behavior.”

Anna waved a dismissive hand. “Nonsense. I’ve already forgotten it.” Then, tilting her head with a sudden spark of mischief, she said, “I tell you what—how about a walk? It shall do us both good to clear our heads.”

Margaret hesitated for only a moment before nodding. A walk would be a welcome distraction from the thoughts that had plagued her since her return—thoughts of Morgan, of his coldness, and of the ache she carried in her chest. “I think that is an excellent idea,” she agreed.

“Mrs. Hallewell,” Morgan’s voice carried down the corridor as he strode toward the housekeeper, his tone sharper than intended. “When did the Duchess leave? And with whom?”

The housekeeper hesitated, her hands smoothing over her apron. “Her Grace departed early this morning, Your Grace. She left with Miss Wren, her lady’s maid. No one else accompanied them.”

Morgan frowned, his brows knitting together. “And you allowed her to travel without an escort?”

“She insisted, Your Grace,” Mrs. Hallewell replied softly. “She said it was best not to trouble anyone further. She assured me the arrangements were sufficient.”

Morgan exhaled sharply, turning away as a wave of frustration surged within him. “Very well,” he muttered. “You may go.”

The housekeeper curtsied and departed quietly, leaving Morgan standing in the hall, his mind reeling. Margaret had left for London, just as she had said she would. He had no right to be surprised. He had orchestrated her departure, had he not? Yet the knowledge settled heavily in his chest, an ache he couldn’t ignore.

Unable to contain the restlessness gnawing at him, Morgan made his way to her chambers. The door creaked faintly as he pushed it open, and the faint scent of lavender greeted him. For a moment, he simply stood in the doorway, his gaze sweeping over the room.

Her absence was everywhere.

He stepped inside, and his eyes caught on the little things she had left behind. A ribbon lay forgotten on the vanity, its deep blue a stark contrast against the polished wood. Nearby, a half-read book rested on the bedside table, its pages marked with a pressed flower. A hydrangea.

His chest tightened as he reached for the book, his fingers brushing against the delicate petals. She had loved that flower, had fought to bring life back to the Silent Castle’s garden, despite his protests. He closed the book and set it back down with deliberate care, the gesture doing little to quell the ache within him.

He moved to the window, pushing aside the curtain to look out over the grounds. The view stretched wide, the autumn landscape bathed in golden light, but it felt cold and lifeless without her. The silence of the castle, once his solace, now felt suffocating.

This is what you wanted, he told himself firmly. She is safer without you. Happier, perhaps, surrounded by her family and friends.

Margaret drew a deep breath, savoring the crisp air and the faint scent of blossoms carried on the breeze. For the first time in days, she felt something akin to peace.

Anna strode beside her with an easy grace, her steps purposeful but unhurried. They had chosen the park, where paths wound through lush greenery and offered a welcome respite from the confines of the drawing rooms and parlors they frequented.

Margaret was aware of the eyes following them—subtle at first, then increasingly bold. Whispers trailed in their wake, low but unmistakable. She kept her chin lifted, refusing to acknowledge the curiosity she knew she must be drawing.

She could only imagine what society thought. Her return to London was unexpected, and doubtless, many believed she ought to be ensconced in her husband’s home, still glowing from the early days of marriage. That she was here, walking freely with her cousin, likely confounded them further. Was the Duke truly the reclusive beast they believed him to be? The whispers seemed to ask. Had he driven her away already?

Margaret tightened her grip on her reticule, focusing instead on the sound of Anna’s voice as she began to speak.

“Do you know what makes life special, Peggy?” Anna asked suddenly, her tone light yet contemplative.

Peggy met Anna’s gaze, her brows lifting slightly in anticipation.

“Those little moments and gestures that nearly slip us by,” Anna said at last, her voice quiet but thoughtful. “The clement weather we often underappreciate, for instance. The way butterflies and bees flit between flowers without care, the beauty of sunrise and sunset…” She paused, her gaze distant, as though lost in the very memories she described. “But most importantly,” she continued, “having our family—those who depend on us, who trust us. These are the little things, Peggy. Little, but with more significance and meaning than we often care to consider. Much less appreciate.”

Margaret felt the words settle over her, as soft and insistent as the breeze that brushed past them. She turned her gaze forward, her steps slowing as Anna’s sentiment took root in her thoughts. She is right, Margaret realized. Her family had always been her foundation, and yet here she was, withholding the very truth that had brought her back to London. She was giving them less credit than they deserved.

Her chest tightened, but it was not the same ache she had carried since leaving Morgan’s estate. This was different—sharper, but lighter. As though Anna’s words had pried open a door she had been too afraid to approach.

Margaret took a steadying breath, her fingers curling and uncurling around the ribbon of her reticule. “Anna,” she began hesitantly, her voice softer than usual, “there is something I must tell you.”

Her cousin cast her a sidelong glance, her expression giving nothing away, though her step slowed in silent encouragement.

Margaret swallowed hard, her gaze fixed on the path ahead as she forced the words out. “The reason I returned to London… it is not what I told the family.”

Anna said nothing, allowing the confession to unravel on its own terms.

Peggy hesitated only briefly before continuing. She shared everything—her arrangement with Morgan, the terms they had agreed upon before their vows, and the icy dismissal she had faced in the days following her fall. Her voice faltered as she recounted his plans for her isolated future, the ache in her chest growing with each word.

When she finished, silence stretched between them, broken only by the rhythmic crunch of their boots against the gravel. Margaret dared not look at her cousin, fearing judgment or pity, though Anna’s silence seemed neither.

When Anna finally spoke, her tone was measured, her words deliberate. “It seems to me that there is more to his actions than what you have seen, Peggy,” she said thoughtfully.

Margaret halted, her brows knitting in frustration and disbelief. “I think he simply wishes me out of his life,” she replied bitterly, her voice tinged with resignation.

“I disagree,” Anna countered, her tone calm but resolute.

Margaret turned to her cousin, surprise flickering in her gaze. “You disagree?” she repeated, incredulous. “If I did not know better, I would think you were excusing him—defending him.”

“On the contrary, I do not wish for you to jump to conclusions and make decisions you might later regret, Peggy,” Anna replied, her tone firm but not unkind.

Margaret frowned, her brow knitting in confusion. “Why would I do that?” she asked, her voice edged with frustration. “I see no reason?—”

“Because you love him,” Anna interrupted, her words steady but carrying an unmistakable significance.

The statement struck Margaret like a thunderclap. She froze, her breath catching in her throat as her cousin’s words echoed in her mind. Love him? The very notion felt overwhelming, yet undeniable. A slow, painful realization dawned within her, and she found herself unable to refute it.

Her heart tightened painfully. Anna is right, she thought, the truth cutting through her defenses with startling clarity. She loved Morgan. She loved the man who had kissed her on a cliff surrounded by hydrangeas, the man who had held her after her fall, even the man who had pushed her away with icy indifference. And God help her, she could not bear the thought of a life without him.

She swallowed hard, the lump in her throat making it difficult to breathe. Her gaze dropped to the ground, her hands trembling slightly as she clasped them together.

Anna’s hand slid over hers, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Peggy,” her cousin said softly, her tone infused with understanding. “You needn’t face this alone. Whatever you decide, know that you have my support.”

The words, so simple yet so heartfelt, brought a small measure of comfort. Margaret offered a faint, wavering smile in return. But before she could respond, a familiar figure appeared before them.

“Lady Margaret,” a matronly voice called out, halting their steps. Margaret’s heart sank as she turned to face the Viscountess Milton, a woman well-known for her sharp tongue and insatiable curiosity.

“Lady Milton,” Margaret replied, dipping her head politely.

The Viscountess regarded her with a smile that did not quite reach her eyes. “What a surprise to see you already back in town, my dear,” she remarked, her tone filled with pointed curiosity.

Margaret felt her cheeks heat, her composure slipping under the intensity of the woman’s scrutiny. But before she could respond, Anna stepped in with effortless grace.

“Oh, I daresay the Duke and Duchess wished to enjoy the remainder of the season,” Anna said brightly. “It is their first season together as a married couple, after all. They might as well make the most of it. Do you not agree, Lady Milton?”

The Viscountess blinked, momentarily disarmed by Anna’s cheerful demeanor. “Indeed,” she murmured, though her expression betrayed lingering doubt. With a final, tight-lipped smile, she excused herself and continued on her way.

Margaret exhaled quietly, relieved that Anna had deftly deflected the encounter. “Thank you,” she said softly as they resumed their walk.

Anna smiled knowingly. “Think nothing of it.”

They wandered into a quieter stretch of the park, the rustling leaves and distant birdsong offering a reprieve from the hum of society. Just as Margaret began to relax, a faint, distressed whimper reached her ears.

She stopped abruptly, her head tilting as she strained to listen. There it was again—a soft sound, followed by rustling from within a cluster of nearby shrubbery.

“Peggy, what are you doing?” Anna asked, her voice tinged with concern as Margaret took a step toward the noise.

Margaret held up a hand, signaling for silence. “Did you hear that?”

Anna’s eyes narrowed warily. “I heard something, yes. But what if it’s a snake?” she called after her.

Margaret hesitated briefly, her heart quickening as she approached the shrubbery. Ignoring Anna’s warning, she moved closer, her curiosity and concern overriding her apprehension. Whatever—or whoever—was in distress, she could not simply walk away.

“Snakes do not make such sounds, Anna,” Margaret said with a soft chuckle, casting her cousin an amused glance. “You needn’t let your imagination run so wild.”

Anna crossed her arms, her brows lifting skeptically. “Well, you cannot blame me for exercising caution. You are far too curious for your own good, Peggy.”

Margaret merely smiled as she pushed aside the last of the shrubbery, her curiosity rewarded with the sight of the tiniest kitten she had ever seen. A delighted squeal escaped her lips. “Oh, Anna, look!”

The kitten was curled into a trembling ball, its fur a mix of soft gray and white, though streaked with dust and leaves. Its wide, frightened eyes gazed up at her, and it let out a plaintive mewl that tugged at Margaret’s heart.

“Poor thing,” she murmured, her voice gentle as she knelt down. Without hesitation, she reached for the tiny creature, scooping it up carefully and holding it to her bosom. The kitten snuggled against her warmth almost immediately, its eyes fluttering closed in contentment.

“Well,” Anna said with a laugh, stepping closer. “It seems to think you are its mother already.”

Margaret smiled, stroking the kitten’s fur with light fingers. “I wish I could keep it,” she said softly, the words carrying an unexpected significance. She held the tiny creature closer, her heart tugging pleasantly at its warmth and vulnerability.

“And why shouldn’t you?” Anna asked, reaching out to stroke the kitten’s matted fur. “It is adorable, and I daresay it would be a most agreeable companion.”

Margaret sighed, her smile faltering. “Uncle does not like cats,” she admitted. “He cannot tolerate them, you know. He sneezes incessantly if one so much as enters the house.”

Anna waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, what does that matter? You no longer live here, Peggy. You have your own home, and no one to tell you otherwise.”

The reminder landed softly but heavily, like a feather that carried more significance than it ought. Margaret’s smile faded entirely as she turned her gaze back to the kitten, her fingers brushing gently along its back. She had momentarily forgotten that she no longer lived in her family home—that she had a life, a house, and, theoretically, a future that was entirely her own.

But the thought brought no comfort. Instead, it left her feeling hollow. Could she truly bear to return to that life? A life where Morgan was close in proximity yet impossibly far in every other way?

She would remain with her family.

The thought brought a strange mix of relief and sorrow. She would have to break the news to them gently, of course—her father, her siblings, even Anna, who likely believed Margaret would eventually find her way back to her husband. But Margaret’s resolve hardened with each passing moment. She would not allow herself to be cast aside so easily, not when her heart still clung to Morgan despite his actions.

As for the kitten, she glanced down at the tiny creature, now sound asleep against her chest. Its trust in her was almost painful, a reminder of her own vulnerability. She would take it home, warm it, and ensure it had food. And then… she would make arrangements to find it a permanent home elsewhere.

Her heart ached at the thought. She wanted nothing more than to keep it, to find solace in its companionship, but she could not bring herself to inconvenience her uncle. The man could barely tolerate cats, and she had resolved to stay with her family for good.

Her fingers lightly stroked the kitten’s fur, her thoughts drifting back to Morgan. The sharp sting of his words, the coldness in his eyes—it all felt like a knife lodged deep within her chest. Why must I love him so? she wondered, her chest tightening with a painful longing. Hopelessly, desperately, irrevocably in love with a man who had so clearly pushed her away.

The decision to stay with her family felt safe, even if it was not what her heart truly wanted. She would find her footing here, surrounded by the people who loved her unconditionally. That would have to be enough.

It had to be .

Anna, walking slightly ahead, turned back with a smile. “You are quiet, Peggy. Lost in thought?”

Margaret forced a small laugh, adjusting her grip on the kitten. “Merely considering what this little one might eat. I suspect milk and bread will have to suffice for now.”

Anna chuckled. “You shall spoil it, no doubt. But it seems you have already won its devotion.”

Margaret’s smile softened, though her heart remained heavy. As the two cousins made their way back toward the house, Margaret’s resolve faltered briefly. She cast one last glance over her shoulder at the horizon, wondering if Morgan was thinking of her at that moment.

No, she thought bitterly. He would not be.