Chapter 36

CHAPTER 36

“ Y ou are full of lovely surprises, Peggy dear,” Elizabeth exclaimed as she swept into the conservatory. Her smile was as radiant as the sunlight streaming through the glass. She pulled Margaret into a warm embrace. “So good to see you sooner than expected.”

Margaret returned the hug, her lips curving into a faint smile. “I might say the same, Lizzy. I had no notion you were in Town.”

Elizabeth released her and settled into a chair at the table, her gaze falling on the kitten nestled comfortably near the plate of cream. “What an enchanting little creature! And where did you come from, darling?” she cooed, reaching to scratch its tiny head.

“She has been full of surprises lately,” Anna said dryly, pouring herself another glass of lemonade. “First, she arrives unannounced, and now she rescues a stray.”

“You hate surprises, Anna,” Elizabeth retorted with a roll of her eyes. “You hate everything but your dogs.”

“Quite right,” Anna shrugged, unbothered by the jab.

Margaret chuckled softly at their exchange, grateful for the levity. The sound felt foreign to her ears but not unwelcome.

Elizabeth turned back to her, fixing her with a mock reproachful look. “You might have told me of your arrival sooner, Peggy. I would have called the moment you alighted from your carriage.”

“Never too travel-worn to entertain, eh?” Anna quipped, raising a brow.

The three of them laughed, and for a moment, Margaret felt a glimmer of normalcy.

Elizabeth’s attention returned to the kitten, now grooming its full belly atop the table. “Truly, what a lovely little creature,” she remarked. “Wherever did you find it?”

“It was abandoned in the park,” Margaret explained, her hand stroking the kitten’s soft fur. “Anna and I found it yesterday.”

“She insisted on bringing it home,” Anna added with a pointed look, though her tone carried no real censure.

“Of course she did,” Elizabeth said with a grin. “How could anyone resist?”

Margaret smiled sheepishly, but her attention snagged on the fleeting glance Elizabeth exchanged with Anna. A knowing look passed between her sisters, one that made Margaret’s stomach tighten. Anna had written to Elizabeth, then. Shared enough to signal that something was amiss.

She braced herself for Elizabeth’s inevitable questions, but they never came. Instead, Elizabeth’s expression brightened as she leaned forward. “I have news! We are hosting the closing event of the season.”

Margaret forced a polite smile, though her heart sank. “How wonderful,” she said, her tone carefully neutral.

Elizabeth’s enthusiasm was uncontainable as she outlined her plans—the decorations, the guest list, the musicians. Margaret nodded along, feigning interest, though the idea of a grand ball filled her with a quiet dread. The thought of donning a mask of perfection and mingling with society when her world felt as though it had splintered was almost unbearable.

“I am so delighted you are in Town,” Elizabeth said, her hand lightly brushing Margaret’s. “You will attend, of course.”

Margaret hesitated, but the words did not come. She could not bring herself to disappoint her sister’s excitement. “Of course,” she murmured, though her heart weighed heavy with the lie.

After Elizabeth’s departure, Margaret sank back into her chair with a sigh. The kitten stirred at her side, its tiny paws stretching before it settled back into a ball of fur.

“I am not going,” she said quietly, her gaze fixed on the table.

Anna, seated across from her, set down her glass. Her sharp eyes softened as she studied Margaret. “Whatever you wish, Peggy,” she said simply, her voice devoid of judgment.

Margaret nodded faintly, though her thoughts felt fragile. She wanted to escape the charade, the whispers, the pain of pretending all was well. And yet, a part of her ached at the thought of missing the event, of distancing herself further from the life she had once hoped to share with Morgan.

Later that afternoon, Margaret sat in the library, a book open on her lap, though she had not turned a page in what felt like an age. Her thoughts were a swirl of conflicting emotions—her decision not to attend the ball, the tension of her family’s unspoken concerns, and above all, the ache she carried for Morgan.

The sound of approaching footsteps broke her reverie, and Aunt Petunia entered, carrying a small stack of cream-colored envelopes. “Your sister sent these just now, Peggy,” she said, settling herself into the cushion beside her.

Margaret glanced at the invitations, recognizing the elegant script as Elizabeth’s. “I am sure you all will have a splendid time,” she said, her tone carefully neutral as she handed them back.

“You are not joining us,” Petunia said, her voice soft yet certain. It was not a question, but a conclusion.

Margaret nodded faintly, her fingers twisting the ribbon of her book.

Petunia studied her with the gentle scrutiny that Margaret had always found both comforting and disconcerting. “I know something is troubling you, dear,” her aunt said after a moment.

Margaret hesitated before asking, “Has Anna said anything to you?”

“Oh, but she does not need to,” Petunia replied with a sigh. “Your visit was unexpected, Margaret. And it is plain to see you have not been yourself since your arrival, despite your best efforts to suggest otherwise.”

Margaret swallowed hard, her gaze dropping to the hands folded in her lap.

“In fact,” Petunia continued, her tone steady but kind, “your uncle has his suspicions as well. But you know Sebastian—he never interferes unless absolutely necessary. Still, I imagine it is only a matter of time before he speaks to you himself.”

Margaret’s chest tightened, a lump rising in her throat that she struggled to suppress.

Her aunt reached out, her hand resting lightly on Margaret’s. “I implore you to reconsider the ball,” she said gently. “I think it could be just the distraction you need.”

Before Margaret could respond, the butler appeared at the door with a letter. “A missive for you, Your Grace,” he announced, bowing slightly as he presented it.

Margaret’s brow furrowed as she accepted the envelope. Breaking the seal, she unfolded the letter, her eyes scanning the familiar handwriting.

It was from Morgan.

The letter was formal and to the point, stating that they were obligated to attend the Sterlin ball together as the Duke and Duchess of Giltford and as family to the Sterlins. He further informed her, with painful detachment, that he would call for her on the evening of the event.

Margaret exhaled sharply, her chest tightening. Once again, Morgan had left her no choice.

Petunia, sensing her distress, leaned closer. “What does it say?”

Wordlessly, Margaret handed the letter to her aunt, who read it with furrowed brows. When she finished, Petunia sighed. “I will not force you, Peggy,” she said, returning the letter. “I would never do so. But I can only advise that you think about it.”

With that, she left Margaret to her thoughts.

Margaret sat motionless, the letter still in her hands. The words blurred before her eyes as she wrestled with the feeling of being cornered. Morgan’s dictation was as cold as it was clear, and yet the idea of seeing him—despite the hurt it brought—stirred something she couldn’t quite define.

The evening of the ball arrived all too quickly, and Margaret’s heart was a storm of dread and reluctant anticipation.

When she heard Morgan’s voice downstairs, her breath caught. He was speaking with her uncle, his tone polite but carrying the ease of familiarity. A part of her longed to see him, but the hurt and indignation that lingered in her chest made her hesitate.

Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself and descended the stairs.

Morgan turned as she entered, his expression unreadable for the briefest moment before a pleasant smile curved his lips. He was all charm as he greeted her, taking her hand and bowing low to press a kiss to her knuckles.

“You look lovely this evening,” he said, his tone warm and steady, as though they were nothing more than a contented couple heading to a grand affair.

Before she could respond, he tucked her hand possessively into the crook of his arm. “Shall we?” he asked.

Peggy nodded mutely, unable to trust herself to speak. Morgan’s little act was excruciating—too painful to bear—and yet she had an entire evening of it ahead. God help me, she thought as he led her out to the waiting carriage.

Once inside, a suffocating tension enveloped them, heavy and oppressive. The confines of the vehicle seemed to close in around her, the silence as thick as fog. Margaret kept her gaze fixed on her hands, clasped tightly in her lap, while Morgan’s steady, penetrating gaze felt as though it shadowed her every breath.

Not a word passed between them throughout the journey to Sterlin House, and by the time they arrived, Peggy felt as though she might shatter.

If the ride had been unbearable, the ball itself was sheer torment. From the moment they stepped into the grand ballroom, curious gazes followed them, whispers buzzing just out of earshot. Margaret forced a smile onto her face, presenting the polished facade society demanded. Morgan, for his part, played the role of the attentive husband to perfection, escorting her with practiced ease. And she, loathing every second of their charade, matched him stride for stride as the doting wife.

The only consolation was Elizabeth’s delight at seeing her. When her sister approached, beaming with excitement, Peggy could not help but feel a flicker of warmth.

“The ball is marvelous, Lizzy dear,” Peggy said, embracing her sister. At least she had not disappointed Elizabeth.

Elizabeth returned the hug with enthusiasm, then drew back as the first notes of the waltz floated through the air. “You must join us, Peggy!” she exclaimed. “You and Morgan must open the floor.”

Peggy’s heart sank, but there was no graceful way to refuse. With a strained smile, she allowed herself to be led to the center of the room, where Morgan took her hand and settled his other lightly at her waist.

The waltz began, and they moved together in perfect synchronization, their outward composure masking the storm that raged within her. Margaret’s heart pounded painfully, each step a reminder of the distance between them. By the time the dance ended, she could endure no more.

“Excuse me,” she murmured, stepping away before anyone could stop her.

She left the ballroom swiftly, her pulse thundering in her ears as she walked down an empty corridor. When she found an unoccupied room, she stepped inside, closing the door behind her with a sharp click. She leaned against it, pressing her hands to her face as she fought to steady her breath.

“Margaret.”

Her husband’s voice cut through the stillness, accompanied by the sound of his hurried footsteps. Before she could compose herself, he was there, opening the door she had just closed.

Morgan stepped inside, his expression unreadable as he shut the door firmly behind him. “Are you all right?” he asked, his voice low but insistent.

Margaret whipped around to face him, her eyes blazing. “Am I all right?” she repeated, her voice trembling with incredulity. “You have the audacity to ask me that?”

“Is it so wrong to inquire about my wife’s welfare?” he returned, his tone calm but with an edge of irritation. “Especially since she left our home and came to Town without so much as a word?”

Margaret’s chest heaved as her anger surged. “You seem to have forgotten that you sent me away, Morgan,” she said, her voice rising with each word. “And that castle never welcomed me as a home. You never made it such for me.”

“I made arrangements for you—a new residence, as per our agreement,” he said, his voice clipped and defensive.

“Your arrangements were nothing more than a dismissal,” Margaret shot back, her hurt spilling over into her words. “You have no space for me in your life, Morgan. So what exactly is it that you want now?”

Her voice cracked on the last word, and she turned away, her hands trembling as she gripped the back of a nearby chair. She did not want this confrontation, not now. She lacked the strength to battle with him when her heart was already in tatters.

Morgan opened his mouth as though to speak, but no sound emerged. His lips parted again, only for the words to falter once more. Margaret watched him, her chest tightening as the silence stretched between them. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he found his voice.

“The renovations are complete,” he said at last, his tone low and uneven. “You can move in once we return to the country.”

The words struck her like a physical blow, twisting painfully in her chest. She stared at him, her breath catching as his detachment settled over her. What had she been hoping for? That he would ask her back into his life, into his heart? That he would cast aside his icy demeanor and tell her that he wanted her by his side?

Foolish, foolish girl.

“There is no we , Morgan,” Margaret said, her voice trembling but firm. “Not anymore.”

She turned sharply on her heel, refusing to give him the opportunity to reply. Her vision blurred as tears welled, unbidden and unstoppable. She clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms as she quickened her pace.