Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

L ady Margaret,

Your suggestion is a sensible one. I shall call for you tomorrow at two o’clock.

Sincerely

Duke of Giltford

Peggy nearly dropped the letter as she opened it, her eyes darting over the short yet perfectly penned reply. Giltford’s words were as succinct as his demeanor, but the content caught her off guard: he would call for her later that very afternoon.

She set the letter on the desk, staring at it for a moment longer than necessary. A mixture of nerves and determination swirled in her chest. There was no turning back now.

When the Duke arrived promptly at two, his carriage gleaming as though it had just been polished, Peggy’s nerves were wound tight. He greeted her with a polite bow but little else. As they set off toward the park, the silence between them grew heavy, oppressive even.

Peggy adjusted her gloves, the movement a futile attempt to distract herself from the thick awkwardness hanging in the air. This was no way to begin. She stole a glance at him, his profile as rigid and impassive as ever.

She inhaled slowly, willing herself to speak. “It is a pleasant day for a walk,” she ventured, her tone carefully light.

“Indeed,” he replied, his gaze fixed ahead.

Peggy bit the inside of her cheek. This was going to require more effort than she had anticipated. “Do you enjoy walking often, Your Grace?”

“When it is necessary,” he said curtly.

Her shoulders tensed at his reply, but she pressed on. “What of other pastimes? Surely you must have some interests outside of your duties.”

He finally turned to her, one brow arching in a way that made her feel as though she had asked something absurd. “I do not sit idle, Margaret,” he said. “When there is time, that time is to work on my estate ledgers. Those numbers would not tally themselves, you know.”

Peggy blinked, momentarily taken aback by the sheer monotony of his response. “I see,” she murmured, though she most certainly did not.

Good heavens, he was worse than the Geologist Viscount, she thought miserably. At least the Viscount had the decency to ramble on about his interests—tedious as they were. This man seemed entirely devoid of any pursuits beyond the practical.

They walked on in silence, her earlier resolve dwindling with each step. Around them, the park buzzed with quiet activity—ladies in bonnets whispering behind their fans, gentlemen tipping their hats, children chasing each other across the lawns. But Peggy noticed something else: the stares.

People were watching them.

Her steps faltered, her chest tightening with unease. Were they whispering? Had those witnesses spoken after all? She glanced at the Duke, who seemed completely unbothered by the attention.

The thought made her stomach churn. Every pair of curious eyes seemed to bore into her, and she fought to maintain her composure. Surely, she was imagining the worst.

“You appear distracted,” Giltford observed, his tone neutral.

Peggy snapped her attention back to him, her cheeks flushing. “I—no, it’s nothing.”

He stopped, turning to face her fully. “Did you really bring me out here for such idle chat as the way I occupy my free time?” His brow quirked in that maddening way again, though his tone carried the faintest hint of amusement.

Peggy stared at him, momentarily at a loss for words. Was that—no, it couldn’t be humor. This man knew not what amusement was. She dismissed the thought, schooling her features into polite indifference.

“It seemed a sensible way to begin,” she replied coolly. “Though I am beginning to think you consider even the simplest conversation a waste of time.”

He inclined his head slightly, as if conceding her point, but offered no further comment. Peggy sighed inwardly. This was going to be far more difficult than she had imagined.

“It is only human nature to be in possession of a hobby,” she defended, her voice carrying an edge of indignation she struggled to smooth over. She clasped her gloved hands tighter around her parasol as they strolled, her steps steady despite the uneven gravel beneath her slippers. “Besides, how else would we get to know each other if we know nothing of each other’s interests and make no inquiries?”

Morgan’s expression remained as impenetrable as ever, his gaze fixed ahead as if he found the neatly trimmed hedges of the park far more interesting than her attempts at conversation. “There will be plenty of time to ‘know each other,’ as you say, after the marriage,” he replied flatly.

Margaret blinked at him, the bluntness of his remark leaving her momentarily stunned. Frustration swelled within her, but she forced herself to exhale slowly, determined not to show it. What was the point of walking with him if he dismissed the entire endeavor as unnecessary? The aim was to get to know him before the marriage, not after, when it would hardly matter.

Anna ought to have given her more advice on how to go about this. Margaret stifled the urge to groan. Her cousin’s counsel had been full of airy reassurances, none of which provided the tools she desperately needed now.

“Or perhaps,” Morgan said suddenly, his tone sharper now, “you brought me out here to show off your new acquisition to society.” He cast her a sidelong glance, his dark eyes gleaming with something that felt uncomfortably like accusation.

Margaret turned to him, startled. “I beg your pardon?” she blurted, the words spilling out before she could collect herself. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Merely that perhaps you are not the woman you make yourself out to be, Margaret,” he replied, his voice smooth but touched with skepticism. “Suffice to say, I am trying to know your true intentions. After all, are you not the advocate of ‘knowing each other’?”

His words struck her like a slap, and her grip on her parasol tightened. “If I didn’t know better,” she said slowly, “I would say you are making me out to be a woman with an ulterior motive, Your Grace.”

He inclined his head, his tone maddeningly even as he said, “You are as observant as you are clever.”

Margaret felt her mouth fall open, her shock quickly giving way to rising anger. Who was this man to accuse her so baldly and without cause? She searched his expression for any trace of humor, some indication that he might be jesting, but found none. His audacity was unparalleled.

“So tell me,” he continued, utterly undeterred by her growing irritation, “was our encounter truly just an accident? Or was it a lady out fishing at night?”

Fishing? Margaret’s heart pounded, and her breaths came shorter as her temper flared. She fought to keep her voice steady, though it was no small feat. “You think I orchestrated it,” she said, her words clipped.

“It is not a question of what I think,” he said smoothly. “I am trying to ascertain whether you did.”

Her gaze snapped to him, searching his inscrutable features. Was he serious? She drew in a steadying breath before speaking. “And do you truly believe,” she asked, her tone edged with cool precision, “that given a choice, I would try to trap a man like you into matrimony?”

Morgan’s lips curved slightly, though it was hardly a smile. “It is not so much the man as it is his title, pockets, and influence in society, is it not?”

“You are insufferable!” Margaret snapped. Her foot caught briefly on a loose stone, and she stumbled. Before she could regain her footing, Morgan’s hand tightened on her arm, steadying her with infuriating ease.

“Such venom,” he remarked, his voice a drawl, “from the woman who encouraged us to get to know each other. And I am merely making the effort to oblige her.”

Margaret clenched her teeth. “The only reason I am agreeing to this marriage is for my family’s honor,” she spat, her composure unraveling despite her best efforts.

“Oh, so you have made your decision,” he observed, his tone almost approving. “A wise one too,” he added with a nod. “Not to mention advantageous.”

Her hands trembled as she fought to rein in her temper. “If you truly think of me as a materialistic woman who’s after your influence and fortunes,” she said sharply, “then why did you make the offer for me?”

He turned his head slightly, his dark gaze resting on her with maddening calm. “As you think of your status in society, so too do I have my own honor and good name to protect.”

Every fiber of Margaret’s being screamed for her to turn on her heel and storm away, leaving him to stew in his own disdain. But to do so would only draw attention, and she could not risk rumors swirling before they were even wed. Instead, she gritted her teeth, lifted her chin, and forced herself to continue walking, her steps deliberate and her back as straight as a rod.

Beside her, the man who was to be her husband strolled with unhurried ease, his manner entirely unaffected by the tension crackling between them. The future looked bleak indeed.

Where was her gallant knight? Faced with this suspicious grouch, s he needed him now more than ever.