“I must admit, Your Grace,” Dowshire began, swirling his glass, “I was not expecting a visit from you today. To what do I owe this pleasure?”
Morgan studied the man before him—a figure slightly hunched with age, his clothes showing signs of careful mending. He was not unkempt, but neither did he exude the effortless polish of a man free from worry. Morgan could sense the weight of responsibility in the Earl’s tired eyes and the way his hand lingered just slightly too long on the arm of his chair, as though bracing for something unwelcome.
“I’ll be blunt, Lord Dowshire,” Morgan said, his voice low and steady. “This concerns your niece, Lady Margaret.”
The Earl stiffened slightly, his brows knitting together in surprise. “Margaret? Has she done something to offend you, Your Grace?”
Morgan’s jaw tightened. He could almost hear Lady Margaret’s voice, sharp with indignation, from their earlier exchange.Not something to offend me, perhaps, but enough to leave us both in a difficult position.
“No,” Morgan said carefully, “but the events of last night place us in an unfortunate situation. As you may know, Lady Margaret and I were... discovered in a compromising circumstance.”
The Earl’s grip on his glass faltered slightly, and he set it down on the side table with exaggerated care. “Compromising, yousay?” His tone carried an edge of skepticism. “How does a man such as yourself find himself in such a position with my niece?”
Morgan’s lips twitched at the question, though he maintained his composure. “By sheer accident, Lord Dowshire. Lady Margaret and I crossed paths in the garden, and a mishap occurred—unfortunate timing— and prying eyes did the rest.”
Dowshire’s frown deepened, and he leaned forward slightly. “I see,” he said slowly. “I trust it was an innocent encounter, then. My family has always prided itself on its upright reputation, Your Grace.”
Morgan resisted the urge to arch a brow.Upright, indeed. Lady Margaret appeared to be on thehunt that night.He kept his expression neutral.Still, who am I to quibble with a man’s illusions about his family?
“Of course,” Morgan replied, his tone cool. “Which is precisely why I am here—to ensure that reputation remains unblemished.”
The Earl sat back in his chair, his hand moving to stroke his jaw. His expression softened slightly, as if weighing Morgan’s words. “And what resolution do you propose, Your Grace?”
“A marriage,” Morgan stated bluntly. “To preserve Lady Margaret’s reputation and avoid scandal.”
Dowshire’s brows lifted in surprise, though his expression quickly gave way to relief. “I see. A marriage to a Duke... That would certainly resolve any unpleasant rumors.”
Morgan watched the Earl’s reaction with the detached precision of a chess player analyzing his opponent’s next move. He could see the calculations forming in the Earl’s mind—the elevation of the family’s status, the alliance with a man of Morgan’s wealth and title.
“My niece is a spirited girl,” Dowshire said after a moment, his voice carefully neutral. “Marriage to a man such as yourself would be an opportunity most would envy. But I must ask, Your Grace, do you believe the two of you... compatible?”
Morgan’s lips twitched in the barest semblance of a smile. “I believe we are capable of fulfilling the obligations required of us. Compatibility is secondary to practicality in this matter.”
The Earl nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. “Very well, Your Grace. I shall speak with Margaret. I have no doubt she will agree, though I would not force her into anything against her will.”
Morgan’s mouth tightened, but he inclined his head. “A week’s time,” he said, rising from his seat. “I will have the arrangements made.”
The Earl stood as well, clasping his hands together. “Very well, Your Grace. I thank you for your understanding—and for your intentions toward Margaret.”
Morgan inclined his head once more, though a faint flicker of something—regret, perhaps—crossed his features. He pushed it aside as quickly as it surfaced.
“This is the best course for all involved,” Morgan said, his tone final. “Good day, Lord Dowshire.”
As he exited the study, Morgan’s thoughts churned. He had done what was necessary, what was right. Yet the bitterness in his chest remained, a stubborn weight that no amount of practicality could dislodge.
Margaret sat up at the sound of approaching footsteps. The Duke entered first, his expression impassive. Behind him came Sebastian, whose usually genial face bore a mixture of surprise and pleasure.
“Well, this is unexpected,” Sebastian began, astonished. “A Duke offering for Margaret? Truly, a great honor.”
Margaret’s brows shot up. “Uncle,” she began, her tone incredulous, but before she could press further, Giltford stepped forward.
“If I may, I would like a word with Lady Margaret in private,” he announced, his calm authority leaving little room for protest.
Sebastian blinked, then nodded. “Of course.”
Margaret’s stomach dropped. “Uncle, I?—”
“It will be fine,” Sebastian assured her, patting her shoulder before retreating from the room.
