Lady 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 isto 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 parkfar 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.
