“You were at the meeting today,” he said, his tone neutral. It wasn’t a question, and she couldn’t read his expression.
Peggy hesitated, her hands clasping loosely before her. Was he still displeased? She recalled his warning not to get too close and wondered if he harbored lingering annoyance. “It was just as pleasant as before,” she replied lightly.
“And,” she added, searching for an opening to shift the subject, “there’s going to be a ball in the coming week. I was told it’s an annual affair.”
Morgan nodded, his gaze still fixed on the gardens below. The silence stretched until, unexpectedly, he spoke again.
“The flowers were hydrangeas, you know,” he said.
Peggy blinked, startled. “I beg your pardon?”
“At the fountain,” he elaborated, turning slightly toward her. “When I asked you what flowers lined the pathway. They were hydrangeas.”
A flush warmed her cheeks as the memory of their first encounter resurfaced—the tangled confusion, the laughter she hadn’t been able to suppress at his expense, and the indignation that followed. This was the first time he’d mentioned that night since their wedding, and the fact that he remembered such a detail left her momentarily at a loss for words.
Her gaze drifted to the gardens below. Coincidentally, hydrangeas bordered the short stone stairs leading into the lush greenery, their soft blue and white hues glowing in the dappled light. She hadn’t noticed them until now.
“Hydrangeas,” she echoed softly. “I shall endeavor to remember them.”
Morgan finally met her gaze, and to her surprise, there was a faint smile in his eyes. It was brief, almost imperceptible, but it softened his usually austere features.
Peggy’s heart gave an unexpected flutter. He was a man of such contradictions—reserved and yet occasionally warm, gruff but with moments of surprising gentleness. She decided to seize this rare moment of good humor and bring up her intention to attend the ball.
“I thought I should tell you,” she began, her tone casual but resolute. “I intend to go to the ball.”
Morgan’s expression shifted subtly, the warmth ebbing as his brow furrowed faintly. “You may be the Duchess, Margaret,” he said, his voice low and measured, “but you needn’t concernyourself with the affairs of the village. There are no such expectations upon you.”
“I understand,” she said quickly, nodding to show she took no offense. “But I wish to go. And of course,” she added, her tone softening to a gentle tease, “I do not expect you to join me.”
The quiet returned, and Peggy could almost feel the weight of his contemplation in the air. She half-expected him to dismiss the idea entirely, but instead, he surprised her.
“I will be joining you,” he said finally.
Peggy’s eyes widened in disbelief, her lips parting slightly. “You will?”
Morgan glanced at her, the barest flicker of amusement crossing his face. “You sound as though I’ve agreed to something dreadful,” he replied, before turning his gaze back to the gardens.
Peggy could only stare at him, her lips parting slightly. “You will?”
Morgan glanced at her, the barest flicker of amusement crossing his face. “What manner of a Duke would I be to let my Duchess show up at her first public event alone?” he said, faintly teasing, as though the matter was entirely obvious.
He paused for a moment, his gaze drifting back to the gardens. “Besides,” he added, “it is important to remind them of who we are.”
Peggy tilted her head, her brows furrowing. “Remind them? Whatever do you mean?”
Morgan’s jaw tightened slightly, and for a moment, she thought he wouldn’t answer. Then, he said, “There are always those who forget. It is our duty to ensure they remember.” His words were even, but there was a hardness beneath them that made Peggy shiver despite the mild air.
She could only stare at him, her mind swirling with questions she dared not ask.What does he mean by that?
CHAPTER 15
“What brings you to our humble corner of the world in the middle of the season?” Morgan asked as Barrow ushered Colin into his study.
Colin, as always, made himself at home with an ease that bordered on insolence. “I am here for the annual fundraising ball,” he replied, settling into one of the armchairs opposite Morgan’s desk. “Sir and Lady Aleshire are good friends of mine, if you recall. I never miss any event they host.”
Morgan did recall. The baronet and Colin had been childhood companions, their bond forged in the kind of unshakable camaraderie that Morgan had always admired but never sought for himself. He knew the Aleshires as well, though their relationship had never ventured beyond cordiality. Like most connections in his life, he had kept it at arm’s length.
“As a matter of fact,” Morgan said, leaning back in his chair, “I’ll be joining you at the ball this year.”
