Sebastian nodded. “I trusted that you would eventually make the right decision, dear child,” he said, his voice warm but firm. “But it must also be what you truly want.”
Margaret hesitated, her fingers brushing against the edge of her trunk. The unspoken question in his words hung heavily in the air. Finally, she met his gaze and spoke with quiet conviction. “I am certain of this, Uncle. I want to go back. It is only right.”
Sebastian studied her for a moment longer, then inclined his head. “Very well,” he said simply. “You have my support, as always.”
“If ever you desire respite, you need only turn to us,” Sebastian said, his voice soft with affection as he pulled her into his arms. Margaret pressed her lips together, willing herself to keep the tears burning at the back of her eyes from falling. Her uncle’s embrace was warm and steady, but it only served to underscore the ache in her heart.
The following morning, Margaret was in the front hall, her belongings prepared for departure, when Elizabeth arrived to bid her farewell.
“I shall call on you soon, Peggy,” Elizabeth said, wrapping her in a tight hug. The familiar scent of lavender and rosewater clung to her sister’s gown, a reminder of the comfort of home.
“And I’m following too,” Anna declared, joining the embrace with a theatrical flourish.
“Ever imposing, aren’t you, Anna?” Margaret teased, a faint smile gracing her lips despite the heaviness in her heart.
“Always,” Anna replied with a grin, her tone unapologetic. The three of them shared a brief laugh, the sound light and familiar, yet tinged with the knowledge of parting.
Margaret’s chest tightened as she looked between her sister and cousin.I shall miss this. I shall miss them.The thought settled heavily in her mind, a burden she carried as she prepared to step away from the warmth of her family’s embrace.
Just then, the front door swung open, and the sight that met her eyes sent a shock coursing through her. “Morgan,” she breathed, a gasp escaping her lips before she could stop it.
Her husband stood in the doorway, his disheveled appearance a stark contrast to the composed image he typically presented. His dark hair was slightly askew, and his cravat hung loosely at his neck. His eyes, shadowed yet intent, flickered to her lady’s maid standing nearby, the small valise clutched in her hands.
“The Giltford carriage outside…” he began, his voice low and unsteady. “Are you going somewhere, Margaret?”
Margaret stared at him, her chest constricting. His question felt almost absurd, given the scene before him. Her bags, thecarriage, her maid—all spoke plainly of her intentions. Yet there he stood, seemingly bewildered, as though the idea of her leaving had only just occurred to him.
“Is that even a serious question, Morgan?” she asked, her voice trembling with hurt. The words escaped her before she could temper them, carrying the strain of her anguish.
Morgan’s expression shifted, the tension in his features deepening. He took a step forward, his gaze locking with hers. “You’re not going anywhere, Margaret,” he said, his tone firm, almost desperate, as he reached for her hands.
Margaret tried to pull her hands free, but Morgan’s hold was unyielding. It was a curious grip—firm yet gentle, as though he feared she might shatter. His gaze burned into hers, and when he spoke, his voice was steady, each word laden with determination.
“Not without me,” he said. “Because I have no intentions of letting you go, Margaret. Not now. Certainly not ever.”
Her breath caught, and she blinked at him in confusion. “I don’t understand,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m returning to the cottage you gave me, Morgan. It is what you wanted.”
“To hell with that dratted cottage,” he said, his tone sharp with impatience. “I implore you to remain by my side, Margaret.”
Margaret’s heart stuttered in her chest. She searched his face, her brow furrowing as she tried to make sense of his words. He looked earnest—more so than she had ever seen him before.
“Why?” she asked, her voice trembling with equal parts hope and disbelief.
“Because I love you, Margaret,” he said, the words bursting from him with a force that reverberated through the hall. His voice rose, unrestrained and fervent, carrying the confession to every corner of the room.
Her heart stopped, then soared, her breath escaping in a soft gasp. Surely she had misheard him. Or perhaps she had drifted into some fanciful slumber, and this was the work of her own restless dreams.This cannot be real.
But the look in his eyes, the unguarded vulnerability etched into his features, told her otherwise.
“I have been the veriest coward,” he continued, his voice cracking under his admission. “And I cannot begin to tell you how sorry I am. I have hurt you, Margaret, and it broke me to see you in pain. But no more. I cannot bear another moment without you.”
For a moment, the hall was silent save for the soft hum of her pulse thrumming in her ears. Then, from somewhere behind her, Aunt Petunia let out an unmistakable cheer.
“It’s about time you snapped back to your senses, Giltford!” Anna declared, her voice carrying an equal measure of delight and irreverence. “I was about to go fetch my father’s blunderbuss!”
The hall erupted into laughter, the sound warm and full, wrapping around Margaret like a comforting embrace. But she barely heard it, her gaze fixed on Morgan, her heart too full for words.
“Will you have me back, Margaret? Will you stay by my side and return to our silent castle together?” Morgan’s voice was low and imploring, his hands tightening gently around hers.
