Chapter 5
The following afternoon, Pierce arrived at Lempster House with the certainty of a man who had already made his decision. His carriage stopped before the grand entrance, and moments later he was announced to the household.
He entered the parlour to find Lady Margaret with her father, and he inclined his head with the proper courtesy expected of a duke.
"My lord. Lady Margaret," he greeted, his voice calm as his gaze settled upon her.
Margaret returned the greeting, though the expression she gave him suggested she was suspicious of his arrival.
"I confess I am rather interested to discover what you have to say," Margaret remarked, folding her hands before her.
Pierce detected the slight impatience beneath her politeness and nearly smiled.
"You told me you would see me today, and I have spent a considerable amount of time wondering why."
He removed his gloves slowly. "I shall tell you," he replied, "but first I must speak with your father."
Margaret's eyebrows rose. "Why?"
"Because it concerns a matter upon which I believe I should first have his understanding."
She gave a small gasp of indignation. "Whatever you have to say to him, you can say to me."
Pierce glanced towards Bernard, who looked distinctly uncomfortable. There was something almost amusing about watching Margaret attempt to order a duke about in her father's drawing room.
Pierce found himself studying her more closely than he ought. There was something about Margaret's expression that perpetually intrigued him, perhaps because she seemed incapable of concealing what she thought for more than a few seconds.
Her dark eyes were expressive, her mouth often poised upon the edge of some clever remark, and the dimples in her cheeks appeared whenever she was amused or annoyed.
He remembered her Flora costume from the masquerade, and the memory returned with surprising clarity.
It had suited her remarkably well. There was something soft about her, like a flower, but beneath that softness lay something strong and unbendable, almost regal, like a goddess who had merely been waiting for someone foolish enough to challenge her.
"My lord?" Pierce said quietly.
Bernard cleared his throat. "Margaret, perhaps you would give us a moment of privacy."
She stared at him. "Papa."
"Only a moment," Bernard added apologetically.
Margaret huffed, gathered her skirts, and swept from the parlour with the unmistakable air of a woman who intended to remember this betrayal.
Pierce watched the door close behind her and thought that if she had been anyone else, he might have found the behaviour intolerable.
Instead, he found himself fighting another smile.
Once they were alone, Bernard's expression changed. The gentle father disappeared beneath the concern of an earl protecting his daughter.
"Your Grace," he began, "I should like to understand precisely why you inserted yourself into Margaret's wedding yesterday."
Pierce appreciated the directness. "I require a duchess."
Bernard blinked.
"I have no intention of wasting months searching for one," Pierce continued, settling into a chair. "Lady Margaret required assistance, and I require an arrangement. The circumstances are rather convenient."
Bernard stared at him. "An arrangement?"
"Yes."
"And you believe marrying my daughter is the answer?"
"I do."
The older man remained silent, studying Pierce with evident suspicion.
Pierce could hardly blame him. If he were in Bernard's position, he would have questions as well.
Perhaps considerably more questions, considering Pierce had appeared at the church and declared another man's bride to be promised to him.
"Margaret asked you for help?" Bernard finally asked.
"Yes."
"I had no idea."
Pierce arched a brow. "I do not doubt that. Her behaviour was not precisely the sort any father would approve of."
Bernard sighed heavily.
"She attended my masquerade in disguise," Pierce continued, allowing a trace of amusement into his voice. "She then … asked for my help."
Bernard closed his eyes. Pierce would leave it at that. He knew that it would be ill-suited to speak of the truth. That his daughter had asked to be compromised in front of the ton in order to get out of marriage.
Pierce almost felt sorry for the Earl. He seemed a good fellow with a bold daughter.
"She sought my help in getting out of her arrangement to Harrowby, to which I denied.
However," he continued, "she did succeed in planting a seed in my mind that I cannot forget.
She needed help, and after that evening I found that I needed an arrangement.
A marriage to a woman, and quickly. I have no time for courtship. It seemed an efficient solution."
Bernard looked at him sharply. "And what does Margaret gain?"
"Freedom from Harrowby, of course," Pierce replied.
Pierce leaned forward, his expression becoming serious. "She will no longer be bound to a man she despises, and as my duchess she will possess security and influence. She will want for nothing ever again."
Bernard considered him carefully. "You speak as though this were a business transaction."
"It is, naturally as all marriages are."
The answer was blunt, but Pierce had no interest in deceiving the man. He did not intend to promise love he could not give or affection he did not understand. Margaret deserved honesty, even if that honesty was less romantic than the stories society preferred.
Bernard sighed. "I remain suspicious of your motives."
"That is reasonable."
"But this is my daughter's decision," Bernard continued firmly. "I will not compel her to marry you merely because you are a duke."
Pierce's respect for the man increased.
"If Margaret wishes to marry you," Bernard said, "then you have my blessing."
Pierce inclined his head. "I find that honourable."
He rose and adjusted his coat. His decision had seemed straightforward when he entered the house, yet now, with Bernard's blessing resting upon the matter, Pierce felt something unexpectedly heavier settle upon his shoulders.
He had come intending to secure an arrangement.
He had not anticipated that the woman herself would make the arrangement feel rather less simple.
"Well then," he said, turning towards the door, "I should speak with her."
Bernard nodded. Pierce reached the parlour door and paused.
He already knew Margaret would have demands.
What troubled him was the growing suspicion that he might have demands of his own.
* * *
What is the meaning of this?
Margaret had been pacing the library for so long that she had worn an invisible path into the carpet.
She had tried sitting, then reading, then staring out of the window, but none of those activities had managed to quiet her thoughts.
Pierce had gone to speak with her father, and that fact alone had filled her with such dreadful curiosity that she had scarcely been able to remain still.
When the door finally clicked behind her, she turned sharply and found the Duke of Ravenfield standing there, watching her with that unnerving calmness of his.
"You cannot be losing your wit now," Pierce observed, his gaze travelling over her distressed expression.
"Of course not," Margaret replied, drawing herself upright. "Though I am certainly losing something, and I suspect it may be my patience."
She refused to allow him to dictate the conversation, particularly when he possessed the irritating habit of making her feel as though he knew precisely what she was thinking. She folded her arms and lifted her chin.
"You could have ruined me at your ball, you know. Instead, you interrupted my wedding. I suppose the outcome is much the same, although your method was considerably more dramatic."
Pierce's mouth twitched, though she could not determine whether it was amusement or irritation. "That was merely the first step."
Margaret's stomach tightened. "First step?"
"As long as you remain unmarried, Harrowby will continue pursuing his claim," he explained, walking farther into the library. "Yesterday's interruption bought you time. It did not solve the problem."
Her suspicions were confirmed with brutal simplicity. Margaret stared at him, her heart sinking as she realized that his intervention at the church had never been an act of spontaneous gallantry.
He had not simply seen a woman in distress and decided to rescue her. He has arrived with a purpose, but what?
"So you truly meant it," she said slowly. "When you told the vicar that I was promised to you."
"I did," he said bluntly.
"You obtained that licence before yesterday?"
"Yes," again his answer was blunt and cold.
Margaret stared at him in disbelief. "Are you mad?"
Pierce's expression remained infuriatingly composed. "Perhaps. But I am not uncertain."
He crossed the room and stopped near the fireplace, one hand resting upon the mantel.
The afternoon light fell across his black hair and severe features, emphasising the extraordinary contrast of his eyes.
Margaret hated that she noticed such things even now.
She hated even more that he had the power to unsettle her.
"As I see it," Pierce continued, "you have two choices. You may return to Harrowby and allow him to pursue his claim, or you may marry me."
Margaret let out a disbelieving laugh. "And you imagine that choosing you as the lesser of two evils will make you happy?"
"No, I do not," he said. "But no one said anything about happiness. We are talking about marriage after all."
The severity of the answer caught her off guard. "You think marriage to be an unhappiness?" she asked.
He was quiet and did not answer. He simply proceeded to speak of the overall agreement.
"I am not doing this agreement for myself," he said, his voice quieter. "Nor am I doing it expecting love. If the decision were entirely mine, I would never marry again."
Margaret studied him. There was something in his expression that stopped her from making the witty reply already forming upon her tongue. "Then why?"