Chapter 13
Margaret had been in Ravenfield House for less than a day, and already she had discovered that the Duke of Ravenfield possessed an extraordinary talent for irritating her.
It was not merely his insistence upon rules, schedules, servants, instructions; it was the manner in which he delivered each decree as though he were the king.
She ought to have been furious with him, and she was, mostly. Unfortunately, her memory had chosen that particular afternoon to remind her of the kiss they had shared, and every time she thought of his mouth against hers, her indignation became considerably more difficult to maintain.
She was still scolding herself for remembering it when a baby's cry echoed through the corridor.
Margaret stopped outside the nursery and frowned.
The sound came again, louder this time, and her heart softened despite herself.
She opened the door and found the nanny pacing beside Hugh's cot, looking thoroughly exhausted as the little boy wailed in protest.
"You look as though you require rescuing more than he does," Margaret observed gently, closing the door behind her, and the nanny gave a weary little laugh as she admitted that Hugh had been restless all afternoon.
"Margaret crossed the room and held out her hands. "Why do you not take a proper rest? I shall stay with him for a little while," she said, and the nanny immediately looked uncertain.
"His Grace gave strict instructions that you were not to be alone with him," she replied carefully.
Margaret's brows rose. "His Grace gives strict instructions about breathing, I believe, but fortunately I have managed that without supervision thus far," she said dryly, earning another reluctant smile from the woman. "Go and have your tea. I shall call if I need you."
After a moment's hesitation, the nanny curtsied and left, and Margaret turned towards the child with a determination that felt suspiciously like rebellion.
Hugh stopped crying long enough to look at her.
Margaret's heart gave a strange little twist when she saw his eyes, for one was green and the other blue, exactly like his father's.
Yet there was none of Pierce's intimidating confidence in them; instead, Hugh looked frightened and uncertain, as though the world had already given him more reasons to distrust it than any child should possess.
"Oh, you poor little darling," Margaret whispered as she approached the cot, her voice softening. "You have your father's eyes, but I hope you have your own sweetness, because I cannot imagine managing two Pierces in one household."
Hugh made a small sound that was almost a whimper, and Margaret smiled as she lifted him carefully into her arms.
"There now, I have you," she murmured, settling him against her shoulder. "I am Margaret. Well, technically I am your new mother, but that sounds terribly forced, does it not?"
She carried him towards the tall nursery window, where warm afternoon sunlight streamed across the carpet, and began humming softly beneath her breath before turning the tune into a quiet song.
"There we are. Sunshine first, tears later. We shall establish that rule immediately, and unlike your father, I shall be flexible about the regulations."
Hugh's crying gradually diminished. Margaret looked down and smiled when he finally rested his cheek against her shoulder.
"That is better," she whispered, gently rocking him. "You see? We understand one another already. I shall teach you everything important, such as how to charm your father into giving you sweets and how to look innocent when you have committed a crime."
Hugh blinked at her solemnly, and Margaret laughed beneath her breath. "Precisely. You are an excellent listener."
She carried him back towards the table where the nanny had left his lunch and studied the bowl with suspicion.
"Now, what have we here?" she asked, settling Hugh securely against her arm.
"Apparently your nanny believes you ought to eat this.
Your father would undoubtedly produce a schedule, a ledger, and perhaps a military escort, but I think we shall simply try. "
She dipped the spoon into the food and held it towards him. "One little bite for Hugh." The child opened his mouth.
Margaret stared at him in astonishment. "Well.
That was remarkably easy." She gave him another spoonful, and another, and Hugh accepted each one without protest. "You have been deceiving everyone, have you not?
" she whispered conspiratorially. "All that crying was merely a strategy.
You wanted someone to feed you properly. "
By the time the bowl was empty, Margaret was smiling so broadly that her cheeks hurt.
"I knew it," she said triumphantly, setting the spoon down. "You and I shall get along perfectly."
Then the bowl slipped from her fingers.
It struck the floor with a violent crash, shattering the peaceful moment. Hugh startled and immediately burst into frightened sobs.
"Oh, no, no, no, sweetheart," Margaret exclaimed, bending quickly to soothe him, but before she could gather him properly against her shoulder, the nursery door flew open.
Pierce strode inside with an expression that made Margaret's stomach tighten. She’d expected to see anger, but her first impression was a flash of fear across his face. He crossed the room in several swift steps and took Hugh into his arms, holding the boy protectively against his chest.
"What happened?" he demanded, his voice low and sharp as his gaze moved from the crying child to Margaret and finally to the broken bowl.
"I was feeding him," Margaret began, trying to remain calm. "He was perfectly happy, and he ate everything, but then I dropped the… "
"You were alone with him?" Pierce interrupted, his expression darkening. "I told you that you were not to be alone with Hugh."
Margaret stared at him. "He was hungry."
"That is not the point."
"No, apparently the point is that I committed the dreadful crime of feeding your son without submitting a written request first," she retorted, folding her arms.
Pierce's jaw tightened as Hugh continued to whimper against him. "You ignored the schedule, Margaret. You do not yet know how to care for him properly."
Her irritation flared. "Do not know how to care for him?" she repeated, pointing towards the table. "Look at the bowl."
Pierce glanced towards it.
"It is empty," Margaret said, her voice carrying a note of triumph. "Every bite. He ate every single bit of his lunch because I fed him. So perhaps, Your Grace, you might consider that I am learning rather quickly."
She did not wait for his response. With her dignity firmly gathered around her like a cloak, Margaret turned and walked towards the door. Behind her, Hugh made a small protesting sound, and for one moment she nearly turned back, but Pierce's rigid presence stopped her.
"Perhaps," she muttered as she left, "the next time he is hungry, you may consult the schedule."
* * *
Two days had passed since the unfortunate incident with the bowl, and Pierce had discovered that Margaret possessed a talent for silence almost as formidable as her talent for argument.
She had not quarreled with him, which would have been easier to endure; instead, she had simply stopped appearing at meals.
Breakfast was taken with an empty chair opposite him, luncheon was conducted with the servants moving quietly about the room, and dinner had become an exercise in listening to the faint ticking of the clock.
Pierce found himself staring at that empty chair with increasing irritation, though he refused to admit that he missed her presence.
It was absurd. He had married Margaret for practical reasons, and practical arrangements did not require wives to chatter over breakfast or glare at husbands across the table.
He had certainly not asked for companionship.
Yet the house seemed strangely dull without her.
Even worse, he occasionally caught himself listening for her footsteps in the corridor, only to become annoyed with himself when he realized what he was doing.
"Ridiculous," he muttered one morning as he folded his newspaper, and the footman standing nearby wisely pretended not to hear him.
Pierce was halfway through another fruitless attempt at reading correspondence when Mrs. Norris entered the study carrying a tray of tea.
The housekeeper placed it upon the table with the composed efficiency of a woman who had known Pierce since he was a boy and therefore feared neither his title nor his temper.
"Your Grace," she said, pouring his tea, "I thought you ought to know that Her Grace has spent every morning in the nursery."
Pierce looked up immediately. "Every morning?"
"Yes, Your Grace," Mrs. Norris replied, adding milk to his cup. "She has observed the nanny as you instructed. She has asked questions, taken notes, and generally behaved as though she intends to master the entire nursery before the week is out."
Pierce leaned back in his chair, studying her. "And Hugh?"
Mrs. Norris's lips twitched. "Hugh remains Hugh."
"That is not an answer."
"It is the only answer I have, Your Grace." She folded her hands neatly before her. "He still refuses to finish most of his meals. The nanny says he picks at the food, becomes bored, and then throws the spoon."
Pierce frowned. "He ate everything when Margaret fed him."
"Yes."
The single word irritated him more than it ought to have done.
Pierce turned towards the window, his expression hardening as he stared across the grounds.
He had spent two days convincing himself that the bowl incident had proved nothing except Margaret's recklessness.
Yet the facts remained inconveniently clear.
Hugh had eaten his entire meal for her. Since then, the child had returned to his usual habits, apparently regarding every meal as an opportunity to wage war against his caregivers.
"Has the nanny tried the same manner of feeding Margaret used?" Pierce asked.