Chapter 20 #2
Margaret could alter the routines without requesting permission, spend additional hours in the nursery, and even take tea in the library whenever she pleased.
In return, she seemed determined not to provoke him merely for sport.
She no longer disappeared without leaving word, no longer deliberately challenged every instruction and, much to Pierce's surprise, had begun consulting him before making decisions concerning Hugh.
One afternoon, she appeared in his study with a small basket over one arm. "I am taking Hugh into the garden after tea," she announced, standing near his desk.
Pierce looked up from his correspondence. "Very well."
Margaret blinked. "Very well?"
"Yes."
"You are not going to tell me that it is too cold, or too hot, or too sunny?"
"I have looked out the window."
"Nor insist that the nanny accompany us?"
"She will."
Margaret stared at him suspiciously. "You have become remarkably agreeable."
Pierce leaned back in his chair. "Do not become accustomed to it."
Her mouth curved. "I shall try not to."
He watched her leave, wondering why her obedience should feel so much less satisfying than he had expected.
This was precisely what he had wanted: fewer arguments, fewer challenges, and a wife who understood that his household had rules.
Yet the silence left behind by their disagreements felt strangely empty.
Worse, Margaret had become equally disciplined about their private arrangement. She no longer lingered when he entered a room. She no longer looked at his mouth before catching herself. She kept the agreement about intimacy with an almost maddening precision.
Pierce had expected relief. Instead, he was becoming increasingly frustrated. Finding himself thinking back on the intimate moments they had already spent together.
Why must I always be thinking of consummating the marriage?
One evening, he found her in the drawing room reading beside the fire. "Good evening, Duchess," he said, stopping in the doorway.
She looked up and smiled politely. "Good evening, Your Grace."
She’s being polite.
That single word irritated him more than it had any right to.
"Are you enjoying your book?" he asked.
"Very much."
"I see."
Margaret lowered the book slightly. "Is there something you require?"
"No."
"Then why are you standing there?"
Pierce folded his arms. "I am not certain."
Her eyes narrowed with amusement. "That must be an uncomfortable experience for a man who usually knows exactly what he wants."
He almost smiled. "You are becoming troublesome again."
"I thought you preferred me obedient."
"I did."
"And now?"
Pierce looked at her for a long moment. "Now I am beginning to suspect I was wrong."
The words surprised even him.
Margaret slowly closed her book. "About what?"
He had no sensible answer. He wanted to cross the room, take her into his arms and discover whether the heat between them remained. Yet he had agreed to respect her boundary, and Pierce had never been a man who broke his word.
"Nothing," he said at last.
Margaret studied him, clearly unconvinced. "You are very strange these last few days."
"So I have noticed."
She smiled faintly and returned to her book.
Pierce left the room more frustrated than when he had entered. He had spent years believing control was the answer to every problem. Now he was discovering the opposite: sometimes the more tightly he held himself in check, the more impossible his own desires became.
And Margaret, infuriatingly, seemed determined to make him live with every one of them.
Pierce stepped into the corridor. He stood there for a moment, staring at the polished panelling as though it might provide him with an explanation for the strange irritation that had followed him from the room.
Margaret had done nothing wrong. Indeed, she had done precisely what he had asked of her.
That is the problem. I had wanted her to respect the boundaries of the arrangement, and now that she did, I find myself absurdly dissatisfied.
I want her. I want to take her in my arms and make her mine, completely. I must stop myself from these notions. But how?
Mrs. Norris appeared at the far end of the corridor carrying a small stack of linens, and Pierce immediately straightened.
"Mrs. Norris," he called, and the housekeeper stopped at once. "Have my steward summoned to my study. I need to discuss an upcoming trip."
Her eyes brightened with such immediate interest that Pierce knew he had made a tactical error. "An upcoming trip, Your Grace?" she asked, setting the linens upon a nearby table. "How exciting."
"It is business," Pierce replied, fixing her with a warning stare. "Nothing more."
Mrs. Norris smiled knowingly. "Of course, Your Grace. Business."
Pierce narrowed his eyes. "And before your imagination begins constructing some elaborate story, I will tell you now that Her Grace is not involved."
"Oh, I would never presume…"
"You would," he interrupted dryly. "You absolutely would."
"So," she said carefully, "not a family trip, then?"
"No. It is not a holiday," he replied.
"Of course not."
"And," Pierce added, stepping closer, "I will expect you to keep this information entirely to yourself."
Mrs. Norris gave him an innocent nod. "Naturally, Your Grace."
Pierce knew that tone. "Mrs. Norris."
"Yes, Your Grace?"
"If I hear even one word of this discussed elsewhere in the household, I shall know precisely where it came from."
She placed a hand over her heart. "You have my word."
He regarded her suspiciously for another moment before nodding. "Good. Have the steward sent to me at once."
"Yes, Your Grace." Mrs. Norris gathered her linens and hurried away with surprising speed for a woman who had spent the last twenty years managing Ravenfield House.
Pierce watched her disappear around the corner and sighed.
He had intended to leave the investigative work to his solicitor, to find the new information concerning Augusta. It was practical. Necessary.
But now I must leave Ravenfield for a while.
This was precisely why he had kept his life uncomplicated for so long.
Family made everything considerably more difficult.